‘I believe you,’ said the other, replacing the pistol, ‘but’ he began to mutter indistinctly, took a few steps in a wild, uncertain way;—­’I feel dizzy,—­d——­nation,’ he staggered to a seat and dropped his head upon the piece of rock that served them for a table;—­the opiate had done its work.

Curly Tom cautiously arose, and walking up to him, looked upon him long and steadily, listening to the heavy breathing,—­he wished to remove his arms, but the position Hunter was lying in, prevented his doing so.  The ruffian felt no remorse; it was true that Hunter had saved the wretch’s mother from being abused and ill-treated, perhaps murdered, by the superstitious villagers:  true that he had regularly allowed the poor old woman support till her death,—­while her ruffian son was pursuing his career of crime,—­but the villain knew his own neck was in danger, and being conscious of perfidy, now hated Hunter for his momentary suspicion.  As he leaned over the insensible man, his light, bleary eyes gleaming with ferocious satisfaction, his lank, shambling figure, and yellow, matted hair hanging in elf locks round his sharp visage, he looked like an unclean bird of prey hovering over a carcase.  And a carcase it was over which he bent his head; dead now to every honorable hope, worse than useless to his kind, a hunted outcast, a mass of decaying matter, kept alive only by the fiery hope of vengeance that burnt within.  The ruffian had hitherto been faithful, and procured Hunter those necessaries that he could not venture in quest of himself, for he was a deserter from that service, which kidnaps men to do its work, and hunts down the poor slaves when they escape, even in the land whose inhabitants are singing, ‘Britons ever will be free.’  Bitter, mockery of freedom.  Curly Tom now held up his hand, and cautiously the officers emerged from their hiding place, slowly they came forward, anticipating an easy capture; they were mistaken.  The opiate, as it frequently does on excitable natures, had only partially stupefied him, and the first effect wearing off, it now began to act as a stimulant;—­the officers had traversed about half the distance to the rock on which Hunter’s head reclined, when he started up and looked wildly around him,—­for a moment he seemed stupefied, and passed his hand before his face as if to assure himself he was not dreaming—­the officers rushed forward.  He saw it all now,—­he drew a pistol, but Curly Tom threw his long arms round him,—­too late to prevent the explosion, however.  The ball whizzed by the side of the foremost officer, and struck the agent in the leg—­he fell.  Curly Tom possessed more strength than his lank figure promised,—­but Hunter, thoroughly sobered by his danger; tore his hold away, and striking the ruffian a tremendous blow with the butt end of the discharged pistol, felled him to the ground,—­and snatching a knife from the rock close at hand, stabbed the foremost officer to the heart,—­he fell with a heavy