"Well, then he isn't likely to bother us any more. Suppose he was the white man?"
"Sure he wus; it wus the nigger who was up ahead. We hit him, an' he dropped in 'tween ther boats, an' went down like a stone. He never yeeped but just onct, when I furst gripped ther girl. I don't reckon as she wus hurt et all; leastwise I never aimed fer ter hurt her none."
"Has she said anything?"
"Not a damned twitter; maybe she's fainted. I dunno, but that's ther way females do. What shall I do with the bird, Kirby?"
"Oh, hold on to her there awhile, long as she's quiet. I'm going to try the steam again, and get outside into the big river. Hell, man, but this hasn't been such a bad night's work. Now if we only make it to St. Louis, we'll have the laugh on Donaldson."
"I reckon he won't laugh much," with a chuckle. "It's cost him a valuable nigger."
"You mean Sam? Yes, that's so. But I'd like to know who that other fellow was—the white one."
"Him! oh, sum abolitionist likely; maybe one o' ol' Shrunk's gang. It's a damn good thing fer this kintry we got him, an' I ain't worryin' none 'bount any nigger-stealer. The boat must 'er gone down, I reckon; enyhow ther whol' side wus caved in. What's ther matter with yer engine?"
"It's all right now—keep your eyes peeled ahead."
The steam began to sizz, settling swiftly into a rhythmatic chugging, as the revolving wheel began to churn up the water astern. Confident of being safely hidden by the darkness, I permitted the current to bear me downward, my muscles aching painfully from the struggle, and with no other thought in my mind except to keep well out of sight of the occupants of the boat. To be perceived by them, and overtaken in the water, meant certain death, while, if they continued to believe that I had actually sunk beneath the surface, some future carelessness on their part might yield me an unexpected opportunity to serve Rene. The few words overheard had made sufficiently plain the situation. Poor Sam had already found freedom in death, crushed between the two colliding boats, but the girl had been grasped in time, and hauled uninjured aboard the heavier craft. This had been the object of the attack—to gain possession of her. Very evidently I had not been seen, at least not closely enough to be recognized by Kirby. In a measure this afforded me a decided advantage, provided we ever encountered each other again—and I meant that we should. The account between us was not closed by this incident; far from it. There in that black water, struggling to keep afloat, while being swept resistlessly out into the river, with no immediate object before me except to remain concealed by the veil of darkness, I resolved solemnly to myself that this affair should never end, until it was ended right. In that moment of decision I cared not at all for Rene Beaucaire's drop of negro blood, nor for the fact that she was a slave in her master's hands. Her appeal to me ignored all this. To my mind she was but a woman, a sweet, lovable, girlish woman, in the unrestrained power of a brute, and dependent alone on me for rescue. That was enough; I cared for nothing more.