They listened as though scarcely comprehending, Sam uttering little moans of horror, and appearing helpless from fright, but Rene quiet, merely exhibiting her emotion in the whiteness of her face and quickened breathing.  Her eyes, wide-open, questioning, seemed to sense my uncertainty.  As I ended the tale and concluded with my theory as to what had occurred following the deed of blood, her quick mind asserted itself.

“But this must have happened very lately; the men were not long dead?”

“I cannot judge how long; their bodies were cold.”

“Yet the fire still smouldered, you said.  When do you think that steamer could have landed here?”

“Why, perhaps early last evening.”

“And it has not occurred to you that the boat might have waited here while the man Kirby went ashore?”

“No; that could scarcely be true, if the steamer was transporting troops; what was it you were thinking about?”

She buried her face in her hands; then lifted it once more to mine, with a new conviction in her eyes.

“It is all dark, of course,” she said slowly, “we can only guess at what happened.  But to me it seems impossible that the man Kirby could have accomplished all this alone—­without assistance.  The boat we saw at the landing was not his; it must have been Pete’s, and there is no evidence of any other trail leading here from the river.  If, as you imagine, he knew the captain of that steamer, and some of the other men aboard were Missourians and defenders of slavery, he would have no trouble in enlisting their help to recover his runaway slaves.  They would be only too glad to break up an abolitionist’s nest.  That is what I believe has happened; they came ashore in a party, and the steamer waited for them.  Even if it was a troop boat, the captain could easily make excuses for an hour’s delay.”

“And you think the prisoners were taken along?  Yet Kirby would not want to transport them up the river.”

“As to that,” she insisted, “he could not help himself.  He needed to get away quickly, and there were no other means available.  He could only hope to connect later with some craft south-bound on which to return.  There are keel-boats and barges always floating down stream from the mines.  He dare not remain here; that was why they were in such haste; why, they did not even wait to bury the bodies.”

“You may be right,” I admitted, impressed, yet not wholly convinced.  “But what can we do?”

She looked at me reproachfully.

“You should not ask that of a girl.”

The words stung me.

“No; this is my task.  I was thoughtlessly cruel.  Neither can we remain here, only long enough to bury those bodies.  It would be inhuman not to do that.  Sam, there is an old spade leaning against the cabin wall—­go over and get it.”

“Ah ain’t goin’ fer ter tetch no daid man, sah.”