“’Pears like,” he said, deliberately, rubbing his ear with one hand, “as how it mought hav’ happen’d dis yere way, sah.  Ah ain’t a’ sayin’ it wus, it mought be.  Maybe Massa Kirby nebber got no sight ob us ‘tall, an’ wus afeerd fer ter stay.  He just know’d a party wus yere—­likely ‘nough sum Black Abolitionists, who’d be huntin’ him if he didn’t cl’ar out, just so soon as dey foun’ dat Amos Shrunk wus ded.  Her’ wus his chance, an’ he done took it.”

“Yet he would surely recognize the boat?”

“Yas, sah; Ah reckon he wud, sah.  Dat’s de truth, whut stumps me.  Dat white man am certenly full o’ tricks.  Ah sure wish Ah know’d just whar he wus now.  Ah’d certenly feel a heap easier if Ah did.”  He bent suddenly forward, his glance at the edge of the log.  “Dey ain’t took but just de one boat, sah, fer de odder am shoved under dar out’r sight.”

As I stooped further over I saw that this was true, the small rowboat, with the oars undisturbed in its bottom, had been pressed in beneath the concealment of the log wharf, almost completely hidden from above, yet to all appearances uninjured.  The very fact that it should have been thus left only added to the mystery of the affair.  If it had been Kirby’s deliberate purpose to leave us there stranded ashore, why had he failed to crush in the boat’s planking with a rock?  Could the leaving of the craft in fit condition for our use be part of some carefully conceived plan; a bait to draw us into some set trap?  Or did it occur merely as an incident of their hurried night?  These were unanswerable questions, yet the mere knowledge that the boat was actually there and in navigable condition, promised us an opportunity to escape.  While hope remained, however vague, it was not my nature to despair.  Whether accident or design had been the cause, made no odds—­I was willing to match my wits against Kirby and endeavor to win.  And I must deal with facts, just as they were.

“It is my guess,” I said, “that their only thought was to get away before the crime was discovered.  The leaving of this boat means nothing, because the steam-operated keel-boat they escaped in, could never be overtaken, once they had a fair start.  If Kirby was alone in this affair, and had those two women in his charge, getting away would be about all he could attend to.  He’d hardly dare leave them long enough to sink this craft.  But what does he know about running an engine?”

“Ah reckon as how he cud, sah, if he just had to,” interposed the negro.  “He wus a’ foolin’ mor’ or les’ wid dat one a’ comin’ up frum Saint Louee; an’ he sure ask’d me a big lot o’ questions.  He done seemed right handy; he sure did.”

“Then that probably is the explanation.  Rene, would you be afraid to remain here alone for a little while?”

She glanced about into the gloom of the surrounding woods, her hesitancy answering me.

“It is not a pleasant prospect I admit, but there is no possible danger.  Kirby has gone, beyond all question, but I wish to learn, if I can, the direction he has taken.  All this must have happened only a short time ago—­while we were at the cabin.  The keel-boat can scarcely be entirely out of sight yet on either river, if we could only find a place to offer us a wide view.”