s, and lagoons--often inundated,
and only passable by means of skiff or canoe. In most places it was a
slough of soft mud, where man might not tread, nor any kind of
water-craft make way. Over it, at all times, hung the obscurity of
twilight. The solar rays, however bright above, could not penetrate its
close canopy of cypress tops, loaded with that strangest of parasitical
plants--the _tillandsia usneoides_.

This tract of forest offered a safe place of concealment for runaway
slaves; and, as such, was it noted throughout the neighbourhood. A
"darkey" absconding from any of the contiguous plantations, was as sure
to make for the marshy expanse, as would a chased rabbit to its warren.

Sombre and gloomy though it was, around its edge lay the favourite
scouting-ground of Richard Darke. To him the cypress swamp was a
precious preserve--as a coppice to the pheasant shooter, or a scrub-wood
to the hunter of foxes. With the difference, that his game was human,
and therefore the pursuit more exciting.

There were places in its interior to which he had never penetrated--
large tracts unexplored, and where exploration could not be made without
great difficulty. But for him to reach them was not necessary. The
runaways who sought asylum in the swamp, could not always remain within
its gloomy recesses. Food must be obtained beyond its border, or
starvation be their fate. For this reason the fugitive required some
mode of communicating with the outside world. And usually obtained it,
by means of a confederate--some old friend, and fellow-slave, on one of
the adjacent plantations--privy to the secret of his hiding-place. On
this necessity the negro-catcher most depended; often finding the
stalk--or "still-hunt," in backwoods phraseology--more profitable than a
pursuit with trained hounds.

About a month after his rejection by Miss Armstrong, Richard Darke is
out upon a chase; as usual along the edge of the cypress swamp, rather
should it be called a search: since he has found no traces of the human
game that has tempted him forth. This is a fugitive negro--one of the
best field-hands belonging to his father's plantation--who has absented
himself, and cannot be recalled.

For several weeks "Jupiter"--as the runaway is named--has been missing;
and his description, with the reward attached, has appeared in the
county newspaper. The planter's son, having a suspicion that he is
secreted somewhere in the swamp, has mad