instant I doubted my eyesight, imagined I dreamed. Then, before I could raise voice in alarm, a rifle spat viciously, the red flame of its discharge cleaving the night. A fusillade followed, and in the flare I caught grotesque glimpses of men leaping forward, and there was a confused yelling of voices, a din of noise.
I was upon my knees, revolver in hand, but in the melee below could not distinguish friend from foe—alike they were a blur of figures, one instant visible, the next obscured. Yet there could be no doubt as to the final ending of the struggle. Taken by surprise, outnumbered, the little squad of troopers would be crushed, annihilated. Nor was there reason why I should sacrifice myself in their defense—a valueless sacrifice. My choice was instantly made, as there flashed to my mind what my fate would be if I ever fell into Cowan's hands attired in Federal uniform. On hands and knees I crept to the cleft in the rock wall, and began to clamber up over the irregular rocks. It was not likely any guards had been left behind when the mountaineers descended, and I must be beyond sound before the din of fighting ceased. It was a steep climb, dangerous no doubt in the dark, yet I was desperate enough to give this peril scarcely a thought. The shouts and yells, the cries for mercy, the sound of blows, grew fainter and finally ceased altogether. Leaning back, and
