The hours glided on. The waning moon looked sadly in through the branches of the old oaks upon the sleepers. There lay the murdered man with his upturned, ghastly face; scattered near him were the fragments of the broken bottle. Yet a little further on were the prostrate forms of his guilty fellows, and still beyond reclined the innocent one. There was a rustling among the leaves and light footsteps drew near, and Antoinette Le Clare gazed upon the scene. She was still habited in her Indian costume. Softly approaching Little Wolf she as softly awoke her. Little Wolf looked up wildly into the dark face that bent over her and recognized it in a moment. Antoinette silently assisted her to rise, undid her fetters, and taking her hand, noiselessly led her from the spot. The staggering gait of her companion disclosed to Antoinette her extreme weakness hoping to revive her drooping energies she whispered "Courage a little longer, Miss de Wolf, and you are safe." "I've courage enough to put an end to them," said Little Wolf, with a momentary flash of her wonted spirit, "but I'm so dizzy." "Well, rest here while I bring my pony." "No, I'll go with you," and by an act of the will Little Wolf forced herself along until they reached the shaggy little Indian pony on the glade. This they both mounted, Little Wolf still struggling bravely with her increasing illness. But it was all in vain; a violent fever was seizing upon her. She was alternately distressed with hot flashes and cold chills, and worse still, her mind began to wander. Antoinette was in deep distress. Her plan to fly for protection to the nearest settlement was completely frustrated. It was too far; she could not hope to reach it in safety. But, thinking she might possibly discover a place of refuge in some other direction, she turned her horse and dashed off she knew not whither. Having rode on for several miles over prairie and oak openings, determining to put all possible distance between herself and Bloody Jim, a most welcome sight met her view. It was a log cabin standing on an eminence, comfortable in appearance and snugly embosomed in a grove of trees. As there was no enclosure around it, she rode close to the door, and, without dismounting; knocked loudly with her riding whip. An echo was her only reply. The same results followed repeated attempts to obtain a hearing, and she came to the conclusion that the house was either unoccupied, or the inmates were insensible to noise. The former proved to be the case, and what was more unpleasant, the door was firmly fastened. Letting the invalid--whom she had supported partly by her arm and partly by fastening her blanket around both--slide softly to the ground, Antoinette dismounted and effected an entrance through a small window. There was but one room in the dwelling, and this was scantily furnished. A bed, a cook-stove, a flour barrel and a chest occupied each a corner.