OUTWITTED.
There was a momentary silence following the discovery of the
existence of Dick Sherwood, in which time the bony fingers of Old
Tumult became almost buried in the flesh of the renegade.
“Easy, Tumult, easy!” cried the supposed defunct villain, with a
nonchalant air. “I’ll give up the ghost since you’ve stripped me of
my reverend face and snowy locks.”
“Essence of sin!” exclaimed the scout; “mocker o’ God--tool of the
devil, I’ve a notion to pulverize ye to dust!”
“There is no doubt that you and your friends all feel like it,
Tumult, since that little hanging affair didn’t shut off my wind,”
said the renegade, with a smile of defiance. “I told the settlers the
day they hung me, that when I addressed them again, it would be under
different circumstances. So it was. The affair at lake Wildwood is
but the beginning of my vengeance upon those who essayed to destroy
my life.”
“The _beginnin’_ o’ yer vengeance!” exclaimed Old Tumult; “ha! ha!
ha! that’s a good ’un. I think it’s the eend, too, fur when ye ’scape
the clutches o’ Old Tumult, jist whistle, will ye?”
The bold, wicked, defiant renegade laughed loud and bitterly, then
replied:
“It’s useless to throw words at one another, Tumult, for my day has
not yet come, unless you shoot me upon this spot.”
“No, no, Satan,” returned Old Tumult; “I will hand you over to the
settlers, and let them bid ye, ‘git ye hence.’”
“Then bind me hand and foot, or _any_ way, so you release your bony
claws from my flesh,” returned Sherwood, with a shrug of pain.
“Ho! ho! ho!” roared Old Tumult, and he shook the renegade as though
he had been a kitten; “why, man, ye’ve only felt the weight of my
hands.”
With the assistance of Town., the renegade was securely bound hand
and foot, with thongs made of the buck-skin leggings of one of the
dead savages.
The renegade glanced toward the two dead Indians with a look of
regret, yet when his eyes met those of the two maidens, his features
wore no downcast nor defeated look. Dick Sherwood had no fears of
death in any form. He was a moral coward as his deeds betokened,
but physically speaking, he was utterly reckless in his cunning and
daring.
Old Tumult and Town. now consulted as to the next steps to be taken.
They knew full well that they were in the midst of danger, and that
it would be unsafe to remain there during the night. They must either
begin their return to the post, or seek some safe retreat. But it
became a question, which of these two courses they should pursue.
Suddenly they were startled by a faint rumbling of thunder along the
western sky. This at once decided their course, as they discovered
that one of those furious autumnal storms was gathering.
“Insomuch as what we can’t reach the post to-night, ’specially afore
the storm, we’d better take refuge on the Two Islands, in the Sioux
river. Thar’s a kind o’ shanty on one o’ ’em, that’ll do to pertect
yerself and the gals from the storm. As to me, I’m storm-proof,
Town.”
“It shall all be as you say, Tumult,” replied Town.; “you know what
is best for us.”
So preparations were at once made for departure to the Two Islands.
Sherwood’s feet were unbound, and to prevent his escape in the dark,
a strong rope was made of hickory-bark, and one end attached to the
renegade’s neck--Old Tumult keeping the other end in his hand.
Town. Farnesworth, following the old scout and his prisoner,
conducted Madge and Clara through the almost impenetrable gloom of
the woods.
An hour’s walking brought them to the Little Sioux river, at a point
opposite the Two Islands. Old Tumult drew from under some reeds and
aquatic plants, a large canoe, that he had concealed there the day
previous, and the party at once embarked for the islands.
The Little Sioux river was not a large stream, but at this point the
Two Islands forced the water outward, making the stream fully one
hundred yards wide on each side of them.
Two Islands were not over a sixth of an acre each in area. They were
divided by a deep, but swift and narrow channel of water, and covered
by a dense growth of vegetation and driftwood. A beautiful archway of
shrubbery was formed by the foliage of each island growing outward,
and interlacing over the channel that separated the islands.
Having landed upon the western island, Old Tumult drew the canoe
partly upon the beach, then led the way carefully toward the interior
of the island.
By this time a bank of ominous black clouds had reared its head high
up against the western sky, while along its purple, jagged edges, the
red lightning ran its old fiery race, making the gloom that followed
each flash pitchy black. The dull rumble of thunder had become
continuous and sullen, and the whole surrounding had an air of awful
solemnity about it.
Clara Bryant covered her eyes to shut out the blinding glare of the
lightning, and shuddered when the hot winds touched her pale cheeks.
Not so with Madge. A smile, that was almost grim in expression,
rested upon her fair face; and her eyes shone with unusual
brilliancy. The coming storm filled her breast, seemingly, with some
wild joy and secret hope.
Dick Sherwood was silent, but the lightning’s glare showed his
handsome face aglow with sinful radiance.
Pushing aside some bushes, Old Tumult pointed to a small, cone-shaped
structure that stood within a little opening in the center of the
island, and said:
“Thar’s a little shanty o’ mine that’ll do to pertect you and the
gals from the storm, Town. Me and this essence o’ Satan here can tuck
ourselves under a bush and grin it through till mornin’.”
“The girls can occupy it,” returned Town., “and I will assist you to
guard the island, since there is no telling what dangers surround us.”
Town. conducted the maidens into the little hut, then went out and
assisted Old Tumult in binding Dick Sherwood to a sapling that stood
within a few feet of the building.
The renegade was so tightly and securely bound, that he fairly
groaned with pain.
This done, Old Tumult said:
“Now I’ll reconnoiter the island and see that no lurkin’ red-skins
are ’bout.”
He took up his rifle and glided away among the shrubbery like a
phantom.
Town. stood alone by the renegade. Neither spoke. Town. was too
absorbed in his own reflections to think of aught but the sweet, fair
face of Madge Taft. Dick Sherwood began humming a low, wild song,
fixing his eyes upon the hut as he did so.
In a moment all was still again but the wind and thunder. Town.
noticed that Sherwood still kept his eyes upon the little cone-shaped
hut, and so Town. himself glanced that way. He started. A gleam of
lightning showed to him a human hand protruding from a small opening
in the side of the hut. In that mysterious hand was clutched a small,
glittering dagger.
“Heavens! what can that mean?” thought Town., “it was _not_ the hand
of either of the girls; it was too large. What if an enemy--Ah, what
now?”
It was a hasty movement upon the upper side of the island that
interrupted him--a movement that produced a sound resembling the
threshing of a heavy body through the undergrowth. This sound
was followed by a dull thud, then upon the wings of the gathering
storm came a wild yell from the lips of Old Tumult, again followed
by a triumphant, mocking laugh. Then all became still again, and
while Town. stood trying to gain some solution to the mysterious
proceedings, the old scout approached him unseen and touched him upon
the shoulder.
Town. started.
“This way, lad,” said the scout.
Town. followed him to the upper margin of the island, when he drew
from the forks of a bush and held up before him a _human scalp_.
“Where did you get that?” asked Town., with a shudder of disgust.
“Thar,” replied Old Tumult, pointing to the ground.
Town. looked and saw the lifeless body of an Indian lying at his feet.
“I found the red hound skulking on this very island,” said Old Tumult.
“And did you slay him?”
“Ya-as. It war a neat job, too; the demon didn’t git a chance to
screech afore I closed his weazen, and slid his hair off. It looks
bloody and wicked to you, lad, but sich is the game. It don’t take
long to git used to it, either.”
At this juncture drops of rain began to fall.
“Go to the shanty, lad, or ye’ll git wet,” said Old Tumult.
“I am no better than you, Tumult; if it will not hurt you, it will
not hurt me.”
“Yer plucky, lad; but let us not tarry here too long. We must keep an
eye on Sherwood. I brought you here to show you that danger lurked
about.”
This remark of the old scout reminded Town. of the hand he had seen
thrust from a crack in the hut, and he at once narrated it to him.
“Smoke o’ torture!” exclaimed the scout, turning toward the hut;
“come, lad, come.”
They hastily retraced their steps toward the cabin; as they neared
it, a long, vivid flash of lightning showed them that _Dick Sherwood
was gone_!
Old Tumult fairly roared with rage and anger.
Town. rushed into the hut, excitedly calling on Madge and Clara. But
there was no response. He groped about the room and found that it was
empty!
Wild with excitement he rushed out into the pelting storm.
“The girls--they, too, are gone, Tumult!” he exclaimed.
“Smoke o’ torture! that essence o’ Satan has outwitted us after all
our precaution--Hark!”
They bent their heads and listened, and from far out upon the water
came the imploring cry:
“Save me, Town., save me! help! help!”
It was the voice of Madge Taft.