He is resolved to urge on his way towards the scene of mischief. He remembers, too, that in the instructions which Cross had given, one of them on the fleetest horse, was to seize the trunk and hasten off. He might meet him alone, and possibly rescue the prize, if nothing more. Never had the road seemed so interminable, and his utmost speed was to his burning spirit but a snail's pace. Still he presses on--a long hill is before him; when he reaches its summit he will be near the edge of the barrens. He heeds not the ascent--his whole frame is nerved with an energy he never has felt before--it is his first essay in the path of duty. As he reaches the top a faint streak of light seems to tinge the distant cloud--his heart beats with deep emotion--an instant more, and a flush of light suffuses the whole heavens. He could scream in the intensity of his feelings. He thinks he hears a sound--he pauses to listen--it is--it is--the fiendish plot is accomplished, and the villains are returning with the spoil. The tramp of one horse, however, can only be heard as yet; the rider doubtless bears the fatal treasure. The resolution of a whole life fires his breast and nerves him with a fixed determination to grapple with the wretch--the horseman is galloping up the hill--his jaded beast lags as he nears the top. Bill crouches behind some bushes near the travelled path--his eye is on the horseman--it has caught sight of the burden borne in front of him. With a single bound he grasps the rein at the horse's head, and levelling a desperate blow, brings rider and trunk to the ground. The horse, affrighted, tears down the road, and makes directly for his home. Bill stoops to secure the trunk, not knowing or caring whether his victim is dead or not, when his antagonist, who is only stunned by the blow, springs upon him! They know each other well, and have often tried each other's strength in sport; they are nearly matched--both young, and possessed of great muscular power. Bill is now nerved with the energy of right, and the other with the strength of despair, maddened, too, with a desire for revenge. The violence with which they grapple brings both to the earth--it is a death-struggle--each endeavoring to get his opponent under, and each by turns gaining the advantage, until at length Bill lies apparently at the mercy of his adversary, whose hand is fast clenched to his throat, while he exerts his utmost strength to strangle him. Bill feels that his hour has come, for the death-grip which binds his throat is palsying his strength. One arm, however, is free--he clutches in his despair for something that might serve him for a weapon--his club lay within his grasp--hope springs to his heart--he brings down the weapon with a desperate effort, and it fell on the head of his opponent. Bill felt the tight clench relax, and putting forth his last powers, renews the blow. It has done the work. With scarce strength enough to throw off the body of the now helpless man, he