ontinued Fred, who easily avoided the
meditated blow. "Then I will begin in earnest."

He drew his revolver from his pocket, and struck his opponent a heavy
blow on his temple. The Irishman uttered a groan, and remained
motionless, and then Fred rushed towards me to see what assistance I
needed; but I fortunately required none, for the man I had taken charge
of, after being frustrated in his attempt to use his knife, remained
perfectly quiet, and appeared disposed to surrender on as good terms as
he could make.

"Never mind me," I cried, as Fred joined me; "I will take charge of this
fellow, and blow his brains out if he makes an attempt to escape.
Extinguish the fire before it gains headway, and don't, above all
things, raise an alarm."

Fred crawled under the building, and in a few seconds had scattered the
firebrands so that all danger was passed, and in the latter work Smith
and Murden rendered good service; for the lieutenant quickly had a
couple of buckets of water on hand, which he had brought from our "sink
hole," and in a very few minutes all traces of the fire were destroyed.

"Have you got the scamp?" asked Murden, crawling from his confined
quarters, where he had been nearly strangled with smoke.

"This fellow appears to be quiet enough," I answered, turning my
prisoner over on his back, so that I could see his face.

"Is he?" asked the fellow in a sarcastic tone; and quick as lightning he
started to his feet, and I saw a long knife flash in the starlight, and
before I could spring aside he aimed it full at my breast.

In another instant I should have been a dead man, but, fortunately,
Murden saw the move, and struck the ruffian's arm up, and the knife
passed over my shoulder harmless. The next instant my prisoner was
measuring his length on the hard ground, with blood spirting from his
nose and mouth, the effects of a tremendous blow, which the lieutenant
delivered full upon his unprotected face.

"Lie there, you d----d midnight incendiary," cried the officer,
indignant to think that he wished to add murder to his other crimes.

The wretch only groaned in reply; but Murden, thinking that he was
shamming, slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, and then served the
Irishman, whom Fred had rendered tongue-tied by a blow from his
revolver, in the same manner.

"A neat pair of handcuffs is an ornament that disgraces no one, while
they add to a person's security eighty per cent. There is, to be sure