Grab hold there,--you! Hey, get his feet, damn you!" The third man was reluctant to understand, but at last grasped the prisoner by the feet, swearing in a language of his own.

The Yankee desperado took his shoulders, and together, with earnest grunts, they followed the man with the lantern, Truxton knew not whither except that it was away from the wretched sweat-hole.
He could see that they were crowding through a low, narrow passage, the earthen sides of which reeked with moisture.

Twice they paused to rest, resuming the journey after a season of cursing, finally depositing him with scant courtesy upon the rocky floor of what proved to be a rather commodious cave.

The breath was almost jarred from his body.

He had the satisfaction of driving his two heels viciously against the person of the man who had held them the last ten minutes, receiving a savage kick in return.
Daylight streamed into this convenient "hole in the wall;" lying upon his side, Truxton faced the opening that looked out upon the world.