erous attack, the
fierce blows Slosson had dealt him, the knife thrust which had ended
the struggle. Therefore, the bandages that now swathed his head and
shoulders; therefore, the need that he should be up and doing--for where
was Hannibal?

He sought to lift himself on his elbow, but the effort sent shafts of
pain through him; his head seemed of vast size and endowed with a weight
he could not support. He sank back groaning, and closed his eyes. After
a little interval he opened them again and stared about him. There
was the breath of dawn in the air; he heard a rooster crow, and the
contented grunting of a pig close at hand. He was resting under a rude
shelter of poles and bark. Presently he became aware of a slow gliding
movement, and the silvery ripple of water. Clearly he was no longer at
the tavern, and clearly some one had taken the trouble to bandage his
hurts.

At length his eyes rolling from side to side focused themselves on a low
opening near the foot of his shakedown bed. Beyond this opening, and
at some little distance, he saw a sunbonneted woman of a plump and
comfortable presence. She was leaning against a tub which rested on a
rude bench. At her back was another bark shanty similar to the one that
sheltered himself, while on either hand a shoreless expanse of water
danced and sparkled under the rays of the newly risen sun. As his
eyes slowly took in the scene, Yancy's astonishment mounted higher and
higher. The lady's sunbonnet quite hid her face, but he saw that she was
smoking a cob-pipe.

He was still staring at her, when the lank figure of a man emerged from
the other shanty. This man wore a cotton shirt and patched butternut
trousers; he way hatless and shoeless, and his hair stood out from his
head in a great flaming shock. He, too, was smoking a cob-pipe. Suddenly
the man put out a long arm which found its way about the lady's waist,
an attention that culminated in a vigorous embrace. Then releasing her,
he squared his shoulders, took a long breath, beat his chest with the
flat of his hands and uttered a cheerful whoop. The embrace, the deep
breath, and the whoop constituted Mr. Cavendish's morning devotions,
and were expressive of a spirit of thankfulness to the risen sun, his
general satisfaction with the course of Providence, and his homage to
the lady of his choice.

Swinging about on his heel, Cavendish passed beyond Yancy's range of
vision. Again the latter attempted to lift himself o