Twilight was fast settling over the valley; for the high mountains which surrounded the cup of land in which this living drama was being enacted, effectually shut out the sun as the day declined, and Lucius remarked hopefully that it would soon be dark. ‘It’ll not be so dark ez all thet comes ter on a June night,’ responded Ephraim in a cheerless tone. ‘Thar’ll be plenty er light fer them ter take potshots et us ez we drift along. Yit it ain’t so much fer thet I’m keerin’. I’m thinkin’ er the despatch and the importance it ’ud be ter old Stonewall ter git it before mornin’.—I’m afraid we ain’t doin’ much good with the guns, Luce.’ The crafty captain had removed not only the oars but the rowlocks, and consequently they had no support for their extemporised oars, but were obliged to paddle with them Indian fashion, holding the barrel high and sweeping the butt through the water on either side of the boat. But the rounded, highly polished wood offered little resistance to the rushing stream, and the current swept them steadily down, all their efforts to turn the boat’s head proving ineffectual. ‘We’ll make the Potomac at this rate, ef we go on long enough,’ said Ephraim grimly, the sweat pouring off his face as he strove desperately with his clumsy implement; ‘and then all we hev ter do is ter float gracefully down and give ’em howdy in Washin’ton city.’ He laughed in the very bitterness of his spirit. They were swirling along only about twenty yards from the south bank; but as Ephraim remarked, they might as well have been a mile away, for by no possibility could they reach it, and he looked longingly at the boughs that dipped into the rushing waters, thinking how different matters would be if only he could lay hold of them. Suddenly there was a spurt of flame, followed instantly by a loud crack. Ephraim’s cap soared into the air, mounted for a moment and then fell with a dull splash into the river, while its owner, with a shrill yell, tumbled over into the bottom of the boat. As Ephraim fell, his gun slipped from his nerveless fingers and sank instantly out of sight, and Lucius, hastily drawing his on board, bent terror-stricken over his friend. ‘Oh, Grizzly!’ he cried in piteous tones. ‘What is the matter? Are you shot?’ An inarticulate gurgle from Ephraim was the only reply. ‘Speak to me!’ Lucius almost shrieked. ‘Oh! oh! Surely you are not killed. Speak to me, Grizzly! Speak to me! Oh! oh! Whatever shall I do?’ Thus adjured, Ephraim slowly opened his eyes and looking up into the anxious face bent over him, remarked quaintly, though without the least intention of being humorous: ‘Hello, Luce! Is thar a hole right through my head, or what?’ So great was his relief that Lucius broke into a joyous laugh. ‘Grizzly,’ he demanded with mock severity, ‘if you were not shot, what did you mean by tumbling over; and if you are not killed, what are you lying in the bottom of the boat for?’