"It must be he is alive!" was the thought of Ned, "and has been feigning death all these hours."
He was on the point of calling to his uncle, when he reflected that no mercy was likely to be shown the warrior, in case he was only wounded. Ned felt a sympathy for the poor wretch, and, though he had been his most merciless enemy, the boy resolved that he would do nothing to obstruct his final escape.
He now centered his gaze on the figure and watched it with deep interest. So long as the flood of moonlight rested on it, it remained as motionless as the stumps near it; but at the end of ten minutes a thick cloud sailed slowly by the orb, obscuring its light only a few minutes.
As soon as all was clear, Ned exclaimed—
"He's moved again!"
"That's so, but he had help."
It was Jo Stinger who stood at the elbow of Ned, looking through the adjoining loophole. The boy turned to the scout, and said in an entreating voice—
"Don't shoot him, Jo; give the poor fellow a chance!"
Jo laughed—
"I don't waste ammunition on dead men: that varmint has been as dead as Julius Cæsar ever since he was shot."