hinking the negro might not be altogether wrong. No
doubt the dim, dark soul of him saw vaguely, with that prophetic sense
which is in all races of men, a great truth. A fire was indeed
coming--was already kindled--which was to set the bondman free: and God
was in the fire. But of that mightier conflagration, the combustion of
the forests was but a feeble type.

Penn turned from Cudjo to watch the burning, and became aware of its
threatening and rapidly increasing magnitude. The woods had been set in
several places, but the different fires were fast growing into one,
swept by a strong wind diagonally across and up the mountain. It seemed
then as if nothing could prevent all the forest growths that lay to the
southward and westward along the range from being consumed.

As he gazed, he became extremely alarmed for the safety of Stackridge
and his friends: and where all this time was Carl? In vain he questioned
Cudjo. He turned, and was hastening to the cave when he met Pomp coming
towards him. Tall, majestic, naked to the waist, wearing a garment of
panther-skins, with the red gleam of the fire on his dusky face and
limbs, the negro looked like a native monarch of the hills.

"O Pomp! what a fire that is!"

"What a fire it is going to be!" answered Pomp, with a lurid smile. "Our
new neighbors have brought us bad luck. All those woods are gone. The
fire is sweeping up directly towards us--it will pass over all the
mountain--nothing will be left." Yet he spoke with a lofty calmness that
astonished Penn.

"And our friends!--Carl!--have you heard from them?"

"I have not seen Carl since he left the cave with you, nor any of
Stackridge's people to-night."

"Then they are in the woods yet!"

"Yes; unless they have been wise enough to get out of them! I was just
starting out to look for them.--Who comes there?"--poising his rifle.

"It's Carl!" exclaimed Penn, recognizing the confederate coat. But in an
instant he saw his mistake.

"It is one of Ropes's men!" said Pomp. "He has discovered us--he shall
die for setting my mountains on fire!"

"Hold!" Penn grasped his arm. "He is beckoning and calling!"

Pomp frowned as he lowered his rifle, and waited for the soldier to come
up.

"What! is it you? I didn't know you in that dress, and came near
shooting you, as you deserve, for wearing it!" And Pomp turned
scornfully away.

The comer was Dan Pepperill, breathless with haste, horror-struck,
haggard. It was some tim