te the
remarkable cunning with which the lair of the runaway had been chosen.
It was just the place to seek refuge from "de dam blood-dogs."

The moment I thought of it, I resolved to flee thither.

I would be sure to know the way. I had taken especial pains to remember
it; for even on the day of my snake-adventure, some half-defined
thoughts--something more like a presentiment than a plan--had passed
through my mind, vaguely pointing to a contingency like the present.
Later events, and particularly my design of escaping to the city at
once, had driven these thoughts out of my mind. For all that, I still
remembered the way by which the Bambarra had guided me, and could follow
it with hurried steps--though there was neither road nor path, save the
devious tracks made by cattle or the wild animals of the forest.

But I was certain I knew it well. I should remember the signs and
"blazes" to which the guide had called my attention. I should remember
where it crossed the "big bayou" by the trunk of a fallen tree that
served as a foot-bridge. I should remember where it ran through a strip
of marsh impassable for horses, through the cane-brake, among the great
knees and buttocks of the cypresses, down to the edge of the water. And
that huge tree, with its prostrate trunk projecting out into the lake,
and its moss-wrapped branches--that cunning harbour for the little
pirogue--I should be sure to remember.

Neither had I forgotten the signal, by which I was to warn the runaway
whenever I should return. It was a peculiar whistle he had instructed
me to give, and also the number of times I was to utter it.

I had not waited for all these reflections. Many of them were
after-thoughts, that occurred along the way. The moment I remembered
the lake, I resolved upon my course; and, with a word of cheer to my
companion, we again moved forward.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

THE SIGNAL.

The change in our plans made no change in the direction. We continued
on in the same course. The way to the lake passed by the glade, where
we had purposed going--indeed, through the middle of it lay the nearest
path to the lair of the runaway.

Not far from the north-east angle of Gayarre's plantation, was the spot
where I had parted with the black on the night of my adventure with him.
It was at this point the path entered the woods. The blaze upon a
sweet-gum-tree, which I remembered well, showed me the direction. I was
but too gla