“And what would you think, boy, if I, Solomon Strange, gifted with the power of the ancient soothsayers, should tell you that you are guilty of burying a live man there?”
“I would think you were a fool,” retorted Frank.
“‘To err is human, to forgive divine,’ but I will prove it to you, my boy,” said Strange; and, as he concluded, began to unfasten the strips of bark and twisted grass from his limbs.
This done, his ragged garments dropped from his body, revealing it dressed in a fashionable suit of dark cloth. Then the man placed his hands to his head and face, and tore off the wig and mask of long yellow hair and whiskers, and—
Colonel Wayland Sanford stood before them in perfect health!
The young sportsmen, the two hunters and Rodger Rainbolt were completely dumbfounded, and started back as if from a ghost, unable to utter a word.
A merry peal of laughter rung from the sisters’ lips. They knew their father lived, and were prepared for the meeting. He had made known his existence to Florence in the Indian encampment, hence their private interviews there. Florence then communicated the fact to Silvia.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the colonel; “do you believe now, my boy, that you buried a live man, there?”
“Uncle Wayland Sanford!” exclaimed Frank, realizing the startling fact, “how in the name of Heaven did you escape?”
“Easy enough, since you had buried me in a state of catalepsy, brought on by excitement and fatigue, and not very deep in the ground, for when I regained consciousness I found I was in the ground, the dirt mostly off of me and a pack of wolves lowering around. The beasts had dug the dirt away.”