The scouts withdrew a short distance, and sitting down in the bushes, watched their friend that they had bound so securely.
The moonbeams came down full on the head of the bound man—upon the massive head that drooped so listlessly upon the shoulder.
For fully ten minutes Boone and Kenton watched, and Lark gave no sign of life.
Face and figure seemed alike a part of the tree.
“I say, kurnel,” said Kenton, in a cautious whisper, “what do you think of it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied Boone, slowly; “it’s a most wonderful affair. That a critter should be able to tell aforehand that he was going to have a mad spell and want himself tied up. Why, I never heerd of any thing like it.”
“He ain’t moved yet,” said Kenton, still watching Lark, intently.
“P’haps he ain’t going mad after all?” suggested Boone.
“Or, it may be that he ain’t quite right in his mind now, and the idea of his going mad is only one of the strange fancies that sick people have sometimes?” queried Kenton.
“That’s sound sense,” rejoined Boone, thoughtfully.