"Me an' Gil is goin' in to Beaver Dam. Yer knows them two fellers, an' so do I. One of 'em is the feller what whacked me, an' the t'other is that bum Hildey. If they gits here afore I come back, you an' Dink'll have to do somethin' desp'ret." "All right," said Leander, clutching his pistol, "you can trust me." Sandy rounded the point that divided the two creeks, and in a short time had paddled past the trees and vines that hung over and partly covered the entrance to Beaver Dam. The boat was managed with consummate skill, now left, now right, through the sinuous waterway, and the two boys had gone fully half a mile, when, without warning, they were rudely jolted as the skiff grated harshly on a bar. Ordinarily, such an incident would have been without effect upon them, but now their nerves were so highly strung, that the noise of the boat rubbing against the gravel seemed as loud as the report of a cannon. Using all possible force, Sandy and Gilbert succeeded in shoving their craft back into the water. Then they pressed forward into the shadow of an embankment on the left, and not a moment too soon did they reach Gover, for the door of a hut was thrown open, and the voice of Tom Foley was heard, asking: "Is that you, dad?" An instant later Foley was seen standing in the dim light of the doorway, shading his eyes and peering into the darkness. "I say, dad, is that you?" came again. "I'll be doggoned if I didn't think I heerd somebody comin'. I guess 'tain't nuthin',"--looking anxiously to the right and left. "I cert'nly does git scared out er my boots aroun' here, though, when I'm left alone. I'm goin' to wake up the brat an' make her keep me comp'ny,"--and the door closed with a bang. He had hardly gone inside when the piteous cry of a child was heard, "Please don't beat me, Tom." "I ain't beatin' yer; go ahead, dance fer me." Sandy and Gilbert were fairly crazed, and in their anger rushed up toward the hut. Again came the cry, "Please don't hit me, Tom." "Dance, I say,"--and the sharp swish of a whip was heard. It took but a second for Sandy to bound into the room. Surprised and terrified, Foley made a dart for the door, but was met by Gilbert, who, pistol in hand, held him stock still. In desperation Foley reached for a club and ran back of the frightened child in the hope that she might serve as guard against his assailant. Like a flash, Sandy followed, and knocked the cowardly brute senseless with the barrel of his pistol. Gilbert ran to his sister, and, taking her up, showered loving kisses upon her. With her arms clasped about his neck and her head nestling on his shoulder, she cried: "Oh, Gil, I'm so glad you've come. I've been waiting all this time for you. I knew Sandy would come, because he ain't afraid of robbers, or anybody else, even if he had his hands tied behind him. I've been praying for you every minute, and here you are." Again Gilbert pressed his sister to his heart, and kissed her.