failed to look in plain sight for their trail
maker. And having done so, they forgot that water leaves no trail. Yet
that simple thought had come to my mind as I had sat at breakfast in
my own house, some weeks before this time! Even then I had planned all
this.

Absorbed as I had been in this pursuit of Helena, baffled as I had
been by her, unhappy as I now was over her own unhappiness, fierce as
was my love for her, still and notwithstanding, some trace of my old
self clung to me even now when, her hand on my arm, I guided Helena in
silence over the creaking planks of the dock, and saw, at last, dim
beyond the edge, the boom of the Mississippi's tawny flood, rolling on
and onward to the sea. Here was a task, a problem, a chase, an
endeavor, an adventure! To it, I was impelled by my old training; into
it I was thrust by all these fevers of the blood. Even though she did
not love me, she was woman ... in the dark air of night, it seemed to
me, I could smell the faint maddening fragrance of her hair.... No. It
was too late! I would not release her. I would go on, now!

And with this resolution, formed when I caught sight of the passing
flood, I found a sudden peace and calm, and so knew that I was fit for
my adventure as yon other boy, L'Olonnois, was for his.

I paused at the edge of the wharf, at the side of our boat. We still
were arm in arm, still silent, though she must have felt the beating
of my heart.

"Helena," I whispered, "yonder, one step, and your parole is over.
Here it is not. That boat, just astern, is the one in which Cal
Davidson chased us all the way from Natchez, in which I chased him all
the way from Dubuque. His men do not know we are here, nor does he as
yet. Now, what is it that you wish to do?"

She stood silent for some time, tightening her wrap at the throat
against the river damp, and made no answer, though her gaze took in
the dark hull of the low-lying craft made fast below us. When at last:

"One thing," she began, "I will not do."

"What is it?" I asked. We spoke low, but I well knew my men were aware
of our coming.

"I shall ask no favor of you." And as she spoke, she stepped lightly
on the rubbered deck of the _Belle Helene_.

"Halt! Who goes there?" called the hoarse voice of Jean Lafitte, the
faithful: and I knew the joy of the commander feeling that loyalty is
his.

"'Tis I, Black Bart," I answered, full and clear. "Cast off, my
friends!"

At once the _Belle Helene_ wa