Bart Wrigley had not been at sea from childhood without winning a sailor's eyes. Dark as the jungle was, and more distant as he stood, it was not so black that he could not make out the object which had oaken the sentry's notice, and at which he took aim. One moment Bart raised his hoe to rush at the man; the next he had brought it down heavily on Abel's boulders, sending him forward upon his face, and uttering a cry of rage as he fell. It was almost simultaneous. The cry uttered by Abel Dell and the report of the sentry's piece seemed to smite the air together; but Abel's cry was first, and disarranged the soldier's aim, his bullet cutting the leaves of the jungle far above the ground. "Look at that now!" he cried, as he turned sharply to see Abel struggling on the ground, with Bart holding him, and the overseer drawing a pistol front his breast. "Lie still!" whispered Bart. "It was not at Mary." Then aloud-- "Quick, here! water! He's in a fit." As Abel grasped his friend's thoughts he lay back, struggling faintly, and then half-closed his eyes and was quite still. "It's the sun, sir," said Bart, as the overseer thrust back his pistol and came up. "Hadn't we better get him back to the lines?" "Yes," said the overseer. "Poor devil! No, no! Back, back!" he roared, signalling with his hands as a sergeant's guard came along at the double. "Nothing wrong. Only a man sick, and Dinny Kelly here had a shot at an alligator." "An' I should have hit him, sor, if he hadn't shouted. But think o' that, now! The sun lights gentleman's cigar one minute, and shtrikes a man down the next. But it's better than the yaller fayver, anyhow." Five days had passed, and the prisoners were not sent again to the clearing, while, in spite of every effort, they found that their chances of eluding the guard set over them by night were small indeed. Fettered by day, they were doubly chained by night. The building where they slept was strongly secured and guarded, and in spite of the newness of the settlement it was well chosen for its purpose, and stronger even than the prisoners thought. "We shall never get away by night, Bart," said Abel, gloomily, "unless--" He stopped and gazed meaningly at his companion. "The knife?" responded Bart. "No, lad, we won't do that. I shouldn't like to go to Mary wet with blood." Abel's countenance grew dark and deeply hard, for at that moment, in his despair and disappointment, he felt ready to go to any extremity, knowing, as he did, that his sister was waiting for him, holding out her hands and saying, "Come!" Only another day, and then she would give up expecting them by night, and take to watching for them by day, when the attempt seemed hopeless.