"You mean the deputy sheriff? the man with the chin-whiskers?"
"No, sah. Ah don't mean him. He wus thar all right, but Ah never saw him hit nobody. It wus another fellar, a smooth-faced man, sorter tall like, all dressed up, an' who never talks much."
"Kirby—Joe Kirby, a river gambler."
"Dat's de name—Kurby. Wal', he's de one whut wus lookin' fer dis yere gal, Rene Beaucaire. He wanted her pow'ful bad. Dey hunted all 'round fer ter git hol' her, cussin' an' threatenin', an' a haulin' me round; but 'twan't no sorter use. So finally dey took me 'long ter a boat in de crick—a keel-boat, run by steam. Most de odder men disappeared; Ah never did know whar dey went, but dis yere Kurby, an' de man wif de chin-whiskers, dey done shut me up in de cabin. Ah don't know much whut did happen after dat, till 'bout de time de steamboat done hit us; an' 'bout de next thing Ah wus yanked up yere on deck."
"But there was another woman on the keel-boat when it was sunk—a prisoner also. Surely you must have seen her," I insisted.
"Ah saw her—yas," eagerly. "But Ah don't know who she wus, sah, nor whar she ever cum frum."
"Then she is not there with you?"
"No, sah; Ah's yere all 'lone. Ah reckon, tho', she sure mus' be on board sumwhar. All what Ah does know is, dat de gal called Rene Beaucaire sure ain't on board; fer she, an' her mah, am at Beardstown long fore dis, an' a headin' right smart for Canady; while Ah's headin' fer down soufe. Ah's a free nigger, an' dey's kidnapped me. Ah's just told yer all dis, Mister White Man, 'cause you's a frien' ob de Beaucaires—yer wus, wusn't yer?"
"Yes," I said soberly, "I am; and, if I can find any chance to help you, I am going to do it, Elsie. Be careful now; don't talk any more—the captain is just coming out of the pilot house."
As greatly as this brief, hastily whispered conversation had served to clear up certain puzzling matters in my mind, the total result of the information thus imparted by Elsie Clark only rendered the situation more complex and puzzling. Evidently the other prisoner had not been confined on the upper deck, but had been more securely hidden away below, where her presence on board would better escape detection. For what purpose? A sinister one, beyond all doubt—the expression of a vague fear in Kirby's heart that, through some accident, her identity might be discovered, and his plans disarranged. I was beginning to suspect I might not have rightly gauged those plans. The first suspicion which assailed me was whether or not the man himself had already determined that his prisoner was not merely a helpless slave in his hands, to be dealt with as he pleased under the law, but a free white woman. If so, and he still desired to keep control, he would naturally guard her all the more closely from either speech, or contact with others. His only safety would lie in such action. I had heard him express boastingly his original design relative to both these girls; I comprehended the part he intended Eloise Beaucaire to play in his future, and realized that he cared more to gain possession of her, to get her into his power, than he did to obtain control of the slave. This knowledge helped me to understand the predicament which this revelation put him into, and how desperately he would strive to retain the upper hand. If, in very truth, she was Judge Beaucaire's white daughter, and could gain communication with others of her class, bringing to them proof of her identity, there would be real men enough on board the Adventurer to rally to her support. Those army officers alone would be sufficient to overcome any friends Kirby might call upon, and in that case the gambler's house of cards would fall instantly into ruins. We were already sailing through free territory, and even now he held on to his slaves rather through courtesy than law. Once it was whispered that one of these slaves was white, the daughter of a wealthy planter, stolen by force, the game would be up.