"Yet stay a little longer," persisted his wife. "If the poor soldier be murdered, thou canst do him no good."
"You forget, goody, that I am a public officer, and must do my duty," said Sam, extricating himself from her grasp; and, lighting a lantern, he went out of doors.
Bars directed his course straight to the door of the prison, which he found open.
"It is as I expected," he thought, "There is no use in going in. The Indian's long legs are loping far away in the forest, be sure. Cowlson! friend Cowlson!" he asked, "art thou dead, or only scalped?"
He listened for an answer, but none was returned. Proceeding round the little building, he soon found what he sought—the soldier, tied by the neck and heels, in a most uncomfortable posture, and soaked with the rain.
"Humph!" ejaculated Bars; "these salvages be learning civilization fast. An' I had done it myself, I could not have tied the knot with more judgment."
The soldier (to add to whose misfortunes, his musket was gone, together with the powder and ball wherewith he had been furnished) felt in no talking humor, and sulkily followed the jailer into the house, where he recovered his speech, and recounted his portion of the adventures of the night. Bars pretended to believe that the party consisted entirely of Indians; of which, however, Cowlson could by no means be persuaded; "for how," asked he, "could they learn our countersign?"
"They be cunning vermin," said Bars. "But now, that I recollect, methinks that when they deceived me it sounded a little heathenish."
"Then, why did you admit them?" demanded Cowlson.
"A fine question for you to ask, Jim Cowlson. An' I had not, the chance is they would have bowled you off with them, as a hostage for the sachem, and like as not burned us up besides. But the fact is, I was half asleep. An' I had been wide awake, perhaps I would have discovered the trick. And who would have guessed that Indians knew anything about countersigns? I wonder how they found it out."