The strange being who had done the work, bent over the insensible form and was busy about something for a short time, and then taking up the pipe which Tracey had dropped and which had not been extinguished, he sat down near the body of the fallen renegade and began to smoke, first picking up the cap of his victim and placing it upon his head, glancing now and then at the sleeping camp. When the pipe was smoked out he arose and stole softly to the side of Dick Garrett and looked down into his face. The moonlight shone full upon him, and showed a horrible figure of gigantic mold, covered from head to foot with a hairy substance, while the eyes looked fiercely from his shaggy eyebrows upon the sleeping ruffian. His attitude was menacing, and once or twice the right hand dropped to a hairy girdle about his waist, as if to draw a huge knife which was suspended there, but upon second thought he seemed to change his mind, and gathering up the rifles of the party, he carried them a little distance into the woods, and returned this time to take away the knives and pistols, most of which were thrown together in a heap, at the place where the rifles had been stacked. Some of the villains had their small-arms upon their persons, but these the intruder did not attempt to touch, and waving his hands triumphantly above his head, he bounded into the thicket, and was seen no more. Daylight came and they began to yawn and stretch themselves, those who ought to have gone upon guard long before, looking mystified at being allowed to sleep until morning. “Tracey went to sleep, that’s all,” said Garrett. “Go and kick the brute, somebody. There is no telling what might have happened through his cussed carelessness.” One of the men sprung to the spot where the recumbent figure of Tracey was seen, and had actually drawn back his foot to kick him, when he saw that his hands were tightly bound, and a gag thrust into his mouth. His cry of astonishment awoke the rest, and they quickly surrounded their fallen comrade, relieved him of the ligatures, and helped him to arise. The eyes of the man were rolling fearfully, and he gasped for breath. “Ha!” he said, at last. “A pretty set of fellows you are, to let a man stay in that way all night. Dunderheads—sleepers—ten thousand curses on your heads!” “Steady, Tracey,” said Garrett. “What does this mean?” “It means you are a lot of lazy thieves, or you would have found this out four hours ago.” “Who did it?” “How do I know? I was sitting there smoking my pipe, when I felt a great hairy hand upon my throat, and I was choking. Then I lost my senses, and when I came to myself, I was lying here, anchored to the tree, and unable to move hand or foot.” “Why didn’t you sing out?” “Why didn’t I fly?” retorted Tracey, angrily. “I wouldn’t be a fool if I were you, Dick Garrett. Oh, curse the hand, whoever it was. Where’s my rifle?”