I leaned out of the window. Only the deadened sound of the hoofs of our own horses, the deadened roll of our own carriage wheels, were audible in the stillness of the night. Then I thought I heard yells and faint hoof-beats in the distance, but again there was silence except for the muffled noise we made in our progress. “Can't we drive faster?” asked Mrs. Knapp, when I made my report. “I wouldn't spoil these horses for five hundred dollars,” growled the driver when I passed him the injunction to hasten. “It's a thousand dollars for you if you get to the wharf ahead of the others,” cried Mrs. Knapp. “And you'll have a bullet in your hide if you don't keep out of gunshot of them,” I added. The double inducement to haste had its effect, and we could feel the swifter motion of the vehicle under us, and see the more rapid passage of the trees and fences that lined the way. The wild ride appeared to last for ages. The fast trot of the horses was a funeral pace to the flight of my excited and anxious imagination. What if we should be overtaken? The hack would offer no protection from bullets, and Mrs. Knapp and the boy could scarcely escape injury if it came to a close encounter. But whenever I looked back there was only the single horseman galloping behind us, and the only sound to be heard was that of our own progress. At last the houses began to pass more frequently. Now the road was broken by cross streets. Gas-lamps appeared, flickering faint and yellow in the morning air, as though the long night vigil had robbed them of their vitality. We were once more within city limits, and I felt a loosening of the tense nerves of anxiety. The panting horses never slackened pace. We swept over a long bridge, and plunged down a shaded street, and the figure of the horseman was the only sign of life behind us. Of a sudden there sounded a long roll, as of a great drum beating the reveille for an army of giants. The horseman quickened his pace and galloped furiously beside us. “They're crossing the bridge,” he shouted. “Whip up!” I cried to the driver. “They are only four blocks behind us.” “Are they in sight?” asked Mrs. Knapp. “I can not see them,” I replied, “and it may not be the ones we fear. It is near daybreak, and we are not the only ones astir.” I peered out, but a rising mist from the lagoon and the bay hindered the vision, and the sound of the rolling drum had ceased. The hack swung around a few corners, and then halted. “Here we are!” cried Dicky Nahl at the door. “You get aboard the tug and push off. Jake and I will run up to the foot of the wharf. If they come, we can keep 'em off long enough for you to get aboard.” Dicky had a revolver in each hand, and the determined ring of his voice, so different from his usual light bantering tone, gave me assurance of his sincerity. With the horseman he hastened to the entrance of the wharf, where the two loomed through the mist like shadow-men.