The night was at its darkest when Jim Hart slipped under one of the wagons
and crept across the open space. The heavy clouds had grown heavier, and
now and then low thunder muttered on the horizon. The fitful lightning
ceased, and this was occasion for thanks.

Jim Hart crept about twenty yards from the circle of the wagons, and then
he lay flat upon the earth. He could see nothing in the surrounding rim of
forest, nor could he hear anything. A light hum from the camp behind him
was all that came to his ears. He slipped forward again in a stooping
position, stopped a moment when he heard a rifle shot from the other side
of the camp, and then resumed his shambling, but swift, journey. Now he
passed the open space and gained the edge of the woods. Here the danger
lay, but the brave soul of Long Jim never faltered.

He plunged into the gloom of the bushes and trees, slipping silently among
them. Two warriors glanced curiously at him in the dark, but in a moment
he was gone; a third farther on spoke to him, but he shook his head
impatiently, as if he bore some message, and only walked the faster. Now
his keen eyes saw savages all around him, some talking, others standing or
lying down, quite silent. He was sorry now that he was so tall, as his was
a figure that would cause remark anywhere; but he stooped over, trying to
hide his great height as much as possible. He passed one group, then two,
then three, and now he was a full four hundred yards from the camp. His
curving flight presently brought him near three men who were talking
earnestly together. They noticed Hart at the same time, and one of them
beckoned to him. Long Jim pretended not to see, and went on. Then one of
them called to him angrily, and Jim recognized the voice of Braxton Wyatt.

Long Jim stopped a moment, uncertain what to do at that critical juncture,
and Braxton Wyatt, stepping forward, seized him by the arm. It was dark in
the woods, but the renegade, looking up, recognized the face and figure.

"Jim Hart!" he cried.

Long Jim's right hand was grasping the stock of his rifle, but his left
suddenly flashed out and smote Braxton Wyatt full in the face. The
renegade gasped and went down unconscious, and then Long Jim turned, and
ran with all the speed that was in him, leaping over the low bushes and
racing among the tree trunks more like a phantom than a human being. A
shout arose behind him, and a dozen rifle shots were fired. He felt a
sting in his a