The two skeletons searched and searched in vain. They cut, and hacked the soft bark, and, wherever they found a knot-hole, plunged their long sword-blades into it, in hopes of transfixing the unlucky, and timorous groom. But with a long-drawn sigh, Tim thanked his stars that he was now safe, and, as he turned his eyes upwards, he plainly saw the two skeletons looking down upon him. But they did not perceive him. They gave up the search, thinking that their intended victim had escaped by crawling out on to a large branch, and then dropping to the ground among the combatants on every side. They left the tree; and Tim, all alone in his momentary glory, had serious misgivings as to how he should escape. He could _not_ get up again, for his own weight in his descent had forced him down, with a little squeezing, but it could not force him up again! “I’m doomed!” groaned Tim, in his dismal incarceration; “and shall be stifled, or die of hunger here.” His position, it must be confessed, was an unenviable one. “I’m in a living tomb,” he groaned, and as the rats, mice, insects and other creeping things now began to nibble him in every part of the body, and with great industry, he shouted out with horror and positive pain. Crouched up as he was, and sitting almost like a tailor upon his curled-up legs, he had no power to move. Wherever he thrust forth his hand it came in contact with some slimy, creeping thing, which made the blood curdle in his veins. To add to his misery, he now heard the voices of Wildfire Ned, Bob Bertram and Lieutenant Garnet shouting to their followers in tones of triumph. Next followed a rousing cheer from the lusty sailors as they left the spot in pursuit of their grim and stubborn enemies. Tim shouted again and again with his utmost power. But his voice died away, and was not heard in the noise and confusion which reigned on every side. “I’m lost! I’m lost!” he cried, and gave way to despair. All was now quiet around the old cypress tree. Save the crackling of the burning dwellings and the sharp cries of many who were wounded, poor Tim heard nothing. He resigned himself meekly and humbly to die. “If I had only acted bravely,” he thought, “this misfortune wouldn’t have happened to me. But how could I help it? Wildfire Ned is a perfect devil, and don’t care any more for a sword-cut than I would for a flea-bite. This all comes of being a coward,” he groaned. “Curse the Skeleton rascals! D—n this tree which offered me protection! If I could only get out of this stifling hole, I’d give——” “What! what would you give?” asked a solemn voice near to him. Tim began to shiver in every limb. “Was that a voice I heard?” he sighed. “No, it cannot be; it must have been all im——” “Reality!” interrupted the voice. For a moment the frightened prisoner dared not move. “’Tis the devil,” he muttered. Before he could utter another word Tim felt the earth moving from under him.