Penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet thrust straight at his heart. In an instant the murder would have been done. But when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching his breast, Griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands, and fell dead at Penn's feet.
At the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack reverberated among the rocks.
The assassins were terror-struck. They looked all around; not a human being was in sight. Distant firing proclaimed that Stackridge and his men were still engaged. The death that struck down Griffin seemed to have fallen from heaven. They waited but a moment, then fled precipitately, leaving Penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead rebel at his feet.
Then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. Penn uttered a cry of joy. It was Pomp and Cudjo.
XXIV.
THE DEAD REBEL'S MUSKET.
Pomp came reloading his rifle, while Cudjo, knife in hand, flew at the cords that confined the schoolmaster.
In his gratitude to Heaven and his deliverers, Penn could have hugged that grotesque, half-savage creature to his heart. But no time was to be lost. Snatching the knife, he hastened to release the bewildered clergyman.
"Pomp, my noble fellow!" The negro turned from looking after the retreating rebels, with a gleam of triumph on his proud and lofty features: Penn wrung his hand. "You have twice saved my life—now let me ask one more favor of you! Take Mr. Villars to your cave—do for him what you have done for me. He is a much better Christian, and far more deserving of your kindness, than I ever was."