This concussion was very great, and for a moment the house trembled as if it would crumble into dust. It did not, however. All in the house who had not laid themselves down on their faces were thrown off their legs. The windows were smashed. The doors flew open as if by magic. “Now’s our time,” said Ned, and, followed by the innkeeper, Bob Bertram, and Tim, rushed out sword in hand. By the light of the burning dwelling and stables the fight was continued, and now more desperately than ever. Tim, in his hurry to rush out and get away, stumbled into the deep hole made by the explosion. He had scarcely reached the bottom, however, when one of Death-wing’s band seized him, and almost squeezed him to death. Tim was now bound to fight or die, and as he much preferred the former condition of the two, he kicked and bit and fought like a tiger, each one of them rolling over one another by turns, and almost burying themselves in the loose earth. Wildfire Ned sought out Death-wing, but nowhere could that remorseless chief be found. He called upon him to stand forth and engage in deadly combat, but there was no response to this bold challenge. When least expected, however, and when in the fulness of his vigorous onslaught upon the grim gang, he, Wildfire Ned, was seized by some one from behind! A thrill of horror ran through his whole frame. Death-wing, with a loud shout of triumph, cried out,— “Victory! victory! Ned Warbeck is our prisoner!” “Liar!” Ned growled, and with a mighty effort released himself from Death-wing’s grasp. They now stood face to face. That moment to each was momentous in the extreme. Each one was nerving himself up for the final struggle. Loud shouts now burst out upon Ned’s delighted ears. With an irresistible rush, cutlass in hand, Lieutenant Garnet, with a brave band of blue jackets, dashed upon the scene. With a wild, joyous shout, such as British tars alone know how to give, Garnet’s men pressed their way into the thickest of the fight. The combat now was a grand sight indeed. The night had turned to inky darkness. Not a star was visible. In the foreground was the mixed assemblage of fierce combatants. Blue jackets of the sailors mixed with the white, skeleton forms which danced hither and thither like ghosts in the darkness. All the background was brilliantly lighted up by the blazing tavern, and conflagration of numerous stables. Wildfire Ned and Bob Bertram each took command of a party of sailors, and attacked Death-wing’s gang in every direction. Death-wing mounted his coal black charger, and endeavoured to arouse his followers to greater efforts and more desperate acts of daring. Ned and Bob Bertram followed the example. Once on the back of Starlight, Ned felt more at home. Everywhere he sought to confront Death-wing. All his efforts were in vain. The skeleton chief seemed to be ubiquitous. Wherever he was seen at one moment he disappeared on the next.