CHAPTER VI.OUTWITTED.
Therewas 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.”
“Thebeginnin’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, oranyway, 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 thatmysterious hand was clutched a small, glitteringdagger.
“Heavens! what can that mean?” thought Town., “it wasnotthe 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 ahuman 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 thatDick 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.