"You did not take kindly to me, but I persisted. Then you repulsed me—told me you despised me, and that made me desperate. I swore I would have you, Elsie. Then came the mutiny and the burning of the vessel. Now we are here, and you are with me. Elsie, you know not how I love you! I have become an outcast, an outlaw—all for your sake! Elsie, dear Elsie! can't you learn to love me? I will do anything for you—anything!"

Again a sound came from beneath the coat. He was sure she was sobbing. It must be that he was beginning to break down that icy barrier. She realized her position, and she would be reasonable.

"Elsie—little sweetheart!"

He began to remove the muffling coat.

"Do not scream, Elsie—do not draw away, darling. Say that you will love me a little—just a little!"

He pulled the coat away, and something came out of the folds and touched cold and chilling against his forehead.

It was the muzzle of a revolver!

"Keep still!" commanded a voice that was full of chuckling laughter. "If you chirp, I'll have to blow the roof of your head off, Gage!"

Leslie Gage caught his breath and nearly collapsed into the bottom of the boat. Indeed, he would have fallen had not a strong hand fastened on his collar and held him.

It was not Elsie Bellwood!

"I don't want to shoot you, Gage," whispered the cool voice. "I don't feel like that, even though you did attempt to take my life once or twice in the past. You have made me very good natured within the past few moments. How you did love me! How gently you murmured, 'Do not draw away, darling; say that you love me a little—just a little!' Ha! ha! ha! Really, Gage, you gave me such amusement that I am more than satisfied with this little adventure."

"That voice—I know it!" grated Gage, through set teeth. "Still, I can't place you."

"Indeed, you are forgetful, Gage. But it is rather dark, and I don't suppose you expected to see me here. We last met at Fardale."

"Fardale?"

"Yes."

"And you are—Frank Merriwell!"

Gage would have shouted the name in his amazement, but Frank's fingers suddenly closed on the fellow's throat and held back the sound in a great measure.

"Now you have guessed it," chuckled Frank. "Oh, Gage! I can forgive you for the past since you have provided me with so much amusement to-night. How you urged me to learn to love you! But that's too much, Gage; I can never learn to do that."

Leslie ground his teeth, but he was still overcome with unutterable amazement and wonder. That Frank Merriwell, whom he hated, should appear there at night in the wilds of the Florida Everglades was like a miracle.

What had become of Elsie Bellwood? Had some magic of that wild and dreary region changed her into Frank Merriwell?

Little wonder that Gage was dazed and helpless.

"How in the name of the Evil One did you come here?" he finally asked, recovering slightly from his stupor.

Frank laughed softly once more. It was the same old merry, boyish laugh that Gage had heard so often at Fardale, and it filled him with intense anger, as it had in the days of old.

"I know you did not expect to see me," murmured Frank, still laughing. "I assure you that the Evil One had nothing to do with my appearance here."

"It was trickery—magic! I left her in the boat a few moments. What became of her? How did you take her place?"

"I will let you speculate over that question for a while, my fine fellow. In the meantime, I fancy it will be a good idea to tie you up so you will not make any trouble. Remember I have a revolver handy, and I promise that I'll use it if you kick up a row."

At this moment, one of the sailors in the other boat called:

"Hello, there, Mr. Gage! where are you?"



CHAPTER XXXIII.

GAGE TAKES A TURN.

Gage was tempted to shout for help, but the muzzle of the cold weapon that touched his forehead froze his tongue to silence.

"Hello! Ahoy, there, cap'n! Where are you?"

Ben Bowsprit was growing impatient and wondering why Leslie did not answer. It had occurred to the old tar that it was possible the boy had deserted them.

The voice of Black Tom was heard to say:

"He oughter be right near by us, Ben. 'Smighty strange dat feller don' seem to answer nohow."

"Shiver my timbers!" roared Bowsprit. "We'll pull back, my hearty, and take a look for our gay cap'n."

They were coming back, and Gage was still unbound, although a captive in Frank Merriwell's clutch.

Frank thought swiftly. There would not be enough time to bind Gage and get away. Something must be done to prevent the two sailors from turning about and rowing back.

"Gage," whispered Frank, swiftly, "you must answer them. Say, it's all right, boys; I'm coming right along."

Gage hesitated, the longing to shout for help again grasping him.

"Do as I told you!" hissed Frank, and the muzzle of the revolver seemed to bore into Gage's forehead, as if the bullet longed to seek his brain.

With a mental curse on the black luck, Gage uttered the words as his captor had ordered, although they seemed to come chokingly from his throat.

"Well, what are ye doing back there so long?" demanded Bowsprit.

"Tell them you're making love," chuckled Frank, who seemed to be hugely enjoying the affair, to the unspeakable rage of his captive. "Ask them if they don't intend to give you a show at all."

Gage did as directed, causing Bowsprit to laugh hoarsely.

"Oh, you're a sly dog!" cackled the old sailor, in the darkness. "But this is a poor time to spend in love-makin', cap'n. Wait till we git settled down ag'in. Tom an' me'll agree not ter watch ye."

"Say, all right; go on," instructed Frank, and Gage did so.

In a few seconds, the sound of oars were heard, indicating that the sailors were obeying instructions.

At that moment, while Frank was listening to this sound, Gage believed his opportunity had arrived, and, being utterly desperate, the young rascal knocked aside Frank's hand, gave a wild shout, leaped to his feet, and plunged headlong into the water.

It was done swiftly—too swiftly for Frank to shoot, if he had intended such a thing. But Frank Merriwell had no desire to shoot his former schoolmate, even though Leslie Gage had become a hardened and desperate criminal, and so, having broken away, the youthful leader of the mutineers stood in no danger of being harmed.

Frank and Socato had been close at hand when Gage placed Elsie Bellwood in the boat, and barely was the girl left alone before she was removed by the Seminole, in whose arms she lay limp and unconscious, having swooned at last.

Then it was that a desire to capture Gage and a wild longing to give the fellow a paralyzing surprise seized upon Frank.

"Socato," he whispered, "I am going to trust you to take that girl to the hut where my friends are to be found. Remember that you shall be well paid; I give you my word of honor as to that. See that no harm comes to her."

"All right," returned the Indian. "What white boy mean to do?"

"Have a little racket on my own hook," was the reply. "If I lose my bearings and can't find the hut, I will fire five shots into the air from my revolver. Have one of my friends answer in a similar manner."

"It shall be done."

"Give me that coat. All right. Now skip with the girl."

Frank took the coat; stepped into the boat, watched till Gage was approaching, and then muffled his head, sitting in the place where Elsie had been left.

In the meantime, the Seminole was bearing the girl swiftly and silently away.

Thus it came about that Gage made love to Frank Merriwell, instead of the fair captive he believed was muffled by the coat.

When Gage plunged into the water, the small boat rocked and came near upsetting, but did not go over.

But the fellow's cry and the splash had brought the sailors to a halt, and they soon called back:

"What's the matter? What has happened?"

"I rather fancy it will be a good plan to make myself scarce in this particular locality," muttered Frank.

Gage swam under water for some distance, and then, coming to the surface, he shouted to the men in the leading boat:

"Bowsprit, Black Tom, help! Turn back quickly! There is an enemy here, but he is alone! We can capture him, boys! Be lively about it!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Frank, merrily. "You will have a fine time catching me. You have given me great amusement, Gage. I assure you that I have been highly entertained by your company, and hereafter I shall consider you an adept in the gentle art of making love."

"Laugh!" fiercely shouted Gage from the water. "You are having your turn now, but mine will soon come!"

"I have heard you talk like that before, Gage. It does not seem that you have yet learned 'the way of the transgressor is hard.'"

"You'll learn better than to meddle with me! I have longed to meet you again, Frank Merriwell, and I tell you now that one of us will not leave this swamp alive!"

"This is not the first time you have made a promise that you were not able to keep. Before I leave you, I have this to say: If Captain Bellwood is harmed in the least, if he is not set at liberty with very little delay, I'll never rest till you have received the punishment which your crimes merit."

Frank could hear the sailors rowing back, and he felt for the oars, having no doubt that he would be able to escape them with ease, aided by the darkness.

Then came a surprise for him.

When Gage stopped rowing to make love to the supposed Elsie he had left the oars in the rowlocks, drawing them in and laying them across the boat. In the violent rocking of the boat when the fellow leaped overboard one of the oars had been lost.

Frank was left with a single oar, and his enemies were bearing down upon him with great swiftness.

"I wonder if there's a chance to scull this boat?" he coolly speculated, as he hastened to the stern and made a swift examination.

To his satisfaction and relief, he found there was, and the remaining oar was quickly put to use.

Even then Frank felt confident that he would be able to avoid his enemies in the darkness that lay deep and dense upon the great swamp. He could hear them rowing, and he managed to skull the light boat along without making much noise.

He did not mind that Gage had escaped; in fact, he was relieved to get rid of the fellow, although it had been his intention to hold him as hostage for Captain Bellwood.

It was the desire for adventure that had led Frank into the affair, and, now that it was over so far as surprising Gage was concerned, he was satisfied to get away quietly.

He could hear the sailors calling Gage, who answered from the water, and he knew they would stop to pick the fellow up, which would give our hero a still better show of getting away.

All this took place, and Frank was so well hidden by the darkness that there was not one chance in a thousand of being troubled by the ruffianly crew when another astonishing thing happened.

From a point amid the tall rushes a powerful white light gleamed out and fell full and fair upon the small boat and its single occupant, revealing Frank as plainly as if by the glare of midday sunlight.

"Great Scott!" gasped the astonished boy. "What is the meaning of this, I would like to know?"

He was so astonished that he nearly dropped the oar.

The sailors were astonished, but the light showed them distinctly, and Gage snarled.

"Give me your pistol, Bowsprit! Be lively!"

He snatched the weapon from the old tar's hand, took hasty aim, and fired.

Frank Merriwell was seen to fling up his arms and fall heavily into the bottom of the boat!



CHAPTER XXXIV.

A FEARFUL FATE.

"Got him!" grated the triumphant young rascal, flourishing the revolver. "That's the time I fixed him!"

The mysterious light vanished in the twinkling of an eye, but it had shone long enough for Gage to do his dastardly work.

The sailors were alarmed by the light, and wished to row away; but Gage raved at them, ordering them to pull down toward the spot where the other boat lay.

After a time, the men recovered enough to do as directed, and the smaller boat was soon found, rocking lightly on the surface.

Running alongside, Gage reached over into the small boat, and his hand found the boy who was stretched in the bottom.

"Here he is!" cried the young rascal, gleefully. "I'll bet anything I put the bullet straight through his heart!"

And then, as if his own words had brought a sense of it all to him, he suddenly shuddered with horror, faintly muttering:

"That was murder!"

The horror grew upon him rapidly, and he began to wonder that he had felt delight when he saw Frank Merriwell fall. The shooting had been the impulse of the moment, and, now that it was done and he realized what it meant, he would have given much to recall that bullet.

"Never mind," he thought. "I swore that one of us should not leave this swamp alive, and my oath will not be broken. I hated Frank Merriwell the first time I saw him, and I have hated him ever since. Now he is out of my way, and he will never cross my path again."

There was a slight stir in the small boat, followed by something like a gasping moan.

"He don't seem to be dead yet, cap'n," said Ben Bowsprit. "I guess your aim wasn't as good as you thought."

That nettled Gage.

"Oh, I don't think he'll recover very fast," said the youthful rascal, harshly.

He rose and stepped over into the smaller boat.

"Give me some matches," he ordered. "I want to take a look at the chap. He must make a beautiful corpse."

"You'll find I'm not dead yet!" returned a weak voice, and Frank Merriwell sat up and grappled with Gage.

A snarl of fury came from the lips of the boy desperado.

"So I didn't finish you! Well, you'll not get away!"

"You'll have to fight before you finish me!" panted Frank.

But Merriwell seemed weak, and Gage did not find it difficult to handle the lad at whom he had shot. He forced Frank down into the bottom of the boat, and then called to his companions:

"Give me some of that line. I'll make him fast."

A piece of rope was handed to him, and Black Tom stepped into the boat to aid him. Between them, they succeeded in making Frank fast, for the boy's struggles were weak, at best.

"Now it is my turn!" cried Leslie, gloatingly. "At Fardale Frank Merriwell triumphed. He disgraced me, and I was forced to fly from the school."

"You disgraced yourself," declared the defiant captive. "You cheated at cards—you fleeced your schoolmates."

"And you exposed the trick! Oh, yes, I was rather flip with the papers, and I should not have been detected but for you, Merriwell. When I was exposed, I knew I would be shunned by all the fellows in school, and so I ran away. But I did not forget who brought the disgrace about, and I knew we should meet some time, Merriwell. We did meet. How you came here I do not know, and why my bullet did not kill you is more than I can understand."

"It would have killed me but for a locket and picture in my pocket," returned Frank. "It struck the locket, and that saved me; but the shock robbed me of strength—it must have robbed me of consciousness for a moment."

"It would have been just as well for you if the locket had not stopped the bullet," declared Gage, fiercely.

"By that I presume you mean that you intend to murder me anyway?"

"I have sworn that one of us shall never leave this swamp alive."

"Go ahead, Gage," came coolly from the lips of the captive. "Luck seems to have turned your way. Make the most of it while you have an opportunity."

"We can't spend time in gabbing here," came nervously from Bowsprit. "Let's get away immediately."

"Yes," put in Black Tom; "fo' de Lawd's sake, le's get away before dat light shine some mo'!"

"That's right," said the old tar. "Some things happen in this swamp that no human being can account for."

Gage was ready enough to get away, and they were soon pulling onward again, with Frank Merriwell, bound and helpless, in the bottom of the smaller boat.

For nearly an hour they rowed, and then they succeeded in finding some dry, solid land where they could camp beneath the tall, black trees.

They were so overcome with alarm that they did not venture to build a fire, for all that Gage was shivering in his wet clothes.

Leslie was still puzzling over Frank Merriwell's astonishing appearance, and he tried to question Frank concerning it, but he could obtain but little satisfaction from the boy he hated.

The night passed, and morning came.

Away to the west stretched the Everglades, while to the north and the east lay the dismal cypress swamps.

The party seemed quite alone in the heart of the desolate region.

Leslie started out to explore the strip of elevated land upon which they had passed the night, and he found it stretched back into the woods, where lay great stagnant pools of water and where grew all kinds of strange plants and vines.

Gage had been from the camp about thirty minutes when he came running back, his face pale, and a fierce look in his eyes.

"I have heard of it!" he kept muttering. "I have heard of it! I have heard of it!"

"Avast there!" cried Bowsprit, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "What are you muttering over? What is it you have heard about, my hearty?"

"The serpent vine," answered Gage, wildly.

"What is the serpent vine?"

"You shall see. I did not believe there was such a thing, but it tangled my feet, it tried to twine about my legs, and I saw the little red flowers opening and shutting like the lips of devils."

"Fo' de Lawd's sake! de boss hab gone stark, starin' mad!" cried Black Tom, staring at Leslie with bulging eyes.

"Not much!" shouted Leslie, hoarsely. "But I have thought of a way to dispose of Frank Merriwell. I will feed him to the serpent vine! Ah, that will be revenge!"

Frank had listened to all this, and he noted that Gage actually seemed like a maniac.

Captain Bellwood, securely bound, was near Frank, to whom he now spoke:

"God pity you, my lad! He was bad enough before, but he seems to have gone mad. He will murder you!"

"Well, if that's to be the end of me, I'll have to take my medicine," came grimly from the lips of the undaunted boy captive.

"My child?" entreated the captain, anxiously. "What became of her? Can you tell me? Where is she now?"

"She is safe, I believe. She is with friends of mine, and they will fight for her as long as they are able to draw a breath."

"Thank Heaven! Now I care not if these wretches murder me!"

"I scarcely think they will murder you, captain. They have nothing in particular against you; but Gage hates me most bitterly."

"That's right!" snarled Leslie, who had overheard Frank's last words. "I do hate you, and my hatred seems to have increased tenfold since last night. I have been thinking—thinking how you have baffled me at every turn whenever we have come together. I have decided that you are my evil genius, and that I shall never have any luck as long as you live. I shall keep my oath. One of us will not leave this swamp alive, and you will be that one!"

"Go ahead with the funeral," said Frank, stoutly. "If you have made up your mind to murder me, I can't help myself; but one thing is sure—you'll not hear me beg."

"Wait till you know what your fate is to be. Boys, set his feet free, and then follow me, with him between you."

The cords which held Frank's feet were released, and he was lifted to a standing position. Then he was marched along after Gage, who led the way.

"Good-by," Frank called back.

Into the woods he was marched, and finally Gage came to a halt, motioning for the others to stop.

"Look!" he cried, pointing; "there is the serpent vine!"

On the ground before them, lay a mass of greenish vines, blossoming over with a dark red flower. Harmless enough they looked, but, as Gage drew a little nearer, they suddenly seemed to come to life, and they began reaching toward his feet, twisting, squirming, undulating like a mass of serpents.

"There!" shouted Leslie—"there is the vine that feeds on flesh and blood! See—see how it reached for my feet! It longs to grasp me, to draw me into its folds, to twine about my body, my neck, to strangle me!"

The sailors shuddered and drew back, while Frank Merriwell's face was very pale.

"It did fasten upon me," Gage continued. "If I had not been ready and quick with my knife, it would have drawn me into its deadly embrace. I managed to cut myself free and escape."

Then he turned to Frank, and the dancing light in his eyes was not a light of sanity.

"Merriwell," he said, "the serpent vine will end your life, and you'll never bother me any more!"

He leaped forward and clutched the helpless captive, screaming:

"Thus I keep my promise!"

And he flung Frank headlong into the clutch of the writhing vine!



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE SERPENT VINE.

With his hands bound behind his back, unable to help himself, Frank reeled forward into the embrace of the deadly vine, each branch of which was twisting, curling, squirming like the arms of an octopus.

He nearly plunged forward upon his face, but managed to recover and keep on his feet.

He felt the vine whip about his legs and fasten there tenaciously, felt it twist and twine and crawl like a mass of serpents, and he knew he was in the grasp of the frightful plant which till that hour he had ever believed a creation of some romancer's feverish fancy.

Frank did not cry out. A great horror seemed to come upon him and benumb his body and his senses.

He could feel the horrid vines climbing and coiling about him, and he was helpless to struggle and tear them away. He knew they were mounting to his neck, where they would curl about his throat and choke the breath of life from his body.

It was a fearful fate—a terrible death. And there seemed no possible way of escaping.

Higher and higher climbed the vine, swaying and squirming, the blood-red flowers opening and closing like lips of a vampire that thirsted for his blood.

A look of horror was frozen on Frank's face. His eyes bulged from his head, and his lips were drawn back from his teeth. He did not cry out, he did not seem to breathe, but he appeared to be turned to stone in the grasp of the deadly plant.

It was a dreadful sight, and the two sailors, rough and wicked men though they were, were overcome by the spectacle. Shuddering and gasping, they turned away.

For the first time, Gage seemed to fully realize what he had done. He covered his eyes with his hand and staggered backward, uttering a low, groaning sound.

Merriwell's staring eyes seemed fastened straight upon him with that fearful stare, and the thought flashed through the mind of the wretched boy that he should never forget those eyes.

"They will haunt me as long as I live!" he panted. "Why did I do it? Why did I do it?"

Already he was seized by the pangs of remorse.

Once more he looked at Frank, and once more those staring eyes turned his blood to ice water.

Then, uttering shriek after shriek, Gage turned and fled through the swamp, plunging through marshy places and jungles, falling, scrambling up, leaping, staggering, gasping for breath, feeling those staring eyes at his back, feeling that they would pursue him to his doom.

Scarcely less agitated and overcome, Bowsprit and the negro followed, and Frank Merriwell was abandoned to his fate.

Frank longed for the use of his hands to tear away those fiendish vines. It was a horrible thing to stand and let them creep up, up, up, till they encircled his throat and strangled him to death.

Through his mind flashed a picture of himself as he would stand there with the vines drawing tighter and tighter about his throat and his face growing blacker and blacker, his tongue hanging out, his eyes starting from their sockets.

He came near shrieking for help, but the thought that the cry must reach the ears of Leslie Gage kept it back, enabled him to choke it down.

He had declared that Gage should not hear him beg for mercy or aid. Not even the serpent vine and all its horrors could make him forget that vow.

The little red flowers were getting nearer and nearer to his face, and they were fluttering with eagerness. He felt a sucking, drawing, stinging sensation on one of his wrists, and he believed one of those fiendish vampire mouths had fastened there.

He swayed his body, he tried to move his feet, but he seemed rooted to the ground. He did not have the strength to drag himself from that fatal spot and from the grasp of the vine.

It seemed that hours passed. His senses were in a maze, and the whole world was reeling and romping around him. The trees became a band of giant demons, winking, blinking, grinning at him, flourishing their arms in the air, and dancing gleefully on every side to the sound of wild music that came from far away in the sky.

Then a smaller demon darted out from amid the trees, rushed at him, clutched him, slashed, slashed, slashed on every side of him, dragged at his collar, and panted in his ear:

"White boy fight—try to git away! His hands are free."

Was it a dream—was it an hallucination? No! his hands were free! He tore at the clinging vines, he fought with all his remaining strength, he struggled to get away from those clinging things.

All the while that other figure was slashing and cutting with something bright, while the vine writhed and hissed like serpents in agony.

How it was accomplished Frank could never tell, but he felt himself dragged free of the serpent vine, dragged beyond its deadly touch, and he knew it was no dream that he was free!

A black mist hung before his eyes, but he looked through it and faintly murmured:

"Socato, you have saved me!"

"Yes, white boy," replied the voice of the Seminole, "I found you just in time. A few moments more and you be a dead one."

"That is true, Socato—that is true! I owe you my very life! I can never pay you for what you have done!"

In truth the Indian had appeared barely in time to rescue Frank from the vine, and it had been a desperate and exhausting battle. In another minute the vine would have accomplished its work.

"I hear white boy cry out, and I see him run from this way," explained the Seminole. "He look scared very much. Sailor men follow, and then I come to see what scare them so. I find you."

"It was Providence, Socato. You knew how to fight the vine—how to cut it with your knife, and so you saved me."

"We must git 'way from here soon as can," declared the Indian. "Bad white men may not come back, and they may come back. They may want to see what has happen to white boy."

Frank knew this was true, but for some time he was not able to get upon his feet and walk. At length the Indian assisted him, and, leaning on Socato's shoulder, he made his way along.

Avoiding the place where the sailors were camped, the Seminole proceeded directly to the spot where his canoe was hidden. Frank got in, and Socato took the paddle, sending the light craft skimming over the water.

Straight to the strange hut where Frank and his companions had stopped the previous night they made their way.

The sun was shining into the heart of the great Dismal Swamp, and Elsie Bellwood was at the door to greet Frank Merriwell.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

RIGHT OR WRONG.

Elsie held out both hands, and there was a welcome light in her eyes. It seemed to Frank that she was far prettier than when he had last seen her in Fardale.

"Frank, I am so glad to see you!"

He caught her hands and held them, looking into her eyes. The color came into her cheeks, and then she noted his rumpled appearance, saw that he was very pale, and cried:

"What is it, Frank? You are hurt? You are so pale!"

Socato grunted in a knowing way, but said nothing.

"It is nothing, Miss Bellwood," assured the boy. "I have been through a little adventure, that's all. I am not harmed."

He felt her fingers trembling in his clasp, and an electric thrill ran over him. He remembered that at their last parting she had said it were far better they should never meet again; but fate had thrown them together, and now—what?

He longed to draw her to him, to kiss her, to tell her how happy he was at finding her, but he restrained the impulse.

Then the voice of Barney Mulloy called from within the hut:

"Phwat ye goin' to do me b'y—shtand out there th' rist av th' doay? Whoy don't yez come in, Oi dunno?"

"Come in, Frank—come in," cried Professor Scotch. "We have been worried to death over you. Thought you were lost in the Everglades, or had fallen into the hands of the enemy."

"Your second thought was correct," smiled Frank, as he entered the hut, with Elsie at his side.

"Phwat's thot?" shouted the Irish boy, in astonishment. "Ye don't mane to say thim spalpanes caught yez?"

"That's what they did, and they came near cooking me, too."

Frank then related the adventures that had befallen him since he started out on his own hook to give Leslie Gage a surprise. He told how Gage had made love to him in the boat, and Barney shrieked with laughter. Then he related what followed, and how his life had been saved by the locket he carried, and the professor groaned with dismay. Following this, he related his capture by Gage and how the young desperado flung him, with his hands bound, into the clutch of the serpent vine.

The narrative first amused and then thrilled his listeners. Finally they were horrified and appalled by the peril through which he had passed.

"It's Satan's own scum thot Gage is!" grated Barney, fiercely. "Iver let me get a crack at th' loike av him and see phwat will happen to th' whilp!"

"I hate and despise him!" declared Elsie. "He is a monster!"

Then Frank explained how he had been saved by Socato, and the Seminole found himself the hero of the hour.

"Soc, ould b'y," cried Barney, "thot wur th' bist job ye iver did, an' Oi'm proud av yez! Ye'll niver lose anything by thot thrick, ayther."

"Not much!" roared the little professor, wiping his eyes. "Man, give me your hand!"

Then the Seminole had his hand shaken in a manner and with a heartiness that astonished him greatly.

"That was nothing," he declared, "Socato hates the snake vine—fight it any time. Don't make so much row."

When all had been told and the party had recovered from the excitement into which they had been thrown, Barney announced that breakfast was waiting.

Elsie, for all of her happiness at meeting Frank, was so troubled about her father that she could eat very little.

Socato ate hastily, and then announced that he would go out and see what he could do about rescuing Captain Bellwood.

Barney wished to go with the Seminole, but Socato declared that he could do much better alone, and hurriedly departed.

Then Frank did his best to cheer Elsie, telling her that everything was sure to come out all right, as the Indian could be trusted to outwit the desperadoes and rescue the captain.

Seeing Frank and Elsie much together, Barney drew the professor aside, and whispered:

"It's a bit av a walk we'd better take in th' open air, Oi think."

"But I don't need a walk," protested the little man.

"Yis ye do, profissor," declared the Irish boy, soberly. "A man av your studious habits nivver takes ixercoise enough."

"But I do not care to expose myself outdoors."

"Phwat's th' matther wid out dures, Oi dunno?"

"It's dangerous."

"How?"

"There's danger that Gage and his gang will appear."

"Phwat av they do? We can get back here aheed av thim, fer we won't go fur enough to be cut off."

"Then the exercise will not be beneficial, and I will remain here."

"Profissor, yer head is a bit thick. Can't ye take a hint, ur is it a kick ye nade, Oi dunno?"

"Young man, be careful what kind of language you use to me!"

"Oi'm spakin' United States, profissor; no Irishmon wauld iver spake English av he could hilp it."

"But such talk of thick heads and kicks—to me, sir, to me!"

"Well, Oi don't want to give yez a kick, but ye nade it. Ye can't see thot it's alone a bit Frank an' th' litthle girrul would loike to be."

"Why should they wish to be alone?"

"Oh, soay! did ye iver think ye'd loike to be alone wid a pretty swate girrul, profissor? Come on, now, before Oi pick ye up an' lug ye out."

So Barney finally induced the professor to leave the hut, but the little man remained close at hand, ready to bolt in through the wide open door the instant there was the least sign of danger.

Left to themselves, Frank and Elsie chatted, talking over many things of mutual interest. They sat very near together, and more and more Frank felt the magnetism of the girl's winning ways and tender eyes. He drew nearer and nearer, and, finally, although neither knew how it happened, their hands met, their fingers interlocked, and then he was saying swiftly, earnestly:

"Elsie, you cannot know how often I have thought of you since you left me at Fardale. There was something wrong about that parting, Elsie, for you refused to let me know where you were going, refused to write to me, expressed a wish that we might never meet again."

She caught her breath. Her head was bowed, and her cheeks were very pale.

"All the while," she softly said, "away down in my heart was a hope I could not kill—a hope that we might meet again some day, Frank."

"And we have met!" he cried, exultantly. "When we have to part again, Elsie, you will not leave me as you did before? You will let me write to you? You will write to me occasionally?"

"Would it be right?"

She was looking straight into his eyes now, her face was near his, and the temptation was too great for his impulsive nature to resist. In a moment his arm was about her neck, and he had kissed her.

"Right!" he cried. "I do not know! Oh, we cannot always be right!"

She quickly released herself from his hold and sprang to her feet, the warm blood flushing her cheeks.

"We cannot always be right," she admitted; "but we should be right when we can. Frank, Inza Burrage befriended me. She thinks more of you than any one else in the wide world. Do not forget Inza!"

He lifted his hand to a round hole in his coat where a bullet from Leslie Gage's revolver had cut through, and beneath it he felt the ruined and shattered locket that held Inza's picture.

"I will not forget!" he said, his voice far from steady.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

FRANK'S MERCY.

The forenoon passed, and the afternoon was well advanced, but still Socato the Seminole did not return.

But late in the afternoon a boat and a number of canoes appeared. In the boat was Leslie Gage and the two sailors, Black Tom and Bowsprit. The canoes were filled with Indians.

"Great shnakes av Ireland!" cried Barney Mulloy, amazed. "Phwat th' dickens does this mane, Oi dunno?"

"It means trouble," said Frank, quickly. "Have the rifles ready, and be prepared for hot work."

"Indians!" gurgled Professor Scotch. "We're all dead and scalped!"

"Those must be Seminoles," said Frank. "It is scarcely likely that they are very dangerous."

The boat containing the three white persons ran boldly up to the shore, and Leslie Gage landed. Advancing a short distance toward the hut, the door of which was securely closed, he cried:

"Hello in there!"

"Talk with him, Barney," Frank swiftly directed. "The fellow does not know I am alive, and I do not wish him to know it just now."

So Barney returned:

"Hello, yersilf, an' see how ye loike it."

"You people are in a bad trap," declared Gage, with a threatening air. "Look," and he motioned toward the water, where the canoes containing the Indians were lying, "these are my backers. There are twenty of them, and I have but to say the word to have them attack this hut and tear it to the ground."

"Well, Oi dunno about thot," coolly retorted the Irish lad. "We moight have something to say in thot case. It's arrumed we are, an' we know how to use our goons, me foine birrud."

"If you were to fire a shot at one of these Indians it would mean the death of you all."

"Is thot so? Well, we are arrumed with Winchester repeaters, an' it moight make the death av thim all av we began shootin'."

"They do not look very dangerous," said Frank. "I'll wager something Gage has hired the fellows to come here and make a show in order to scare us into submitting. The chances are the Indians will not fight at all."

"You're not fools," said Gage, "and you will not do anything that means the same as signing your death warrant. If you will come to reason, we'll have no trouble. We want that girl, Miss Bellwood, and we will have her. If you do not——"

He stopped suddenly, for there was a great shouting from the Indians.

"The phantom! the phantom!" they cried, in tones that betokened the greatest terror.

Then they took to flight, paddling as if their very lives depended on it.

At the same time, the mysterious white canoe, still apparently without an occupant, was seen coming swiftly toward them, gliding lightly over the water in a most unaccountable manner.

Exclamations of astonishment broke from the two sailors, and Leslie Gage stared at the singular craft in profound astonishment.

When the attention of the crowd was on the remarkable sight, Frank unfastened the door and before Gage was aware of it, our hero was right upon him.

"You are my prisoner, Gage!" Frank shouted, pointing a revolver at the fellow. "Surrender!"

Gage saw the boy he believed he had destroyed, uttered a wild shriek, threw up his hands, and fell in a senseless heap to the ground.

Frank swiftly lifted the fellow, and then ran into the cabin with him, placing him on the couch.

The two sailors did not pursue. In fact, they seemed almost as badly scared as the Indians, and they got away in their boat, rowing as if for their very lives, soon passing from sight.

"Well, begobs!" exclaimed Barney Mulloy; "this is phwat Oi call a ragion av wonders. It's ivery doay and almost ivery hour something happens to astonish ye."

Gage was made secure, so he could not get away when he recovered from the swoon into which he seemed to have fallen.

A short time after, Socato was seen returning, but he was alone in his canoe.

"He has not found my father—my poor father!" cried Elsie, in distress. "Those terrible men will kill my father!"

"Wait!" advised Frank. "Let's hear what he has to say. I have great confidence in Socato."

"The bad white men leave their captive alone," said Socato, "and I should have set him free, but the great white phantom came, and then the white captive disappeared."

"What's that?" cried Frank, in astonishment. "Make it plain, Socato. Whom do you mean by the great white phantom?"

"The one who owns the canoe that goes alone—the one who built this house and lives here sometimes. Every one fears him. My people say he is a phantom, for he can appear and disappear as he likes, and he commands the powers of light and darkness. Socato knew that the bad white man had hired a hunting party of my people to come here and appear before the house to frighten you, but he knew you would not be frightened, and the bad men could not get my people to aid them in a fight. Socato also knew that the great white phantom sent his canoe to scare my people away, but he does not know what the great white phantom has done with the man who was a prisoner."

"Well, it is possible the great white phantom will explain a few things we do not understand," said Frank, "for here he comes in his canoe."

"And father—my father is with him in the canoe!" screamed Elsie Bellwood, in delight.

It was true. The white canoe was approaching, still gliding noiselessly over the water, without any apparent power of propulsion, and in it were seated two men. One had a long white beard and a profusion of white hair. He was dressed entirely in white, and sat in the stern of the canoe. The other was Captain Justin Bellwood, quite unharmed, and looking very much at his ease.

The little party flocked to the shore to greet the captain, who waved his hand and called reassuringly to Elsie. As soon as the canoe touched and came to a rest, he stepped out and clasped his daughter in his arms, saying, fervently:

"Heaven be thanked! we have come through many dangers, and we are free at last! Neither of us has been harmed, and we will soon be out of this fearful swamp."

The man with the white hair and beard stepped ashore and stood regarding the girl intently, paying no heed to the others. Captain Bellwood turned to him, saying:

"William, this is my daughter, of whom I told you. Elsie, this is your Uncle William, who disappeared many years ago, and has never been heard from since till he set me free to-day, after I was abandoned by those wretches who dragged us here."

"My uncle?" cried the girl, wonderingly. "How can that be? You said Uncle William was dead."

"And so I believed, but he still lives. Professor Scotch, I think we had the pleasure of meeting in Fardale. Permit me to introduce you to William Bellwood, one of the most celebrated electricians living to-day."

As he said this, Captain Bellwood made a swift motion which his brother did not see. He touched his forehead, and the signal signified that William Bellwood was not right in his mind. This the professor saw was true when he shook hands with the man, for there was the light of madness in the eyes of the hermit.

"My brother," continued Captain Bellwood, "has explained that he came here to these wilds to continue his study of electricity alone and undisturbed. He took means to keep other people from bothering him. This canoe, which contains a lower compartment and a hidden propeller, driven by electricity, was his invention. He has arrangements whereby he can use a powerful search-light at night, and——"

"That search-light came near being the death of me," said Frank. "He turned it on me last night just in time to show me to my enemy."

"He has many other contrivances," Captain Bellwood went on. "He has explained that, by means of electricity, he can make his canoe or himself glow with a white light in the darkest night."

"Begorra! we've seen him glow!" shouted Barney.

"And he also states that he has wires connecting various batteries in yonder hut, so that he can frighten away superstitious hunters who otherwise might take possession of the hut and give him trouble."

"Whoop!" shouted Barney. "Thot ixplains th' foire-allarum an' th' power thot throwed me inther th' middle av th' flure! Oi nivver hearrud th' bate av it!"

"It is wonderful, wonderful!" gasped Professor Scotch.

At this moment, a series of wild shrieks came from the hut, startling them all.

"It is Gage," said Frank. "He seems to be badly frightened."

They hurried toward the hut, Frank leading. Gage was still on the couch, and he shrieked still louder when he saw Frank; an expression of the greatest terror coming to his face.

"Take him away! Take him away!" screamed the wretched fellow. "He is dead! I killed him! Don't let him touch me!"

Then he began to rave incoherently, sometimes frothing at the mouth.

"He is mad!" cried Professor Scotch.

"It is retribution!" came solemnly from Frank's lips.

Two days later a party of eight persons emerged from the wilds of the great Dismal Swamp and reached a small settlement. They were Frank Merriwell, Barney Mulloy, Professor Scotch, Leslie Gage, Captain Bellwood and his brother William, Socato the Seminole, and last, but far from least, Elsie Bellwood.

"What shall be done with Gage?" asked Professor Scotch.

"He shall be given shelter and medical treatment," declared Frank; "and I will see that all the bills are paid."

"Thot's the only thing Oi have against ye, me b'y. Ye wur always letting up on yer inemies at Fardale, an' ye shtill kape on doin' av it."

"If I continue to do so, I shall have nothing to trouble my conscience."

Frank did take care of Gage and see that he was given the best medical aid that money could procure, and, as a result, the fellow was saved from a madhouse, for he finally recovered. He seemed to appreciate the mercy shown him by his enemy, for he wrote a letter to Frank that was filled with entreaties for forgiveness and promised to try to lead a different life in the future.

"That," said Frank, "is my reward for being merciful to an enemy."

If Jack Jaggers did not perish in the Everglades, he disappeared. Ben Bowsprit and Black Tom also vanished, and it is possible that they left their bones in the great Dismal Swamp.

William Bellwood, so long a hermit in the wilds of Florida, seemed glad to leave that region.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

IN THE MOUNTAINS AGAIN.

Leaving their friends in Florida, Frank, Barney and the professor next moved northward toward Tennessee, Frank wishing to see some of the battlegrounds of the Civil War.

The boys planned a brief tour afoot and were soon on their way among the Great Smoky Mountains.

Professor Scotch had no heart for a "tour afoot" through the mountains, and so he had stopped at Knoxville, where the boys were to join him again in two or three weeks, by the end of which period he was quite sure they would have enough of tramping.

Frank and Barney were making the journey from Gibson's Gap to Cranston's Cove, which was said to be a distance of twelve miles, but they were willing to admit that those mountain miles were most disgustingly long.

They had paused to rest, midway in the afternoon, where the road curved around a spur of the mountain. Below them opened a vista of valleys and "coves," hemmed in by wild, turbulent-appearing masses of mountains, some of which were barren and bleak, seamed with black chasms, above which threateningly hung grimly beetling crags, and some of which were robed in dense wildernesses of pine, veiling their faces, keeping them thus forever a changeless mystery.

From their eyrie position it seemed that they could toss a pebble into Lost Creek, which wound through the valley below, meandered for miles amid the ranges, tunneling an unknown channel beneath the rock-ribbed mountains, and came out again—where?

Both boys had been silent and awe-stricken, gazing wonderingly on the impressive scene and thinking of their adventures in New Orleans and in Florida, when a faint cry seemed to float upward from the depths of the valley.

"Help!"

They listened, and some moments passed in silence, save for the peeping cry of a bird in a thicket near at hand.

"Begorra! Oi belave it wur imagination, Frankie," said the Irish lad, at last.

"I do not think so," declared Frank, with a shake of his head. "It was a human voice, and if we were to shout it might be—— There it is again!"

There could be no doubt this time, for they both heard the cry distinctly.

"It comes from below," said Frank, quickly.

"Roight, me lad," nodded Barney. "Some wan is in difficulty down there, and' it's mesilf thot don't moind givin' thim a lift."

Getting a firm hold on a scrub bush, Frank leaned out over the verge and looked down into the valley.

"I can see her!" he cried. "Look, Barney—look down there amid those rocks just below the little waterfall."

"Oi see, Frankie."

"See the flutter of a dress?"

"Oi do."

"She is waving something at us."

"Sure, me b'y."

"She has seen us, and is signaling for us to come down."

"And we'll go."

"Instanter, as they say out West."

The boys were soon hurrying down the mountain road, a bend of which quickly carried them beyond view of the person near the waterfall.

It was nearly an hour later when Frank and Barney approached the little waterfall, having left the road and followed the course of the stream.

"Is she there, Frankie?" anxiously asked Barney, who was behind.

"Can't tell yet," was the reply. "Will be able to see in a minute, and then—— She is there, sure as fate!"

In another moment they came out in full view of a girl of eighteen or nineteen, who was standing facing the waterfall, her back toward a great rock, a home-made fishing pole at her feet.

The girl was dressed in homespun, the skirt being short and reaching but a little below the knees, and a calico sunbonnet was thrust half off her head.

Frank paused, with a low exclamation of admiration, for the girl made a most strikingly beautiful picture, and Frank had an eye for beauty.

Nearly all the mountain girls the boys had seen were stolid and flat-appearing, some were tall and lank, but this girl possessed a figure that seemed perfect in every detail.

Her hair was bright auburn, brilliant and rich in tint, the shade that is highly esteemed in civilization, but is considered a defect by the mountain folk. Frank thought it the most beautiful hair he had ever seen.

Her eyes were brown and luminous, and the color of health showed through the tan upon her cheeks. Her parted lips showed white, even teeth, and the mouth was most delicately shaped.

"Hivvins!" gasped Barney, at Frank's shoulder. "Phwat have we struck, Oi dunno?"

Then the girl cried, her voice full of impatience:

"You-uns has shorely been long enough in gittin' har!"

Frank staggered a bit, for he had scarcely expected to hear the uncouth mountain dialect from such lips as those but he quickly recovered, lifted his hat with the greatest gallantry, and said:

"I assure you, miss, that we came as swiftly as we could."

"Ye're strangers. Ef you-uns had been maounting boys, you'd been har in less'n half ther time."

"I presume that is true; but, you see, we did not know the shortest way, and we were not sure you wanted us."

"Wal, what did you 'low I whooped at ye fur ef I didn't want ye? I nighly split my throat a-hollerin' at ye before ye h'ard me at all."

Frank was growing more and more dismayed, for he had never before met a strange girl who was quite like this, and he knew not what to say.

"Now that we have arrived," he bowed, "we shall be happy to be of any possible service to you."

"Dunno ez I want ye now," she returned, with a toss of her head.

"Howly shmoke!" gurgled Barney, at Frank's ear. "It's a doaisy she is, me b'y!"

Frank resolved to take another tack, and so he advanced, saying boldly and resolutely:

"Now that you have called us down here, I don't see how you are going to get rid of us. You want something of us, and we'll not leave you till we find out what it is."

The girl did not appear in the least alarmed. Instead of that, she laughed, and that laugh was like the ripple of falling water.

"Wal, now you're talkin'!" she cried, with something like a flash of admiration. "Mebbe you-uns has got some backbone arter all. I like backbone."

"I have not looked at mine for so long that I am not sure what condition it is in, but I know I have one."

"An' muscle?"

"A little."

"Then move this rock har that hez caught my foot an' holds it. That's what I wanted o' you-uns."

She lifted her skirt a bit, and, for the first time, they saw that her ankle had been caught between two large rocks, where she was held fast.

"Kinder slomped in thar when I war fishin'," she explained, "an' ther big rock dropped over thar an' cotched me fast when I tried ter pull out. That war nigh two hour ago, 'cordin' ter ther sun."

"And you have been standing like that ever since?" cried Frank, in dismay. "Lively, Barney—get hold here! Great Scott! we must have her out of that in a hurry!"

"Thot's phwat we will, ur we'll turrun th' ould mountain over!" shouted the Irish lad, as he flew to the aid of his friend.

The girl looked surprised and pleased, and then she said:

"You-uns ain't goin' ter move that rock so easy, fer it's hefty."

"But your ankle—it must have crushed your ankle."

"I 'low not. Ye see it couldn't pinch harder ef it tried, fer them rocks ain't built so they kin git nigher together; but it's jest made a reg'ler trap so I can't pull my foot out."

It was no easy thing for the boys to get hold of the rock in a way to exert their strength, but they finally succeeded, and then Frank gave the word, and they strained to move it. It started reluctantly, as if loath to give up its fair captive, but they moved it more and more, and she was able to draw her foot out. Then, when she was free, they let go, and the rock fell back with a grating crash against the other.

"You-uns have done purty fair fer boys," said the girl, with a saucy twinkle in her brown eyes. "S'pose I'll have ter thank ye, fer I mought a stood har consider'bul longer ef 'tadn't bin fer ye. Who be ye, anyhow? an' whar be ye goin'?"

Frank introduced himself, and then presented Barney, after which he explained how they happened to be in the Great Smoky Mountains.

She watched him closely as he spoke, noting every expression, as if a sudden suspicion had come upon her, and she was trying to settle a doubt in her mind.

When Frank had finished, the girl said:

"Never heard o' two boys from ther big cities 'way off yander comin' har ter tromp through ther maountings jest fer ther fun o' seein' ther scenery an' ther folks. I s'pose we're kinder curi's 'pearin' critters ter city folks, an' you-uns may be har ter cotch one o' us an' put us in a cage fer exhibition."

She uttered the words in a way that brought a flush to Frank's cheeks, and he hastened to protest, halting in confusion when he tried to speak her name, which he did not know as yet.

A ripple of sunshine seemed to break over her face, and she laughed outright, swiftly saying:

"Don't you-uns mind me. I'm p'izen rough, but I don't mean half I say. I kin see you is honest an' squar, though somebody else mought think by yer way that ye warn't. My name's Kate Kenyon, an' I live down toward ther cove. I don't feel like fishin' arter this, an' ef you-uns is goin' that way, I'll go 'long with ye."

She picked up her pole, hooked up the line, and prepared to accompany them.

They were pleased to have her as a companion. Indeed, Frank was more than pleased, for he saw in this girl a singular character. Illiterate though she seemed, she was pretty, vivacious, and so bright that it was plain education and refinement would make her most fascinating and brilliant.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

FRANK AND KATE.

The boys did not get to Cranston's Cove that night, for Kate Kenyon invited them to stop and take supper at her home, and they did so.

Kate's home was much like the rough cabins of other mountain folks, except that flowering vines had been trained to run up the sides and over the door, while two large bushes were loaded with roses in front of the house.

Kate's mother was in the doorway as they approached. She was a tall, angular woman, with a stolid, expressionless face.

"Har, mammy, is some fellers I brung ter see ye," said this girl. "This un is Mr. Merriwell, an' that un is Mr. Mulloy."

The boys lifted their hats, and bowed to the woman as if she were a society queen. She nodded and stared.

"What be you-uns doin' 'round these parts?" she asked, pointedly.

Frank explained, seeing a look of suspicion and distrust deepening in her face as he spoke.

"Huah!" she grunted, when he had finished. "An' what do you-uns want o' me?"

"Your daughter invited us to call and take supper," said Frank, coolly.

"I ain't uster cookin' flip-flaps fer city chaps, an' I don't b'lieve you kin eat the kind o' fodder we-uns is uster."

The boys hastened to assure her that they would be delighted to eat the plainest of food, and their eagerness brought a merry laugh from the lips of the girl.

"You-uns is consid'ble amusin'," she said. "You is powerful perlite. I asked 'em to come, mammy. It's no more'n fair pay fer what they done fer me."

Then she explained how she had been caught and held by the rocks, and how the boys had seen her from the mountain road and come to her rescue.

The mother's face did not soften a bit as she listened, but, when Kate had finished, she said:

"They're yore comp'ny. Ask 'em in."

So the boys were asked into the cabin, and Kate herself prepared supper.

It was a plain meal, but Frank noticed that everything looked neat and clean about the house, and both lads relished the coarse food. Indeed, Barney afterward declared that the corn bread was better than the finest cake he had ever tasted.

Frank was particularly happy at the table, and the merry stories he told kept Kate laughing, and, once or twice, brought a grim smile to the face of the woman.

After supper they went out in front of the cabin, where they could look up at the wild mass of mountains, the peaks of which were illumined by the rays of the setting sun.

Mrs. Kenyon filled and lighted a cob pipe. She sat and puffed away, staring straight ahead in a blank manner.

Just how it happened Frank himself could not have told, but Barney fell to talking to the woman in his whimsical way, while Frank and Kate wandered away a short distance, and sat on some stones which had been arranged as a bench in a little nook near Lost Creek. From this position they could hear Barney's rich brogue and jolly laugh as he recounted some amusing yarn, and, when the wind was right, a smell of the black pipe would be wafted to them.

"Do you know," said Frank, "this spot is so wild and picturesque that it fascinates me. I should like to stop here two or three days and rest."

"Better not," said the girl, shortly.

"Why?" asked the boy, in surprise.

"Wal, it mought not be healthy."

"What do you mean?"

"You might be tooken fer revenue."

"For revenue? I do not understand."

"I wonder ef you air so ignerent, or be you jest makin' it?"

"Honestly and truly, I do not understand you."

"Wal, I kinder 'low you-uns is all right, but thar's others might not think so. S'pose you know what moonshine is?"

"Yes; it is illicitly distilled whiskey."

She nodded.

"That's right. Wal, ther revenues say thar's moonshine made round these parts. They come round ev'ry little while to spy an' cotch ther folks that makes it."

"By revenues you mean the officers of the government?"

"Wal, they may be officers, but they're a difrrunt kind than Jock Hawkins."

"Who is Jock Hawkins?"

"He's ther sheriff down to ther cove. Jock Hawkins knows better'n to come snoopin' 'round, an' he's down on revenues ther same as ther rest o' us is."

"Then you do not like the revenue officers?"

"Like 'em!" cried the girl, starting up, her eyes seeming to blaze in the dusky twilight. "I hate 'em wuss'n pizen! An' I've got good cause fer hatin' 'em."

The boy saw he had touched a tender spot, and he would have turned the conversation in another channel, but she was started, and she went on swiftly:

"What right has ther gover'ment to take away anybody's honest means o' earnin' a livin'? What right has ther gover'ment to send spies up har ter peek an' pry an' report on a man as is makin' a little moonshine ter sell that he may be able ter git bread an' drink fer his fam'ly? What right has ther gover'ment ter make outlaws an' crim'nals o' men as wouldn't steal a cent that didn't b'long ter them if they was starvin'?"

Frank knew well enough the feeling of most mountain folks toward the revenue officers, and he knew it was a useless task to attempt to show them where they were in the wrong.

Kate went on, passionately.

"Yes, I has good right to hate ther revenues, an' I do! Didn't they pester my pore old daddy fer makin' moonshine! Didn't they hunt him through ther maountings fer weeks, an' keep him hidin' like a dog! An' didn't they git him cornered at last in Bent Coin's old cabin, an' when he refused ter come out an' surrender, an' kep' 'em off with his gun, didn't they shoot him so he died three days arter in my arms! Hate 'em! Wal, I've got good reason ter hate 'em!"

Kate was wildly excited, although she held her voice down, as if she did not wish her mother to hear what she was saying. Frank was sitting so near that he felt her arm quivering against his.

"Hate 'em!" continued the girl. "I has more than that to hate 'em fer! Whar is my brother Rufe, ther best boy that ever drored a breath? Ther revenues come fer him, an' they got him. Thar war a trial, an' they proved ez he'd been consarned in makin' moonshine. He war convicted, an' he's servin' his time. Hate 'em! Wal, thar's nuthin' I hate wuss on this earth!"

"You have had hard luck," said Frank, by way of saying something. "It's lucky for us that we're not revenues."

"Yer right thar," she nodded. "I didn't know but ye war at first, but I changed my mind later."

"Why?"

"Wal, ye're young, an' you-uns both has honest faces. Revenues is sneaks. They show it in their faces."

"I don't suppose they have been able to check the making of moonshine—that is, not to any extent?"

She laughed harshly.

"Wal, I judge not! Did ye ever hear o' Muriel?"

"Who is he?"

"A moonshiner."

"What of him?"

"He makes more whiskey in a week than all ther others in this region afore him made in a month."

"He must be smarter than the others before him."

"Wal, he's not afeared o' ther revenues, an' he's a mystery to ther men ez works fer him right along."

"A mystery?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"None o' them has seen his face, an' they don't know Who he is. They ain't been able to find out."

"And they have tried?"

"Wal, Con Bean war shot through ther shoulder fer follerin' Muriel, an' Bink Mower got it in ther leg fer ther same trick."

"I rather admire this Muriel," laughed Frank. "He may be in unlawful business, but he seems to be a dandy."

"He keeps five stills runnin' all ther time, an' he has a way o' gittin' ther stuff out o' ther maountings an' disposin' of it. But I'm talkin' too much, as Wade would say."

"Who is Wade?"

"He's Wade Miller, a partic'lar friend o' our'n sence Rufe war tooken by ther revenues. Wade has been good to mammy an' me."

"I don't blame him. If I lived near, I might try to bother Wade somewhat."

She glanced at him swiftly. It was now duskish, but he was so near that he could see her eyes through the twilight.

"I dunno what you-uns means," she said, slowly, her voice falling. "Wade would be powerful bad to bother. He's ugly sometimes, an' he's jellus o' me."

"Then Wade is paying attention to you?"

"Wal, he's tryin' ter, but I don't jes' snuggle ter him ther way I might ef I liked him right. Thar's something about him, ez I don't edzac'ly like."

"That makes it rather one-sided, and makes me think all the more that I should try to bother him if I lived near. Do you know, Miss Kenyon, that you are an exceptionally pretty girl?"

"Go 'long! You can't stuff me! Why, I've got red hair!"

"Hair that would make you the envy of a society belle. It is the handsomest hair I ever saw."

"Now you're makin' fun o' me, an' I don't like that."

She drew away as if offended, and he leaned toward her, eager to convince her of his sincerity.

"Indeed, I am doing nothing of the sort," he protested. "The moment I saw you to-day I was struck by the beauty of your hair. But that is not the only beautiful feature about you, Miss Kenyon. Your mouth is a perfect Cupid's bow, and your teeth are like pearls, while you have a figure that is graceful and exquisite."

She caught her breath.

"Never nobody talked to me like that afore," she murmured. "Round har they jes' say, 'Kate, you'd be a rippin' good looker ef it warn't fer that red hair o' yourn.' An' they've said it so much that I've come to hate my hair wuss'n pizen."

"Your hair is your crowning beauty. It is magnificent!"

"Say!" she whispered, drawing toward him.

"What?"

"I kinder take to you."

Her hand found his, and they were sitting very near together.

"I took to you up by ther fall ter-day," she went on, in a low tone. "Now, don't you git skeered, fer I'm not goin' to be foolish, an' I know I'm not book-learned an' refined, same ez your city gals. We kin be friends, can't we?"

Frank had begun to regret his openly expressed admiration, but now he said:

"To be sure we can be friends, Miss Kenyon."

"Partic'ler friends?"

"I am sure I shall esteem your friendship very highly."

"Wall, partic'ler friends don't call each other miss an' mister. I'll agree ter call you Frank, ef you'll call me Kate."

Frank hesitated.

"I am going away to-morrow," he thought. "It won't do any harm."

"Is it a go?" she asked.

"It is a go," he answered.

"Frank!"

"Kate!"

A fierce exclamation close at hand, the cracking of a twig, a heavy step, and then a panther-like figure leaped out of the dusk, and flung itself upon Frank.



CHAPTER XL.

A JEALOUS LOVER.

The attack was so sudden and fierce that the boy was hurled to the ground before he could make a move to protect himself.

"You shall not have her!" hissed a voice in his ear.

A hand fastened on his throat, pinning him fast. The man's knee crushed into his stomach, depriving him of breath. The man's other hand snatched out something, and lifted it aloft.

A knife was poised above Frank's heart, and in another moment the blade would have been buried to the hilt in the lad's bosom.

Without uttering a sound, Kate Kenyon grasped the wrist of the murderous-minded man, gave it a wrench with all her strength, which was not slight, and forced him to drop the knife.

"You don't murder anybody, Wade Miller!" she panted.

"I'll choke ther life outen him!" snarled the fellow, as he tried to fasten both hands on Frank's throat.

By this time the boy had recovered from the surprise and shock, and he was ready to fight for his life.

Kate grasped the assailant by the collar, and, with astonishing strength, pulled him off the prostrate lad.

In the twinkling of an eye, Frank came to his feet, and he was ready for a new assault.

Snarling and growling like a mad dog, the man scrambled up and lunged toward the boy, trying to grasp him.

Frank was a skillful boxer, and now his skill came into play, for he dodged under the man's right arm, whirled like a cat, and struck the fellow behind the ear.

Spat! sounded the blow, sending the assailant staggering, and Frank followed it up by leaping after him and striking him again, the second blow having the force of the lad's strength and the weight of his body.

It seemed that the man was literally knocked "spinning," and he did not stop till he landed in the creek.

"Wal," exclaimed the girl, "I 'low you kin take keer o' yerself now!"

"I rather think so," came coolly from the boy. "He caught me foul, and I did not have a show at first."

"Look out fer his gun."

"I will. Who is he?"

"Wade Miller."

Frank whistled. It was a case of jealousy, and he had aroused the worst passions of the man who admired Kate Kenyon. Miller came scrambling and snorting from the water, and Barney Mulloy rushed toward the spot, crying:

"Pwhat's th' row, Frankie, me b'y? Do ye nade inny av me hilp?"

"I think not. So far, I am all right, thanks to Miss Kenyon."

"An' you kin fight!" breathed the mountain maid, in sincere admiration. "I didn't s'pose city chaps knowed how ter fight."

"Some do," laughed Frank, keeping his eyes on Miller.

"I'll have his life!" panted the man, springing toward Frank, and then halting suddenly, and throwing up his hand.

"Look out!" screamed the girl. "He's got a pistol!"

Frank knew this well enough, and he was expecting just such a move, so it happened that the words had scarcely left the girl's lips when the revolver was sent flying from Wade Miller's hand.

The boy had leaped forward, and, with one skillful kick, disarmed his foe by knocking the weapon out of his hand.

Miller seemed dazed for a moment, and then he started for Frank, once more grinding his teeth.

"Oh, let me take a hand in this!" cried Barney Mulloy, who was eager for a fight. "Me blud is gittin' shtagnant."

"Keep away!" ordered Frank. "I can look out for myself."

"I'll kill ye! I'll kill ye!" snarled the infuriated man.

"Well, you have tried that trick twice, but I do not see that you have succeeded to any great extent."

"I'll hammer yer life out o' yer carcass with my bare hands!"

"Possibly that will not be such a very easy trick to do."

The boy's coolness seemed to add to the fury of his assailant, and the man made another rush, which was easily avoided by Frank, who struck Miller a stinging blow.

"You'd better stop, Wade," advised the girl. "He-uns is too much fer you-uns, an' that's plain enough."

"Oh, I'll show ye—I'll show ye!"

There was no longer any reason in the man's head, and Frank saw that he must subdue the fellow some way. Miller was determined to grapple with the boy, and Frank felt that he would find the mountaineer had the strength of an ox, for which reason he must keep clear of those grasping hands.

For some moments Frank had all he could do to avoid Miller, who seemed to have grown stolid to the lad's blows. At last, Frank darted in, caught the man behind, lifted him over one hip, and dashed him headlong to the ground.

Miller lay still, stunned.

"Wal, that's the beatenest I ever saw!" cried Kate Kenyon, whose admiration for Frank now knew no bounds. "You-uns is jes' a terror!"

Barney laughed.

"Whoy, thot's fun fer Frankie," he declared.

Miller groaned, and sat up, lifting his hands to his head, and looking about him in a dazed way.

"What's happened ter me?" he asked, speaking thickly.

"Ye run ag'in' a fighter this time, Wade," said the girl. "He done ye, an' you-uns is ther bully o' these parts!"

"It was an accident," mumbled the man. "I couldn't see ther critter well, an' so he kinder got——"

"That won't go, Wade," half laughed the girl. "He done you fa'r an' squar', an' it's no us' ter squawk."

"An' ye're laffin' 'bout it, be ye, Kate? Wal, I ain't done with him."

The girl became serious instantly.

"Better let him erlone, Wade. You-uns has made fool enough o' yerself. Ye tried ter kill me, an'——"

"What I saw made me do it!" grated the man. "He war makin' love ter ye, Kate—an' you-uns liked it!"

"Wal, Wade Miller, what is that ter you-uns?" she haughtily demanded. "He has a right ter make love ter me ef he wants ter."

"Oh, yes, he has a right, but his throat'll be slit before long, mark what I say!"

"Ef anything o' that kind happens, Wade Miller, I'll know who done it, an' I swa'r I'll never rest till I prove it agin' ye."

"I don't keer, Kate," muttered the man, getting on his feet and standing there sulkily before them. "Ef I can't hev ye, I sw'ar no other critter shall!"

"Be keerful, Wade Miller! I've stood all I kin from you, an' from now on I don't stan' no more. Arter this you-uns an' me-uns ain't even friends."

He fell back a step, as if he had been struck a blow, and then he hoarsely returned:

"All right, Kate. But I'll stick ter my oath. I ain't ter be thrown aside so easy. As fer them city chaps, ther maountings ain't big enough ter hold them an' me. Wade Miller has some power, an' I wouldn't give a snap for their lives. The Black Caps don't take ter strangers much, an' they know them critters is hyar. I'm goin' now, but that don't need ter mean that I'll stay away fer long."

He turned, and, having picked up his revolver, strode away into the darkness, quickly disappearing.

Kate's trembling hand fell on Frank's arm, and she panted into his ear:

"You-uns must git out o' ther maountings quick as you kin, fer Wade Miller means what he says, an' he'll kill ye ef you stay hyar!"



CHAPTER XLI.

FACING DEATH.

Frank Merriwell's blood was aroused, and he did not feel like letting Wade Miller drive him like a hunted dog from the mountains.

"By this time I should think you would have confidence in my ability to take care of myself against this man Miller," he said, somewhat testily.

"Yo're ther best fighter I ever saw, but that won't 'mount ter anything agin' ther power Miller will set on yer. He's pop-ler, is Wade Miller, an' he'll have ther hull maountings ter back him."

"I shall not run for Miller and all his friends. Right is right, and I have as good right here as he."

"Hang me!" cried Kate, admiringly; "hang me ef I don't like you-uns' pluck. You may find that you'll need a friend afore yo're done with Wade. Ef ye do—wal, mebbe Kate Kenyon won't be fur off."

"Thank you," said Frank. "It is a good thing to know I shall have one friend in the mountains."

"Huah!" grunted a voice, and Mrs. Kenyon was seen stolidly standing in the dusk. "Mebbe you-uns will find my Kate ther best friend ye could have. Come, gal, it's time ter g'win."

So they entered the cabin, and Barney found an opportunity to whisper to Frank:

"She's a corker, me b'y! an' Oi think she's shtuck on yez. Betther be careful, lad. It's dangerous."

"Don't worry," returned Frank.

Shortly after entering the house, Mrs. Kenyon declared she was tired, and intended to go to bed. She apologized for the bed she had to give the boys, but they assured her that they were accustomed to sleeping anywhere, and that the bed would be a positive luxury.

"Such slick-tongued chaps I never did see before," declared the old woman. "They don't seem stuck up an' lofty, like most city fellers. Really, they make me feel right to home in my own house!"

She said this in a whimsical way that surprised Frank, who fancied Mrs. Kenyon had no sense of humor.

Kate bade them good-night, and they retired, which they were glad to do, as they were tired from the tramp of the day.

Frank was awakened by a sharp shake, and his first thought was of danger, but his hand did not reach the revolver he had placed beneath the pillow, for he felt something cold against his temple, and heard a voice hiss:

"Be easy, you-uns! Ef ye make a jowl, yo're ter be shot!"

Barney was awakened at the same time, and the boys found they were in the clutches of strong men. The little room seemed filled with men, and the lads instantly realized they were in a bad scrape.

Through the small window sifted the white moonlight, showing that every man wore a black, pointed cap and hood, which reached to his shoulders. In this hood arrangement great holes were cut for the eyes, and some had slits cut for their mouths.

"The Black Caps!" was the thought that flashed through Frank's mind.

The revolvers pressed against the heads of the boys kept them from defending themselves or making an outcry. They were forced to get up and dress, after which they were passed through the open window, like bundles, their hands having been tied behind them.

Other black-hooded men were outside, and horses were near at hand.

"Great Scott!" thought Frank Merriwell. "We are in for it! We should have been ready for them."

But when he thought how tired they had been, he did not wonder that both had slept soundly while the men slipped into the house by the window, which had been readily and noiselessly removed.

It did not take the men long to get out as they had entered. Then Frank and Barney were placed on horses, being tied there securely, and the party was soon ready to move.

They rode away, and the horses' feet gave out no sound, which explained why they had not aroused anybody within the cabin.

The hoofs of the animals were muffled.

Frank wondered what Kate Kenyon would think when morning came and she found her guests gone.

"She will believe we rose in the night, and ran away. I hate to have her believe me a coward."

Then he fell to wondering what the men would do with himself and Barney.

"We are harmless travelers. They will not dare to do anything more than run us out of this part of the country."

Although he told himself this, he was far from feeling sure that the men would do nothing else. He had heard of the desperate deeds perpetrated by the widely known "White Caps," and it was not likely that the Black Caps were any less desperate and reckless.

As they were leaving the vicinity of the cabin, one of the horses neighed loudly, causing the leader of the party to utter an exclamation of anger.

"Ef that 'rousts ther gal, she's li'bul ter be arter us in a hurry," one of the men observed.

The party hurried forward, soon passing from view of the cabin, and entering the shadow that lay blackly in the depths of the valley.

They rode about a mile, and then they came to a halt at a command from the leader, and Frank noticed with alarm that they had stopped beneath a large tree, with wide-spreading branches.

"This looks bad for us, old man," he whispered to Barney.

"Thot's pwhat it does, Frankie," admitted the Irish lad. "Oi fale throuble coming this way."

The horsemen formed a circle about the captives, moving at a signal from the leader, who did not seem inclined to waste words.

"Brothers o' ther Black Caps," said the leader, "what is ther fate we-uns gives ter revenues?"

"Death!"

Every man in the circle uttered the word, and they spoke all together. It sounded dismal and blood-chilling.

"Right," bowed the leader. "Now, why are we assembled ter-night?"

"Ter dispose o' spies," chorused the Black Caps.

"Where are they?"

"Thar!"

Each one of the black-hooded band extended a hand and pointed straight at the captive boys.

"How shall they be disposed uv?" asked the leader.

"They shall be hanged," solemnly said the men.

"Good!" cried the leader, as if well satisfied. "Produce ther rope."

In a moment one of the men brought forth a rope. This was long enough to serve for both boys, and it was quickly cut in two pieces, while skillful hands proceeded to form nooses.

"Frankie," said Barney Mulloy, sadly, "we're done for."

"It looks that way," Frank was forced to admit.

"Oi wouldn't moind so much," said the Irish lad, ruefully, "av we could kick th' booket foighting fer our loives; but it is a bit harrud ter go under widout a chance to lift a hand."

"That's right," cried Frank, as he strained fiercely at the cords which held his hands behind his back. "It is the death of a criminal, and I object to it."

The leader of the Black Caps rode close to the boys, leaned forward in his saddle, and hissed in Frank's ear:

"It's my turn now!"

"And you mean to murder us?" demanded Frank, passionately.

"Not murder," answered the man. "We-uns is goin' ter put two revenues out o' ther way, that's all!"

"It's murder," cried Frank, in a ringing tone. "You know we are not revenue spies! Men, we appeal to you. We can prove that we are what we claim to be—two boys who are tramping through the mountains for pleasure. Will you kill us without giving us a chance to prove our innocence?"

The leader laughed harshly.

"It's ther same ol' whine," he said. "Ther revenues alwus cry baby when they're caught. You-uns can't fool us, an' we ain't got time ter waste with ye. Git reddy, boys!"

About the boys' necks the fatal ropes were quickly adjusted.

"Stop!" Frank commanded. "If you murder us, you will find you have not killed two friendless boys. We have friends—powerful friends—who will follow this matter up—who will investigate it. You will be hunted down and punished for the crime. You will not be allowed to escape!"

Again the leader laughed.

"Pore fool!" he sneered. "Do you-uns think ye're stronger an' more po'erful than ther United States Gover'ment? Huah! Ther United States loses her spies, an' she can't tell who disposed o' 'em. We won't be worried by all yore friends."

He made another movement, and the rope ends were flung over a limb that was strong enough to bear both lads.

Hope was dying within Frank Merriwell's breast. At last he had reached the end of his adventurous life, which had been short and turbulent. He must die here amid these wild mountains, which flung themselves up against the moonlit sky, and the only friend to be with him at the end was the faithful friend who must die at his side.

Frank's blood ran cold and sluggish in his veins. The spring night had seemed warm and sweet, filled with the droning of insects; but now there was a bitter chill in the air, and the white moonlight seemed to take on a crimson tinge, as of blood.

The boy's nature rebelled against the thought of meeting death in such a manner. It was spring-time amid the mountains; with him it was the spring-time of life. He had enjoyed the beautiful world, and felt strong and brave to face anything that might come; but this he had not reckoned on, and it was something to cause the stoutest heart to shake.

Over the eastern mountains, craggy, wild, barren or pine-clad, the gibbous moon swung higher and higher. The heavens were full of stars, and every star seemed to be an eye that was watching to witness the consummation of the tragedy down there in that little valley, through which Lost Creek flowed on to its unknown destination.

How still it was!

The silence was broken by a sound that made every black-hooded man start and listen.

Sweet and mellow and musical, from afar through the peaceful night, came the clear notes of a bugle.

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

A fierce exclamation broke from the lips of the leader of the Black Caps, and he grated:

"Muriel, by ther livin' gods! He's comin' hyar! Quick, boys—finish this job, an' git!"

"Stop, Wade Miller!" cried Frank, commandingly. "If that is Muriel, wait for him—let him pronounce our fate. He is the chief of you all, and he shall say if we are revenue spies."

"Bah! You-uns know too much, fer ye've called my name! That settles ye! Ye must hang anyway, now!"

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

From much nearer, came the sound of the bugle, awakening hundreds of mellow echoes, which were flung from crag to crag till it seemed that the mountains were alive with buglers.

The clatter of a horse's iron-shod feet could be heard, telling that the rider was coming like the wind down the valley.

"Cut free ther feet o' ther pris'ners!" panted the leader of the Black Caps. "Work quick! Muriel will be here in a few shakes, an' we-uns must be done. All ready thar! Up with 'em!"

The fatal moment had arrived!



CHAPTER XLII.

MURIEL.

Ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

Through the misty moonlight a coal-black horse, bearing a rider who once more awakens the clamoring echoes with his bugle, comes tearing at a mad gallop.

"Up with 'em!" repeats Wade Miller, fiercely, as the black-hooded men seem to hesitate.

The ropes tighten.

"Stop!"

One of the men utters the command, and his companions hesitate.

"Muriel is death on revernues," says the one who had spoken, "an' thar ain't any reason why we-uns shouldn't wait fer him."

"That's so."

More than half the men agree with the one who has interrupted the execution, filling Wade Miller with unutterable rage.

"Fools!" snarled the chief ruffian of the party. "I am leadin' you-uns now, an' ye've gotter do ez I say. I order ye ter string them critters up!"

Nearer and nearer came the clattering hoof-beats.

"Av we can have wan minute more!" breathed Barney Mulloy.

"Half a minute will do," returned Frank.

"We refuse ter obey ye now," boldly spoke the man who had commanded his companions to stop. "Muriel has signaled ter us, an' he means fer us ter wait till he-uns arrives."

"Wait!" howled Miller. "They sha'n't escape!"

He snatched out a revolver, pointed it straight at Frank's breast, and fired!

Just as the desperate ruffian was pulling the trigger, the man nearest him struck up his hand, and the bullet passed through Frank's hat, knocking it to the ground.

Miller was furious as a maniac, but, at this moment, the black horse and the dashing rider burst in upon the scene, plunged straight through the circle, halting at the side of the imperiled lads, the horse being flung upon its haunches.

"Wal, what be you-uns doin'?" demands a clear, ringing voice. "What work is this, that I don't know erbout?"

The men were silent. Wade Miller cowered before the chief of the moonshiners, trying to hide the revolver.

Muriel's eyes, gleaming through the twin holes of the mask he wore, found Miller, and the clear voice cried:

"You-uns has been lettin' this critter lead ye inter somethin'! An' it's fair warnin' I gave him ter keep clear o' meddlin' with my business."

The boys gazed at the moonshiner chief in amazement, for Muriel looked no more than a boy as he sat there on his black horse, and his voice seemed the voice of a boy instead of that of a man. Yet it was plain that he governed these desperate ruffians of the mountains with a hand of iron, and they feared him.

"We-uns war 'bout ter hang two revernues," explained Miller.

Muriel looked at the boys.

"Revernues?" he said, doubtfully. "How long sence ther gover'ment has been sendin' boys hyar ter spy on us?"

"They know what happens ter ther men they send," muttered Miller.

"Wal, 'tain't like they'd be sendin' boys arter men failed."

"That's ther way they hope ter fool us."

"An' how do you know them-uns is revernues?"

"We jest s'picions it."

"An' you-uns war hangin' 'em on s'picion, 'thout lettin' me know?"

"We never knows whar ter find ye, Muriel."

"That is nary excuse, fer ef you-uns had held them-uns a day I'd knowed it. It looks like you-uns war in a monstr'us hurry."

"It war he-uns," declared one of the black hoods, pointing to Miller. "He-uns war in ther hurry."

"We don't gener'ly waste much time in dinkerin' 'roun' with anybody we-uns thinks is revernues," said Miller.

"Wal, we ain't got ther record o' killin' innercent boys, an' we don't begin now. Take ther ropes off their necks."

Two men hastened to obey the order, while Miller sat and grated his teeth. As this was being done, Muriel asked:

"What war you-uns doin' with that revolver when I come? I heard ye shoot, an' I saw ther flash. Who did you-uns shoot at?"

Miller stammered and stuttered till Muriel repeated the question, his voice cold and hard, despite its boyish caliber.

"Wal," said Wade, reluctantly, "I'll have ter tell yer. I shot at he-uns," and he pointed at Frank.

"I thought so," was all Muriel said.

When the ropes were removed from the necks of the boys, Muriel directed that their feet be tied again, and their eyes blindfolded.

These orders were attended to with great swiftness, and then the moonshiner chief said:

"Follow!"

Out they rode from beneath the tree, and away through the misty moonlight.

Frank and Barney could not see, but they felt well satisfied with their lot, for they had been saved from death for the time being, and, somehow, they felt that Muriel did not mean to harm them.

"Frank," whispered Barney, "are yez there?"

"Here," replied Frank, close at hand.

"It's dead lucky we are to be livin', me b'y."

"You are quite correct, Barney. I feel like singing a song of praise and thanksgiving. But we're not out of the woods yet."

"Thot Muriel is a dandy, Frankie! Oi'm shtuck on his stoyle."

"He is no more than a boy. I wonder how he happened to appear at such an opportune moment?"

"Nivver a bit do Oi know, but it's moighty lucky fer us thot he did."

Frank fell to speculating over the providential appearance of the moonshiner chief. It was plain that Muriel must have known that something was happening, and he had signaled with the bugle to the Black Caps. In all probability, other executions had taken place beneath that very tree, for the young chief came there direct, without hesitation.

For nearly an hour they seemed to ride through the night, and then they halted. The boys were removed from the horses and compelled to march into some kind of a building.

After some moments, their hands were freed, and, tearing away the blindfolds, they found themselves in a low, square room, with no windows, and a single door.

With his back to the door, stood Muriel.

The light of a swinging oil lamp illumined the room.

Muriel leaned gracefully against the door, his arms folded, and his eyes gleaming where the lamplight shone on them through the twin holes in the sable mask.

The other moonshiners had disappeared, and the boys were alone in that room with the chief of the mountain desperadoes.

There was something strikingly cool and self-reliant in Muriel's manner—something that caused Frank to think that the fellow, young as he was, feared nothing on the face of the earth.

At the same time there was no air of bravado or insolence about that graceful pose and the quiet manner in which he was regarding them. Instead of that, the moonshiner was a living interrogation point, everything about him seeming to speak the question that fell from his lips.

"Are you-uns revernues?"

"Why do you ask us?" Frank quickly counter questioned. "You must know that we will lie if we are, and so you will hear our denial anyway. That can give you little satisfaction."

"Look hyar—she tol' me fair an' squar' that you-uns warn't revernues, but I dunno how she could tell."

"Of whom are you speaking?"

Frank fancied that he knew, but he put the question, and Muriel answered:

"Ther gal that saved yore lives by comin' ter me an' tellin' me ther boys had taken you outer her mammy's house."

"Kate Kenyon?"

"Yes."

"God bless her! She did save our lives, for if you had been one minute later you would not have arrived in time. Dear girl! I'll not forget her!"

Muriel moved uneasily, and he did not seem pleased by Frank's words, although his face could not be seen. It was some moments before he spoke, but his voice was strangely cold and hard when he did so.