The Georgian, now apprehensive that the outlaw would awaken, crept forward, and, still upon his hands and knees, was now fairly within the vaulted chamber.  He was closely followed by one of his companions.  Hitherto, they had proceeded with great caution, and with a stealth and silence that were almost perfect.  But the third of the party to enter—­who was Brooks, the jailer—­more eager, or more unfortunate, less prudent certainly—­not sufficiently stooping, as the other two had done, or rising too soon—­contrived to strike with his head the pole which bore the curtain, and which, morticed in the sides of the cavern, ran completely across the awkward entrance.  A ringing noise was the consequence, while Brooks himself was precipitated back into the passage, with a smart cut over his brows.

The noise was not great, but quite sufficient to dissipate the slumbers of the outlaw, whose sleep was never sound.  With that decision and fierce courage which marked his character, he sprang to his feet in an instant, grasped the dirk which he always carried in his bosom, and leaped forward, like a tiger, in the direction of the narrow entrance.  Familiar with all the sinuosities of his den, as well in daylight as in darkness, the chances might have favored him even with two powerful enemies within it.  Certainly, had there been but one, he could have dealt with him, and kept out others.  But the very precipitation of the jailer, while it occasioned the alarm, had the effect, in one particular, of neutralizing its evil consequences.  The two who had already penetrated the apartment, had net yet risen from their knees—­in the dim light of the lamp, they remained unseen—­they were crouching, indeed, directly under the lamp, the rays of which lighted dimly the extremes, rather than the centre of the cell.  They lay in the way of the outlaw, as he sprang, and, as he dashed forward from his couch toward the passage-way, his feet were caught by the Georgian who had first entered, and so great was the impetus of his first awakening effort, that he was precipitated with a severe fall over the second of the party; and, half stunned, yet still striking furiously, the dirk of Rivers found a bloodless sheath in the earthen floor of the cell.  In a moment, the two were upon him, and by the mere weight of their bodies alone, they kept him down.

“Surrender, Guy! we’re too much for you, old fellow!”

There was a short struggle.  Meanwhile, Brooks, the jailer, joined the party.

“We’re three on you, and there’s more without.”

The outlaw was fixed to the ground, beneath their united weight, as firmly as if the mountain itself was on him.  As soon as he became conscious of the inutility of further struggle—­and he could now move neither hand nor foot—­he ceased all further effort; like a wise man economizing his strength for future occasions.  Without difficulty the captors bound him fast, then dragged him through the narrow entrance, the long rocky gorges which they had traversed, until they all emerged into the serene light of heaven, at the entrance of the cavern.