"Kase I seen him by de light ob de moon, an kase I uster know him when he war alive."
"Whose ghost do you think it was?"
"Marse Troup Jeffers, de ole oberseer."
"The very man I ought to have thought of at first!" exclaimed the proprietor, turning to Douglass. "He is not only so familiar with the place that he knows where to lay his hands on such things as he needs, and is friendly with the dogs, but he is so bitter against me for turning him off, that he has already attempted to take my life, as well as that of Anstice. He is now a slave-trader, and, in company with other ruffians like himself, disguised as Indians, he very nearly succeeded in running off all the hands on the plantation. He has already made several attempts to capture Nita, for the purpose of selling her into slavery, and now I fear he has succeeded. I swear, Douglass, if I ever get within striking distance of that scoundrel again, his death or mine will follow inside of two seconds. Now, let us hasten to pick up the trail, and may God help Nita Pacheco, if she has fallen into the clutches of that human devil."
The plantation being left in charge of old Primus, the travellers set forth, and, a number of boats having been provided, they were speedily ferried across the river, towing their swimming horses behind them. On the farther side they resaddled and mounted, Anstice riding Nita's fleet-footed Ko-ee.
By hard riding they struck the Tampa road before noon, and Redmond immediately pointed out the trail of four shod horses, which he affirmed had been ridden at full speed, late the evening before. Soon afterward, the scout discovered the place where the outlaws had camped. He declared that they had reached it long after dark, and had left it before sunrise that morning.
"Mighty little hope of our overtaking them this side of Tampa, then," growled Douglass.
For two days longer did the pursuing party follow that trail. They found two other camping-places; but study the signs as they would, they could discover nothing to indicate the presence of a woman, nor of any save booted white men. "Which is what beats me more than anything ever I run up against," remarked the puzzled scout.
On the third day, by nightfall of which they expected to reach Fort Brooke on Tampa Bay, the plainly marked trail came to a sudden ending, amid a confusion of signs that Redmond quickly interpreted.
"They were jumped here by a war-party of Reds," he said, "were captured without making a show of fight, and have been toted off to the northward. Would you mind, sir, if I followed this new trail a few miles, not to exceed five? I might learn something of importance from it."