in the blanket; and not once did her voice
break the stillness. The night hung heavy; not even the gentle ripple
of water disturbed the solemn silence of our slow progress.

Suddenly we shot out through the screen of concealing boughs into the
broader stream beyond, and I struggled hastily to swerve the boat's bow
upward against the current. The downward sweep of the water at this
point was not particularly strong, the main channel being some distance
further out, and we were soon making perceptible progress. The light
here in the open was better, although dim enough still, and revealing
little of our surroundings. All was wrapped in gloom along shore, and
beyond the radius of a few yards no objects could be discerned. The
river itself swept past us, a hidden mystery. Sam knelt on his knees,
peering eagerly forward into the blackness, an occasional growl of his
voice the only evidence of his presence. I doubt if I had taken a
dozen strokes, my whole attention centered on my task, when the sudden
rocking of the boat told me he had scrambled to his feet. Almost at
the same instant my ears distinguished the sharp chugging of an engine
straight ahead; then came his shout of alarm, "God, A'mighty! Dar's de
keel-boat, sah. Dey's goin' fer ter ram us!"

I twisted about in my seat, caught a vague glimpse of the advancing
shadow, and leaped to my feet, an oar gripped in my hands. Scarcely
was I poised to strike, when the speeding prow ripped into us, and I
was catapulted into the black water.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LOSS OF RENE

There was the echo of an oath, a harsh, cruel laugh, the crash of
planking, a strange, half-human cry of fright from the negro--that was
all. The sudden violence of the blow must have hurled me high into the
air, for I struck the water clear of both boats, and so far out in the
stream, that when I came again struggling to the surface, I was in the
full sweep of the current, against which I had to struggle desperately.
In the brief second that intervened between Sam's shout of warning, and
the crash of the two boats, I had seen almost nothing--only that black,
menacing hulk, looming up between us and the shore, more like a shadow
than a reality. Yet now, fighting to keep my head above water, and not
to be swept away, I was able to realize instantly what had occurred. I
had been mistaken; Kirby had not fled down the river; instead he had
craftily waited this chance to attack us at a