Truxton King

"Good-night," called out Truxton King cheerily. He had grasped the oars; the little boat leaped off into the night, leaving the cursing desperadoes waist-deep in the chilly waters.

"See you later," sang out Newport, with sudden humour.

"We'll go south," said Truxton King to the girl who sat in the stern, clutching the sides of the boat with tense fingers. "I don't know just where we'll land, but it won't be up in Devil's Patch, you may rest assured of that. Pardon me if I do not indulge in small talk and bonmots; I'm going to be otherwise employed for some time, Miss Tullis. Do you know the river very well?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I only know that the barge docks are below here somewhere. I'm sure we can get into the city if we can find the docks. Let me take the oars, too, Mr. King. I can row."

"No. Please sit where you are and keep your eyes ahead. Can you see where we're going?"

"I can see the lights. We're in mid-stream, I think. It's so very dark and the wind is coming up in a gale. It's--it's going to storm. Don't you think we'd better try for a landing along the walls? They say the river is very treacherous." She was trembling like a leaf.

"I'll row over to the east side, but I don't like to get too close to the walls. Some one may have heard the shouts of our friends back there."

Not another word passed between them for ten or twelve minutes. She peered anxiously ahead, looking for signs of the barge dock, which lay somewhere along this section of the city wall. In time, of course, the marooned desperadoes might be expected to find a way to pursue them, or, at least, to alarm watchful confederates on the city side of the river. It was a tense, anxious quarter of an hour for the liberated pair. So near to absolute safety, and yet so utterly in the dark as to what the next moment, might develop--weal or woe.

At least the sound of rapidly working rowlocks came to the girl's ears. They were slipping along in the dense blackness beneath the walls, making as little noise as possible and constantly on the lookout for the long, low dock.

"They're after us," grated Truxton, in desperation. "They've got word to friends one way or another. By Jove! I'm nearly fagged, too. I can't pull much farther. Hello! What's this?"

The side of the boat caromed off' a solid object in the water, almost spilling them into the wind-blown river.