against the slightly lighter sky.  They crouched there in deep shadow, but discovered no evidence that their effort at escape had been observed.  A dog was barking somewhere not far away, and once there was a rustle along the nearer bank, as though a man wormed his way cautiously through the thick chaparral.  But this sound also ceased after a moment, and all was still.  Brennan put his lips close to his companion’s ear.

“Got yer cartridges tied up?  That’s all right; hand ’em over.  Now give me your belt.  No; pass the end under the log an’ buckle it; not too tight.  You hang on to the outside, an’ I’ll push off.  If yer have ter paddle ter keep in the current don’t let yer hands er feet come to the surface—­understand?”

“Certainly.”

“All right then; are you all set?  Holy smoke, this is going to be some yacht ride.”

The log did not even grate as it loosened its slight hold on the rock, and began the voyage down-stream.  The current was swift enough to bear it and its burden free from the island, although it moved slowly and noiselessly on its way.  The two men deeply emerged on either side, with heads held rigid against the wet bark, were indistinguishable.  Out from the deeper shadow of the rock they drifted into the wider stream below, Brennan gently controlling the unwieldy affair, and keeping it as nearly as possible to the centre, by the noiseless movement of a hand under water.  The men scarcely ventured to breathe and it seemed as though they were ages slowly sidling along, barely able to perceive that they really moved.  They must have gone a hundred yards or more before there was any alarm.  Then a voice spoke from the bank to the right, followed almost instantly by the flash of a gun and a sharp report.  The flare lit up the stream, and the bullet thudded into the log, without damage.

“What was it, Jack?” the voice unmistakably Lacy’s.  “Did you see something?”

“Nothin’ but a floatin’ log,” was the disgusted reply, “but I made a bull’s-eye.”

“That’s better than you did any time before to-day.  Where is it?  Oh, yes, I see the blame thing now.  You don’t need ter be any quail-hunter ter hit that.  It’s goin’ ’bout a mile an hour.  However, there is no harm done; the shot will show those fellows that we are awake out here.”

Slowly the log floated on, vanishing in the darkness.  No other alarm greeted its progress, and at last, confident that they were already safely below the extent of the guard lines, the two men, clinging to its wet sides, ventured to kick out quietly, and thus hasten its progress.  It came ashore at the extreme end of the curve, and, after a moment of intent listening, the voyagers crept up the sand, and in whispers discussed the next effort of their escape.  The belts were unstrapped from about the log, reloaded with cartridges, and buckled around dripping waists before they clambered cautiously up the low bank.  The road was just beyond, but between them and it arose the almost shapeless form of a small house, a mere darker shadow in the gloom of the night.