Schemes of every wild kind, daring and impossible plans of rescue, raced through my brain; seeming reasonable enough at the time, but Smilax quickly found the flaws in each until I had exhausted my supply. Finally he spoke, and I knew that he spoke with judgment. "To-night," he said, "we watch and see if they put out guard. Maybe they do, after what Jess said 'bout Lady run off. When dark come, me swim to l'il island and give owl call--two times, then stop soft in middle. Long 'go in Injun village that mean: 'panther, come quick, gun,' Echochee will hear and 'member. Good. Then we talk and fix all up. First we see if Efaw Kotee put out guard." This was so different, so tame, to the brilliant, suicidal dashes into the thick of rescue and glory--and doubtless destruction--as my plans ran, that I almost felt ashamed. Smilax could neither read nor write; his vocabulary might have been held in the hollow of one's hand, but in many respects he was the sanest creature I ever met. "Do you suppose Echochee will trust us to get them away?" I whispered. "If Lady say come, she come," he answered. This set me thinking, and I decided to write a note that Smilax could deliver. Sylvia might then feel assured that she was not being abducted by a negro whom Echochee had known only in childhood. But, on second thought, I wondered if she would risk escape with an unknown white man; if she would not rather face the supreme issue, once and for all, than perhaps be forced into it later by an over-zealous stranger! In her distracted state of mind I feared she would find the rescue too precarious--too easily offering the same danger that beset her now, and lacking her present weapon of defense. Yet if she refused to come--what then? I could always rush the camp, if but to die with her. Having gone over these possibilities, I whispered to Smilax: "She'll come easier if she doesn't know I'm here. Echochee will remember you, and reassure her. You might tell Echochee that you were hunting this way and saw her beat the chap over the head with the tray. Understand? After that you saw the rest and realized how much trouble she was in. How about it?" "Good," he grunted. "That good. To-night me tell Echochee get ready, and to-morrow night we run 'way--maybe to Reservation. But we come by camp and find you; then all work 'round to yacht. Good." "Well," I demurred, "that isn't the way I meant, for I intend to stay here and help. Some of those devils might get busy!" "That good, too. Now we eat; then you go sleep."