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"Why, what does all this mean?" asked Miss Harper amid her nieces' cries.

"Yes," I responded, "and without even waiting for Diana."

The rifle cracked, but its ball sang over us; a shot answered it behind me; the howling man's voice died in a gurgle, and Sergeant Jim ran by me, leaped upon the horse that had stayed beside his fallen rider, and was off hot-footed after the other. "Turn your prisoner over to Kendall, Smith," he cried, "and put out like hell for Clifton!"

"South?" asked our leader.

I remarked that had I been in her place I should either have sunk into the mire, so to speak, or thrown myself, literally, into the river.

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