e valley, through the Gap and along
the ridge carried them far into the night. King knew that they were
skirting the main roads, keeping to the almost hidden trails of the
mountaineers. They carried no light, nor did they speak to each other,
except in hoarse whispers. In single file they made their way, the
prisoner between them, weary, footsore and now desperate in the full
realisation of his position. Being gagged, he could make no appeal to
the one man who might befriend him--his villainous countryman. It
occurred to him--grim thought--that the astute Marlanx had considered
that very probability, and had made it impossible for him to resort to
the cupidity of the hireling.

At last, when he could scarcely drag his feet after him, they came to a
halt. A consultation followed, but he could not understand a word. This
much he knew: they were in the hills directly above the northern gates.
Two of the men went forward, moving with extreme caution. In half an
hour they returned and the march was resumed.

Their next halt came sooner than he expected. The vague, black shadow of
a lightless house loomed up before them. In a twinkling he was hustled
across the road and into a door. Then down a flight of stairs, through
pitchy darkness, guided by two of the men, a whispered word of advice
now and then from the Yankee saving him from perilous stumbles. He was
jerked up sharply with a command to stand still. A light flashed
suddenly in his face, blinding him for the moment. Voices in eager,
quick conversation came to his ears long before his eyes could take in
the situation.

Soon he saw that they were in a broad, bare cellar; three men in heavy
black beards were in earnest conversation with several of his captors;
all were gesticulating fiercely.

His Newport companion enlightened him, between puffs of the pipe he was
struggling with. "Here's where we say good-bye, young fellow. We turn
you over to these gents, whoever they are. I'm sort of out of it when
they get to jabberin' among themselves. I can understand 'em when they
talk slow, but, say, did you ever hear a flock of Union Square sparrows
chirp faster than them fellers is talkin' now? Nix. You go into the
village gay with these Schwabs by the sewer line, I guess." Truxton
pricked up his ears. "The old man has had a hole chopped in the sewer
here, they tell me, and it's a snap to get into the city. Not very clean
or neat, but it gets you there. Well, so long! They're