sought to grasp him.

"That's my nigger Jim!" cried Rawbon, discharging his revolver at the
dusky form as it ran like a deer into the shadow of the woods. At every
shot, the negro jumped and screamed, but, from his accelerated speed,
was apparently untouched.

"After him, boys!" shouted Rawbon. "Five dollars apiece and a gallon of
whisky if you bring the varmint in."

With a whoop, the whole party went off in chase and were soon lost to
view in the darkness.

Harold and Arthur led Oriana into the hut, and, spreading their coats
upon the damp floor, made a rude couch for her beside the fire. The poor
girl was evidently prostrated with fatigue and excitement, yet, with a
faint laugh and a jest as she glanced around upon the questionable
accommodations, she thanked them for their kindness, and seated herself
beside the blazing fagots.

"This is a strange finale to our pleasure excursion," she said, as the
grateful warmth somewhat revived her spirits. "You must acknowledge me a
prophetess, gentlemen," she added, with a smile, "for you see that we
sailed indeed into the shadows of misfortune."

"Should your health not suffer from this exposure," replied Arthur, "our
adventure will prove no misfortune, but only a theme for mirth
hereafter, when we recall to mind our present piteous plight."

"Oh, I am strong, Mr. Wayne," she answered cheerfully, perceiving the