I went up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks and slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house.  I jumped in, and was off in a hurry.  I went up-stream far enough to make the head of the island, and then started across.  I took off the sun-bonnet, for I didn't want no blinders on then.  When I was about the middle I heard the clock begin to strike, so I stops and listens; the sound come faint over the water but clear—eleven.  When I struck the head of the island I never waited to blow, though I was most winded, but I shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started a good fire there on a high and dry spot.

Then I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half below, as hard as I could go.  I landed, and slopped through the timber and up the ridge and into the cavern.  There Jim laid, sound asleep on the ground.  I roused him out and says:

"Git up and hump yourself, Jim!  There ain't a minute to lose.  They're after us!"

Jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he worked for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared.  By that time everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to be shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid.  We put out the camp fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outside after that.

I took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; but if there was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows ain't good to see by.  Then we got out the raft and slipped along down in the shade, past the foot of the island dead still—never saying a word.