"Now don't--eh--any o' you fellers--eh--go an' forget the place. Jump in--eh--lively. Just afore she--eh--gits ter thet thick bunch--eh--underbrush, whar' the trail sorter--eh--drops down inter the ravine. An' you chumps wanter--eh--git--yerselves up so she can't pipe any of ye off--eh--in this yere--eh--road-agent act. I tell ye, after what thet--eh--Moffat's bin a-pumpin' inter her, she's just got ter be--eh--rescued, an' in blame good style, er--eh--it ain't no go." "Oh, you rest easy 'bout all thet, Bill," chimed in Sandy Winn, his black eyes dancing in anticipation of coming fun. "We 'll git up the ornariest outfit whut ever hit the pike." The long shadows of the late afternoon were already falling across the gloomy Carter woods, while the red sun sank lower behind old Bull Mountain. The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, who for more than an hour past had been vainly dangling a fishing-line above the dancing waters of Clear Creek, now reclined dreamily on the soft turf of the high bank, his eyes fixed upon the distant sky-line. His thoughts were on the flossy hair and animated face of the fair Miss Spencer, who he momentarily expected would round the edge of the hill, and so deeply did he become sank in blissful reflection as to be totally oblivious to everything but her approach. Just above his secret resting-place, where the great woods deepen, and the gloomy shadows lie darkly all through the long afternoons, a small party of hideously painted savages skulked silently in ambush. Suddenly to their strained ears was borne the sound of horses' hoofs; and then, all at once, a woman's voice rang out in a single shrill, startled cry. "Whut is up?" questioned the leading savage, hoarsely. "Is he a-doin' this little job all by hisself?" "Dunno," answered the fellow next him, flipping his quirt uneasily; "but I reckon as how it's her as squealed, an' we 'd better be gitting in ter hev our share o' the fun." The "chief," with an oath of disgust, dashed forward, and his band surged after. Just below them, and scarcely fifty feet away, a half-score of roughly clad, heavily bearded men were clustered in the centre of the trail, two of their number lifting the unconscious form of a fainting woman upon a horse. "Cervera's gang, by gosh!" panted the leading savage. "How did they git yere?" "You bet! She's up agin the real thing," ejaculated a voice beside him. "Let's ride 'em off the earth! Whoop!"