“Have you caught them all yet?” inquired the man on the portico.

“No,” answered the officer; “not yet.  One of them gave us the slip; a little fellow; belongs to the gun-boats.  He’s around here somewhere; but we’ll have him to-morrow, for he can’t escape.  If he comes around here, and you think there is any chance to take him alive, just send down to the Forks for us.  If not, you had better shoot him.  I wouldn’t advise you to meddle with him much, however, for he’s a dead shot, and fights like a cuss.”

“Did he kill any of the boys?” asked the man on the portico.

“Yes; he killed Bill Richards, who was on guard at the time he escaped, and stole his musket and cartridge-box.  I suppose you heard of that.  And then, when we got after him, he ran through the woods like a deer, loading his gun as he went, and every time he turned around, somebody had to drop.  Finally, old Squire Davis’s son overtook him, and they had a regular hand-to-hand fight; but the little one, as usual, came out at the top of the heap.”

“Did he kill young Davis?”

“Yes, as dead as a smelt; stuck a bayonet clean through his heart.  But I must be going.  Keep an eye out for him!”

“All right,” answered the man on the portico; and the horseman rode off.

What Frank’s feelings were, as he lay there in the bushes, and listened to this conversation—­every word of which he overheard—­we will not attempt to say.  But it showed him that his enemies feared him, and dreaded to meet him single-handed; and that, if he were retaken, his life would not be worth a moment’s purchase.  He had all along been perfectly aware that his case was desperate, and that he had undertaken something at which many a person, with twice his years and experience, would have hesitated.  His condition seemed utterly hopeless.  He had never before realized his danger, or what would be his fate if he were captured; but now all the difficulties before him seemed to stand out in bold relief.  Yet this knowledge did not act upon him as with some persons; it only nerved him for yet greater exertions, and with a determination to brave every danger before him.

When the horseman had disappeared, and the man on the portico had returned to his seat, Frank again turned his attention to the cabin.  After putting a new cap on his rifle, he threw it into the hollow of his arm, and crawled noiselessly out of his place of concealment.  When he reached the cabin, he raised to his feet, boldly ascended the steps, and knocked at the door, intending, if his demand for food was not instantly complied with, to take it by force.

“Who dar?” inquired a voice from the inside.

Frank made no reply, but was about to repeat the summons, when the door was thrown open, and an old, gray-headed negro woman appeared before him.  Frank was about to make known his wants, when the woman, who had thrown the door wide open, to allow the light to fall upon him, exclaimed: