tracted.

Not all of those, who watch with the widow are admitted to this
muttering council. Simon Woodley, who presides over it, has his reasons
for excluding some. Only men take part in it who can be relied on for
an emergency, such as that the hunter has before him.

Their conference closed, four of them, as if by agreement with the
others, separate from the group, glide out through the wicket-gate, and
on to their horses left tied to the roadside rail fence.

"Unhitching" these, they climb silently into their saddles, and as
silently slip away; only some muttered words passing between them, as
they ride along the road.

Among these may be heard the name of a man, conjoined to a speech, under
the circumstances significant:--

"_Let's straight to the Sheriff_!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE "BELLE OF NATCHEZ."

While search is still being made for the body of the murdered man, and
he suspected of the crime is threatened with a prison cell, she, the
innocent cause of it, is being borne far away from the scene of its
committal.

The steamboat, carrying Colonel Armstrong and his belongings, having
left port punctually at the hour advertised, has forsaken the "Father of
Waters," entered the Red River of Louisiana, and now, on the second day
after, is cleaving the current of this ochre-tinted stream, some fifty
miles from its mouth.

The boat is the "Belle of Natchez." Singular coincidence of name; since
one aboard bears also the distinctive sobriquet.

Oft have the young "bloods" of the "City of the Bluffs," while quaffing
their sherry cobblers, or champagne, toasted Helen Armstrong, with this
appellation added.

Taking quality into account, she has a better right to it than the boat.
For this, notwithstanding the proud title bestowed upon it, is but a
sorry craft; a little "stern-wheel" steamer, such as, in those early
days, were oft seen ploughing the bosom of the mighty Mississippi, more
often threading the intricate and shallower channels of its tributaries.
A single set of paddles, placed where the rudder acts in other vessels,
and looking very much like an old-fashioned mill-wheel, supplies the
impulsive power--at best giving but poor speed.

Nevertheless, a sort of craft with correct excuse, and fair _raison
d'etre_; as all know, who navigate narrow rivers, and their still
narrower reaches, with trees from each side outstretching, as is the
case with many of the streams of Louisiana.

Not that t