to their homes--the overseer to the plantation Besancon, and
the trader to his own house--which I know to be farther down the coast.
I now remembered having often seen this man in company with Gayarre.

The thought had occurred to myself as D'Hauteville spoke, but how knew
_he_? He must be well acquainted with the country, thought I.

I had no time to reflect or ask him any question. The conversation of
these two ruffians--for ruffians both were--occupied all my attention.
They were evidently in high glee, laughing as they went, and jesting as
they talked. No doubt their vile work had been remunerative.

"Wal, Bill," said the trader, "it air the biggest price I ever giv for a
nigger."

"Darn the old French fool! He's paid well for his whistle this time--he
ain't allers so open-fisted. Dog darned if he is!"

"Wal--she air dear; an she ain't when a man has the dollars to spare.
She's as putty a piece o' goods as there air in all Louisiana. I
wouldn't mind myself--"

"Ha! ha! ha!" boisterously laughed the overseer. "I guess you can get a
chance if you've a mind to," he added, in a significant tone.

"Say, Bill!--tell me--be candid, old feller--have you ever--?"

"Wal, to tell the truth, I hain't; but I reckon I mout if I had pushed
the thing. I wan't long enough on the plantation. Beside, she's so
stuck up with cussed pride an larnin', that she thinks herself as good
as white. I calclate old Foxey 'll bring down her notions a bit. She
won't be long wi' him till she'll be glad to take a ramble in the woods
wi' anybody that asks her. There'll be chance enough yet, I reckon."

The trader muttered some reply to this prophetic speech; but both were
now so distant that their conversation was no longer audible. What I
had heard, absurd as it was, caused me a feeling of pain, and, if
possible, heightened my desire to save Aurore from the terrible fate
that awaited her.

Giving the word to my companion, we rode out from behind the tree, and a
few minutes after turned into the by-path that led to the woods.

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

THE PAWPAW THICKET.

Our progress along this by-road was slow. There was no white dust upon
the path to guide us. We had to grope our way as well as we could
between the zigzag fences. Now and then our horses stumbled in the deep
ruts made by the wood-wagons, and it was with difficulty we could force
them forward.

My companion seemed to manage better than I, and whipped h