“He lives down by de lower pike, Sah; he’s an abolitionist, sah.”

“Oh, I see; he and Shrunk worked together.  He helped with the runaway slaves.”

“Yas, sah.  Ah’s bin called up thet way afore.  So Ah just nat’larly went ter work cookin’, an’ purty soon dey all ov ’em cum stragglin’ in ter de cabin fer ter eat.  Dar was four ov ’em, sah,” her voice a husky whisper.  “Bill Sikes, totin’ a gun in his han’, a free nigger whut dey called Pete, an’ two wimin.  Furst like, bein’ Ah wus right busy, Ah didn’t take no heed ov dere faces, fer dey wus all muffled ’round like; but dey hed fer ter unwrap dem veils fore dey cud eat—­tho’ de Lord knows dey didn’t no one ov ’em eat much.  De bigger one was a quadroon, maybe ‘bout forty years ol’, an’ de odder she wan’t much more’n a gal; an’ dar wan’t nuthin’ ov de nigger ’bout her, ’cept it mought be de hair, an’ de eyes—­dem was sure black ’nough.  Ah just nat’larly felt mighty sorry fer her, fer she done cried all de time, an’ cudn’t eat nuthin’.”

“You learned who they were? how they came there?”

“Course Ah did.  Sikes he ’splained all ’bout ’em ter Massa Shrunk, an’ Ah heerd whut he sed.  Ah wus a waitin’ on ’em.  Seems like, dey hed run off frum de Beaucaire plantation, sumwhar down ribber on de Missouri side, ‘cause ol’ Beaucaire hed died, an’ dey wus goin’ fer ter be sold down soufe.  De free nigger he wus helpin’ fer ter git ’em away in his boat.  De way I heerd ’em tell, dey got snagged in de dark, an’ den drifted ashore at de lower pine.  Wanderin’ ’round, dey stumbled on Sikes, an’, soon as he heard de story, he just hitched up, an’ drove over whar we were.  Took him ‘bout three hours, Ah reckon, an’ ’long de road one ov his hosses wint lame.”

“And—­and what then?” I asked breathlessly, glancing about to assure myself no one had appeared on deck, as she paused.  “They got away?”

“’Cept fer de free nigger, de rest ov ’em started cross kintry fer Beardstown, sah.  De nigger Pete, he didn’t go, fer he’d made up his min’ fer ter git bac’ hom’ ter ol’ Missurry de furst chanst he got.  We all ov us helped fer ter put ’em in de wagon, hid undeh a lot o’ truck, an’ den Sikes he done drove ’em out thro’ de bluffs.  Ah done walked wif de gal, an’ she tol’ mor’ ‘bout herself, an’ whar she cum frum; an’ dat wus her name, sah.”

“Her name?  What name?”

“Rene Beaucaire; de quadroon woman, she wus her mother.”

I could scarcely voice my surprise, the quick throbbing of my heart threatening to choke me.

“She claimed that name?  She actually told you she was Rene Beaucaire?”

“She sure did.  Why?  Wan’t thet her name?”

“I do not know,” I confessed.  “I had supposed I had met such a person, but if what you tell me is true, I was mistaken.  Everything has become confused.  Perhaps I shall understand better, if you go on.  What happened after they left?”