“So I thought.  Well, do you know where he can be found?”

“Not perzackly, sah.  Ah ain’t never onct bin thar, but Ah sorter seems fer ter recollec’ sum’thin’ ’bout whar he mought be.  Ah reckon maybe Ah cud go thar, if Ah just hed to.  Ah reckon if yer all held dat pistol plum ‘gainst mah hed, Ah’d mos’ likely find dis Amos Shrunk.  Good Lord, sah!” and his voice sank to a whisper, “Ah just can’t git hol’ o’ all dis—­Ah sure can’t, sah—­’bout her bein’ a nigger.”

Rene turned about, lifting her face into the starlight.

“Whether I am white or colored, Sam,” she said, quietly, “can make little difference to you now.  I am a woman, and am asking your help.  I can trust you, can I not?”

The negro on his knees stared at her, the whites of his eyes conspicuous.  Then suddenly he jerked off his old hat.

“Ah ’spects yer kin, Missus,” he pledged himself in a tone of conviction which made my heart leap.  “Ah’s bin a slave-nigger fer forty-five years, but just de same, Ah ain’t never bin mean ter no woman.  Yas, sah, yer don’t neither one ob yer eber need ter ask Sam no mor’—­he’s a goin’ thro’ wid yer all ter de end—­he sure am, Ma’m.”

Silence descended upon us, and I slipped the pistol back into my pocket.  Rene rested her cheek on her hand and gazed straight ahead into the night.  Her head seemed to droop, and I realized that her eyes saw nothing except those scenes pictured by her thoughts.  Sam busied himself about his work, muttering occasionally under his breath, and shaking his head as though struggling with some problem, but the few words I caught were disconnected, yielding me no knowledge of what he was trying to solve.  The bow of the boat had been deflected to the north, and was silently cleaving the sluggish downward trend of the water, for we had passed out of the swifter current and were close in to the eastern shore.  The bank appeared low and unwooded, a mere black line barely above the water level and I guessed that behind it stretched uninhabitable marshes overflowed by the spring floods.

As we fought our way up stream the boat gradually drew away, the low shore fading from view as the negro sought deeper water, until finally the craft was nearly in the center of the broad stream where the eye could see only turbulent water sweeping past on every side.  Occasionally a log scraped along our side, dancing about amid foam, or some grotesque branch, reaching out gaunt arms, swept by.  The stars overhead reflected their dim light from off the surface, rendering everything more weird and desolate.  The intense loneliness of the scene seemed to clutch my soul.  Far off to the left a few winking lights appeared, barely perceptible, and I touched the negro, pointing them out to him and whispering my question so as not to disturb the motionless girl.

“Is that the Landing over there?”

“Ah certainly ’spects it must be, sah; dar ain’t no other town directly ’round dese parts.”