t might give me a chance to put a bullet through
some o' those that had thwarted my plans, and would have had me lynched,
if they could."

Harold rose and went away, thinking that verily he had been casting his
pearls before swine.

Jackson had, indeed, thrown away his last chance; rejected the last offer
of salvation; for, ere morning, life had fled. Starved to death and gone
into eternity without God and without hope! his bitterest foe could not
have desired for him a more terrible fate.

There was no moon that night, and the evening was cloudy, making a
favorable condition of affairs for the prisoners contemplating an escape.
As soon as the darkness was dense enough to conceal their movements from
the guard, the work of tunneling began.

It was a tedious business, as they had none of the proper tools, and only
one or two could work at a time at the digging and cutting away of the
stone; but they relieved each other frequently at that, while those on the
outside carried away in their coats or whatever came to hand, the earth
and fragments of stone dislodged, and spread them over the marshy ground
near the creek.

Duncan, returning from one of these trips, spoke in an undertone to Harold
Allison, who with a rude file made of a broken knife-blade, was patiently
endeavoring to free himself from his shackles.

"Jackson is dead. I half stumbled over a corpse in the dark, when a man
close by (the same one that told us this afternoon who the fellow was--I
recognized the voice) said, 'He's just breathed his last, poor wretch!
died with a curse on his lips.' 'Who is he?' I asked; and he answered,
'Tom Jackson was one of his names.'"

"Gone!" said Harold, "and with all his sins upon his head."

"Yes; it's awful! Here, let me work that for awhile. You're very tired."

The proffered assistance was thankfully accepted, and another half-hour of
vigorous effort set Harold's limbs free. He stretched them out, with a low
exclamation of gratitude and relief.

At the same instant a whisper came to their ears. "The work's done at
last. Jones is out. Parsons close at his heels. Cox behind him. Will you
go next?"

"Thanks, no; I will be the last," said Duncan; "and take charge of Allison
here, who is too weak to travel far alone."

"Then I'm off," returned the voice. "Don't lose a minute in following me."

"Now, Allison," whispered Harry, "summon all your strength and courage,
old fellow."

"Duncan, you are a true and nobl