ire deliberately with this final end in view--of ruining
him, and thus compelling the daughter to yield herself. He had egged
the man on, playing on the weakness of his nature, baiting him to
finally risk all on a game of chance, the real stake not the money on
the table, but the future of this young girl.

"You--you have never seen her?"

"No, but I have met those who have. She is reported to be beautiful,
and, better still, worth fifty thousand dollars."

"And you actually mean that you propose now to force Judge Beaucaire's
daughter to marry you?"

"Well hardly that, although I shall use whatever means I possess. I
intend to win her if I can, fair means, or foul."

I drew a deep breath, comprehending now the full iniquity of his plot,
and bracing myself to fight it.

"And what about the other girl, Kirby? for there is another girl."

"Yes," rather indifferently, "there is another."

"Of course you know who she is?"

"Certainly--a nigger, a white nigger; the supposed illegitimate
daughter of Adelbert Beaucaire, and a slave woman. There is no reason
why I should fret about her, is there? She is my property already by
law." He laughed again, the same ugly sneering laugh of triumph, "That
was why I was so particular about the wording of that bill of sale--I
would rather have her than the whole bunch of field hands."

"You believe then the girl has never been freed--either she, or her
mother?"

"Believe? I know. I tell you I never play any game with my eyes shut."

"And you actually intend to--to hold her as a slave?"

"Well, I'll look her over first before I decide--she would be worth a
pot full of money down the river."

CHAPTER VI

INTO THE BLACK WATER

The contemptuous, utterly indifferent manner in which he voiced his
villainous purpose, would have crazed any man. Perhaps he intended
that it should, although it was my belief that he merely expressed
himself naturally, and with no thought of consequences. The man was so
steeped in crime as to be ignorant of all sense of honor, all
conception of true manhood. But to me this utterance was the last
straw, breaking down every restraint, and leaving me hot, and furious
with anger. I forgot the muzzle of the pistol pressed against my side,
and the menacing threat in Kirby's low voice. The face of the man was
indistinct, a mere outline, but the swift impulse to strike at it was
irresistible, and I let him have the blow--a straight-arm j