number of negroes, picked off the leading ruffian and rushed out into the open.  The other assailants fired hurriedly and without aim, then—­daunted by the attack so suddenly carried into their midst, and by the appearance of one or two of their own beaten comrades—­the enemy turned and fairly bolted.  We did not pursue.  Far away down the road we heard the clatter of hoofs, and thin and clear came the thrice-repeated cry of the “Bob White.”

“Dick’s coming back with the soldiers,” said Moore; “and now I think we may look after the wounded.”

* * * * *

I did not see much of Moore that day.  The fact is that I slept a good deal, and Moore was mysteriously engaged with Gumbo.  Night came, and very much needed quiet and sleep came with it.  Then we passed an indolent day, and I presumed that adventures were over, and that on the subject of “the Secret of the Pyramid” Moore had recovered his sanity.  I was just taking my bedroom candle when Moore said, “Don’t go to bed yet.  You will come with me, won’t you, and see out the adventure of the Cheap Nigger?”

“You don’t mean to say the story is to be continued?” I asked.

“Continued?  Why the fun is only beginning,” Moore answered.  “The night is cloudy, and will just suit us.  Come down to the branch.”

The “branch,” as Moore called it, was a strong stream that separated, as I knew, his lands from his brother’s.  We walked down slowly, and reached the broad boat which was dragged over by a chain when any one wanted to cross.  At the “scow,” as the ferry-boat was called, Peter joined us; he ferried us deftly over the deep and rapid water, and then led on, as rapidly as if it had been daylight, along a path through the pines.

“How often I came here when I was a boy,” said Moore; “but now I might lose myself in the wood, for this is my brother’s land, and I have forgotten the way.”

As I knew that Mr. Bob Moore was confined to his room by an accident, through which an ounce of lead had been lodged in a portion of his frame, I had no fear of being arrested for trespass.  Presently the negro stopped in front of a cliff.

“Here is the ‘Sachem’s Cave,’” said Moore.  “You’ll help us to explore the cave, won’t you?”

I did not think the occasion an opportune one for exploring caves, but to have withdrawn would have demanded a “moral courage,” as people commonly say when they mean cowardice, which I did not possess.  We stepped within a narrow crevice of the great cliff.  Moore lit a lantern and went in advance; the negro followed with a flaring torch.

Suddenly an idea occurred to me, which I felt bound to communicate to Moore.  “My dear fellow,” I said in a whisper, “is this quite sportsmanlike?  You know you are after some treasure, real or imaginary, and, I put it to you as a candid friend, is not this just a little bit like poaching?  Your brother’s land, you know.”