It was a delight as keen as any I had ever felt to step out after imprisonment into the brilliant sunshine of the free and open world. Miss Hetherill threw a light cloak over her shoulders, for there was a sharp coolness in the air, and together we strolled over the terrace. I admired the solidity and strength of Fort Defiance, though a good-sized modern cannon could have knocked it to pieces with ease, if any one were ever able to get a cannon over the maze of mountains that separated this valley from the remainder of the world. It was impregnable to attack by small arms, if well guarded. The drawbridge was still up, and I spoke of it. "It is up most of the time," she said, frankly, "but to-day it will be up more than usual. That is on your account. You are to be kept well guarded." "The current of the river is too swift," I said; "but I think I could swim the moat." "If you succeeded," she said, "you would probably starve to death in the mountains." "Then I shall remain here," I said. "I'm glad that I have so good an excuse for remaining." I sought to be gallant, but she only frowned, and I did not attempt it again. She left me presently, going into the house, while I continued my stroll in the crisp, invigorating air. I could take but a limited walk at best, merely the circuit of the hill-top, embracing perhaps a couple of acres around the house. Within that space I could wander at will, and no watch seemed to be set upon me. CHAPTER III. AN UNLUCKY SKETCH. The hill projected farther toward the southwest than in any other direction, and in my wanderings I came to that point. Looking back, I obtained a sweeping view of Fort Defiance, with its sloping roofs and sombre-hued walls. At one angle the vines had grown up and clung against the wall. It was such a place as I would like to tell about when I returned to my friends, and, what was better, I could show it to them in its real and exact proportions. I had a pencil and some good white cardboard in an inside pocket. I found a good seat on a stone, made ready with board and pencil, and began to study the fort. It was a fine subject for an artist, and as I sketched the rough outlines my enthusiasm grew. I had a brilliant light, which brought out every curve and angle of the queer building. Gradually, in my absorption as the picture spread over the cardboard, I forgot everything else. I was just putting in the little brass cannon that commanded the approach to the fort, when pencil and picture were snatched violently from my hands. I sprang up, full of wrath. The old colonel stood before me, his face red, and his eyes flashing with indignation. "You villain of a spy! You damned Yankee!" he cried. "What do you mean? Are you crazy?" I asked. I did not take kindly to such names, even from the mouth of an old man. He was in a great rage, for his next words choked him. But he got them out at last.