otested.

"Haven't I?" and I laughed. "Oh, yes I have. I am young and this
wound is nothing. I may be a bit stiff in the shoulder for a few days,
but I can pull an oar with one hand. That never will stop me. Are you
with us?"

He was slow in replying, and, as I eagerly watched his face, I could
almost comprehend the working of the lawyer mind. He saw and argued
every doubt, considered every danger.

"In spirit, yes," he answered at last, "but not physically. I believe
under the circumstances you are justified, Knox. Perhaps I'd do the
same thing if I was in your place and had your youth behind me. But I
am a lawyer, fifty years old, and this is my home. If the story ever
got out that I took part in nigger stealing, that would be the end of
me in Missouri. As you say, you are a young man, and I reckon you were
not brought up in the South either. That makes a difference. You can
take the risk, but about all I can do will be to keep a quiet tongue in
my head. Nobody will ever learn what has happened through me--I'll
promise you that. But that is all I can promise."

"Yet you acknowledge this is the only way? No legal course is open to
us?"

"Absolutely none. If there was I should never consent to be a party to
this plan, or shield you in any way. Kirby has undoubtedly got the law
with him. We cannot establish fraud; the property actually belongs to
him--both mother and daughter are his slaves."

"And how about the other girl--Eloise?"

"He has no legal hold on her; she is a free white woman. He could only
hope to overcome her resistance by threats. The plantation is
irrevocably lost to the Beaucaires, but she possesses the power to defy
him because of her mother's property. If Kirby marries her, it will
only be through her consent."

He picked up his hat from the table, and a stout stick he had brought
along with him, taking a step toward the door.

"I might as well tell you I consider this a mad scheme," he paused to
add gravely, "and that it will probably fail. There is a possible
chance of success, I admit, and for that reason I permit you to go
ahead with it, and pledge myself to keep the secret. I was rather
intimately associated with Beaucaire for a number of years, and to see
his granddaughter sold into slavery, even if she does have a drop of
nigger blood in her veins, is more than I can stand, without giving her
a chance to get away. That is why I consent to abet a crime, and ke