as he went sailing past me."

"Do you hear that?" cried George.

"Hear what? Some one after us again?"

"No; it's a dog barking!"

"Why, it sounds like Waggie, but it can't be he. He's gone to another
world."

"No, he hasn't," answered George. He forgot his weakness, and started to
run down the bank, in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Watson
remained behind; he could not believe that it was the dog.

In the course of several minutes George came running back. He was holding
in his hands a little animal that resembled a drowned rat. It was
Waggie--very wet, very bedraggled, but still alive.

"Well, if that isn't a miracle!" cried Watson. He stroked the dripping
back of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a grateful
gleam in his eyes.

"I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water a
few feet away from the bank," enthusiastically explained George. "He must
have been hurled there, by the current."

Watson laughed.

"Well, Waggie," he said, "we make three wet looking tramps, don't we? And
I guess you are just as hungry as the rest."

Waggie wagged his tail with great violence.

"Think of a warm, comfortable bed," observed the boy, with a sort of grim
humor; "and a nice supper beforehand of meat--and eggs----"

"And hot coffee--and biscuits--and a pipe of tobacco for me, after the
supper," went on Watson. He turned from the river and peered into the
rapidly increasing gloom. About a mile inland, almost directly in front of
him, there shone a cheerful light.

George, who also saw the gleam, rubbed his hands across his empty stomach,
in a comical fashion.

"There must be supper there," he said, pointing to the house.

"But we don't dare eat it," replied his friend. "The people within fifty
miles of here will be on the lookout for any of Andrews' party--and the
mere appearance of us will be enough to arouse suspicion--and yet----"

Watson hesitated; he was in a quandary. He was not a bit frightened, but
he felt that the chances of escape for George and himself were at the
ratio of one to a thousand. He knew actually nothing of the geography of
the surrounding country, and he felt that as soon as morning arrived the
neighborhood would be searched far and wide. Had he been alone he might
have tried to walk throughout the night until he had placed fifteen or
twenty miles between himself and his pursuers. But when he thought of
George's condition he realized t