"Look at 'em!" said the banjo-man, in a low tone, "sleeping like
babes, while _I_ was languishing in jail."

"Wake up!" he said, in a slightly louder voice, prodding the
nearest one with his banjo.

"Ub-ber-ubber-er-bubber-yah!" remarked the man, sitting bolt
upright, and looking about him, as if he had been attacked by wild
animals.

"That's all right," said Sprague, "it's only me. Don't get
excited. Keep quiet,--don't bubber any more. We're hunted
criminals, with a price upon our heads. Prices, I should say."

The other man stirred slightly, and rolled over.

"Hullo! That you? Rescued from a county jail?"

"Rescued nothing!" replied Sprague, "I might have died in jail of
old age before you would have done anything. Got out by our own
valor and ingenuity. Tunneled through fifteen feet of living rock.
Now, get up, and be quiet about it,--the hounds of the law are on
our trail, and we must leave these shores quick."

The second man arose swiftly, and began folding his blankets. The
other one, however,--the one who had wakened uttering gibberish--
crossed his hands over his knees, and said: "I don't know about
this!"