Carrington hesitated. “Why do you want Miss Malroy to escape?” he said. The girl's mood changed abruptly. She scowled at him. “I reckon that's a private matter. Ain't it enough fo' you-all to know that I do? I'm showing how it can be done. Them four men on the keel boat are strangers in these parts, they're waiting fo' a pilot, but they don't know who he'll be. I've heard you-all was a riverman; what's to hinder yo' taking the pilot's place? Looks like yo' was willing to risk yo' life fo' Miss Malroy or you wouldn't be here.” “I'm ready,” said Carrington, his hand on the door. “No, you ain't--jest yet,” interposed the girl hastily. “Listen to me first. They's a dugout tied up 'bout a hundred yards above the keel boat; you must get that to cross in to the other side of the bayou, then when yo're ready to come back yo're to whistle three times--it's the signal we're expecting--and I'll row across fo' you in one of the skiffs.” “Can you see Miss Malroy in the meantime?” “If I want to, they's nothin' to hinder me,” responded Bess sullenly. “Tell her then--” began Carrington, but Bess interrupted him. “I know what yo' want. She ain't to cry out or nothin' when she sees you-all. I got sense enough fo' that.” Carrington looked at her curiously. “This may be a serious business for your people,” he said significantly, and watched her narrowly. “And you-all may get killed. I reckin if yo' want to do a thing bad enough you don't mind much what comes after,” she answered with a hard little laugh, as she went from the shed. “Come!” said Carrington to the negro, when he had seen the cabin door close on Bess and her lantern; and they stole across the clearing. Reaching the bayou side they began a noiseless search for the dugout, which they quickly found, and Carrington turned to George. “Can you swim?” he asked. “Yes, Mas'r.” “Then go down into the water and drag the canoe farther along the shore--and for God's sake, no sound!” he cautioned. They placed a second hundred yards between themselves and the keel boat in this manner, then he had George bring the dug-out to the bank, and they embarked. Keeping within the shadow of the trees that fringed the shore, Carrington paddled silently about the head of the bayou. “George,” he at length said, bending toward the negro; “my horse is tied in the woods on the right-hand side of the road just above where you were taken from the carriage last night--you can be at Belle Plain inside of an hour.” “Look here, Mas'r Ca'ington, those folks yonder is kin to Boss Hicks. If he get his hand on me first don't you reckon he'll stop my mouth? I been here heaps of times fotchin' letters fo' Mas'r Tom,” added George. “Who were the letters for?” asked the Kentuckian, greatly surprised. “They was fo' that Captain Murrell; seems like him and Mas'r Tom was mixed up in a sight of business.” “When was this--recently?” inquired Carrington. He was turning this astonishing statement of the slave over in his mind.