Bulldog’s hand dropped to his side. He stood absolutely motionless, looking blankly at the quivering messenger of bad news. For a full minute he stood there, and to Chinkapin it seemed that death itself was standing there. “Is yo’ tellin’ de whole truf?” Bulldog demanded. “So help me!” quavered the terror-stricken Chinkapin. “If yo’ ain’----” But the sentence was never finished. One of the guards, alarmed at the sudden halt, had fired into the air as a signal to the others. The report of the gun had an electrical effect on Bulldog. If the Washington Negro had died, he would hang. The three turkey buzzards, frightened by the gun, came winging past. Out of the corner of one eye Bulldog saw them. “Stan’s yo’ back!” he commanded quickly, at the same time shoving the four other members of the squad into a huddle. That gave him about six feet of chain to work on. Swiftly he bent. The chain was coiled like magic first around one forearm and then the other. There was a grunt, the ring of metal, and the chain had parted. Bulldog dived headlong off the trail into the palmetto scrub just as the first convict guard came running up. He fired both barrels of the sawed-off shotgun point-blank in the general direction of Bulldog’s dive. Then he reloaded and fired again, keeping up the process until the other guards arrived. In a circle they closed in on the place. But the turned-back palmetto scrub revealed nothing. Bulldog was gone. It was Chinkapin who turned an almost pasty gray face toward heaven as he exclaimed, “May de Lawd have mercy on dis pore little nigger’s soul, Ah didn’ mean no hahm!” When he dived, Bulldog landed in the lush swamp grass and proceeded through it bellywise like a snake. He made a hundred yards that way before he got to his feet and broke into a run. The palmetto scrub was slightly higher than his head as he pressed forward ankle-deep in the slime. He came to a halt presently to get his second wind, knowing that he was safe for the immediate present. The convict guards couldn’t leave the chain gang. They would have to summon Captain Jim and a posse. By that time Bulldog would be well on his way. But where? Half an hour later, ploughing his way through the swamp grass to the river, he was still pondering the question when his ear caught the far-away bay of a hound.