CHAPTER XVIII

THE WURLEY IN THE ROCKS And yet there is no refuge To shield me from distress. Except the realm of slumber And great forgetfulness. —_Henry Kendall._ QUICK as they were, the black woman was quicker. She was lying full length on her face when Norah’s startled voice rang out across the camp. Almost with the first word she was on her feet, twisting to an erect position with a quick movement curious…