SEEKING THE UNDERGROUND Every moment of progress tended to increase my confidence in Sam's loyalty.

His every attention seemed riveted upon his work, and not once did I observe his eyes turned backward for a glimpse of the Missouri shore.

The fellow plainly enough realized the situation--that safety for himself depended on keeping beyond the reach of his master.
To this end he devoted every instant diligently to coaxing his engine and a skillful guidance of the boat, never once permitting his head to turn far enough to glance at me, although I could occasionally detect his eyes wandering in the direction of the girl.
She had not uttered a word, nor changed her posture since first entering the boat, but remained just as I had seated her, one hand grasping the edge of the cockpit, her gaze on the rushing waters ahead.
I could realize something of what must be passing through her mind--the mingling of doubt and fear which assailed her in this strange environment.

Up until now she had been accorded no opportunity to think, to consider the nature of her position; she had been compelled to act wholly upon impulse and driven blindly to accept my suggestions.
And now, in this silence, the reaction had come, and she was already questioning if she had done right.
It was in my heart to speak to her, in effort to strengthen her faith, but I hesitated, scarcely knowing what to say, deeply touched by the pathetic droop of her figure, and, in truth, uncertain in my own mind as to whether or not we had chosen the wiser course.

All I dared do was to silently reach out one hand, and rest it gently on those fingers clasping the rail.