In front of him, not ten yards distant, stood the man who attempted to murder him the night before in the lone cabin near the creek falls.
The astoundment was mutual.
Evidently the man was none the worse for the fright he had received over the grave of his victim in the shanty cellar. He stared at the reclining form in the fisherman's shanty as though doubting his senses.
After a moment he advanced, and gazed fixedly into the face of fever-stricken August.
"So!" he exclaimed, and in that one word there was an immense amount of meaning.
Then he walked up to the bunk and stood within a few feet of the sick man.
"Hank Jones, what are you doing here?"
"Well, that's a nice question," sneered the villain as he thrust his hand to his hip pocket. "How in nature did you escape from the creek? Didn't I hit you when I fired?"
With the words the villain drew a revolver.
"It seems not."