"I did not mean to kill you, sir, and I am sorry you compelled me to
fire upon you," added Dan, in respectful and sympathizing tones.

"I am wounded and in your power now; I can do nothing more, and you may
finish me as soon as you please," groaned Colonel Raybone, completely
subdued by weakness and the fear of death.

"I do not wish to kill you, Colonel Raybone, and I am willing to do all
I can for you. But if you attempt to make me a slave again, I will shoot
you at once."

"I can't harm you now if I would," said the sufferer, faintly.

"Then we will take you into the cabin out of the sun, and do what we can
for you."

"Can't you land me at Mr. Lascelles' plantation?" asked he, lifting his
eyes up with an expression so pitiful that Dan could hardly resist the
petition.

"No, sir. I dare not do that," he replied. "But I will do all I can to
save your life."

Dan then went aft, and explained to his companions the condition of
Colonel Raybone. Lily was placed at the helm, with instructions how to
steer, and Dan and Cyd, with a great deal of difficulty, removed the
wounded planter to the cabin. But he had lost so much blood that he
fainted as soon as they had placed him upon the bunk. Cyd then took his
place at the helm; and while Lily bathed the head of the patient with
lavender, Dan examined his wound. The ball had passed entirely through
the fleshy part of the thigh, about half way between the hip and the
knee. The blood flowed steadily from the two openings, but not in jets,
which would indicate the severing of an artery.

Dan was no surgeon, but he had ingenuity and common sense, and he used
these to the best advantage his limited means would permit. He tore up
one of his shirts for bandages, and Lily made lint of of his collars.
When the sufferer had recovered from his faintness he drank a glass of
brandy, which seemed to revive him. But he was still very weak, and
breathed not a word of hatred or malice.

"Hallo! Dan! Where we gwine?" shouted Cyd from the deck, who had come to
a point in the lake where he required further sailing directions.

The skipper took his map and went on deck. From the position of three
islands laid down on his chart, and which he identified as those near
him, he concluded that the Isabel had reached the outlet of the lake,
which is the Atchafalaya River. Its course gave him a fair wind, and he
headed the boat down the stream. As the sailing of the boat was now a
matter of the u