Gliding unresistingly along with the smooth current, with nothing but the gentle, liquid rippling of the river around, and the bright moon overhead, and the sullen, hollow roar of the forest on shore, no one could resist the drowsy goddess. Slowly but surely unconsciousness was creeping over him. Sky, forest, and water were mingling in a delightful confusion from which he felt no desire to separate them; and as all things were assuming that blankness which precedes our passing off into sleep, he was startled and recalled to his senses by a sudden shock. Starting up, he saw that he had struck against the upper end of a small sandy island, and the tree had remained fast. It required but a few moments to free this, and once more he was floating gently with the current. This time he slept, but he was destined to have a startling awaking. His wound made him feverish, and all sorts of fantastic visions were darting through his head. Bears, Indians, renegades, and dying friends, passed continually before him, and finally, after a fitful hour’s sleep, he partially awoke. As he lay languidly stretched on the tree, striving to set things right before him a peculiar clicking noise sounded in the water. At first, it seemed a part of his dreams, and he took no further notice of it; but it continued regularly, and was evidently approaching. He waited a few moments, until thoroughly awakened—he raised his head and looked about him. The moon was pouring a flood of light upon the river, so that the slightest object was discernible. As he turned his eye toward shore, he discovered a canoe, propelled by a single man, rapidly bearing down upon him. He looked hurriedly at the person, and was satisfied that it was no other than Pete Johnson the renegade. “I’d rather see the bear, or the devil, than you,” was Kingman’s mental ejaculation as he quietly dropped off the tree, and commenced swimming toward the opposite shore. He did not believe the renegade was after him, or had discovered him, but was only crossing the river; and, as he was likely to pass rather uncomfortably close to the tree, he thought it best to get out of his way. But such was not the case. As he turned his head, he saw that the canoe was pursuing him. Still hoping that he had not been seen, he came up a dozen feet away, and commenced swimming in an opposite direction. But the canoe was after him, no mistake. “No use, ole hoss, I’ve got you this time!” exclaimed he in the boat. “What do you want of me?” demanded Kingman. “Keep off, or I’ll shoot you.” “Wagh! wagh! You will, eh? Blaze away, if _you can_. Come, you might as well knock under and go ’long docile, for there’s no airthly help for yer.” As he said this the canoe shot rapidly ahead again, almost upon him. The latter again dove, and came up directly under the stern of the canoe, where he hoped he would not be discovered. He felt he would rather be shot in the water than fall into the hands of the renegade.