“But the Indians compelled him to,” said Madge.
At this juncture Ainesley attempted, by a sudden leap, to get clear of the old scout, but Old Tumult was on the alert, and thrusting out his long arm and bony hand he clutched the aged hypocrite by the snowy beard in a vice-like grip.
Ainesley surged backward like a stubborn horse, and losing his balance, fell heavily to the earth. But Old Tumult stood erect, his face elongated with surprise, for in his hand he still clutched the gray whiskers of Ainesley. He held them to the light and saw that they were false whiskers!
Madge turned almost deadly pale, and a smothered cry burst from her lips. Clara involuntarily shrunk toward Town., with fear upon her sweet young face, while the young man himself seemed terribly agitated, as he gazed upon the fallen man.
“Smoke o’ holy torture!” roared Old Tumult, and leaping forward he seized Ainesley and dragged him before the fire, then, in addition to the false whiskers already stripped from the villain’s face, he tore from his head the wig of snowy hair.
The aged face of Israel Ainesley was no longer before them, but there was the face of one whom the settlers of Clontarf Post had hung in the forest long weeks before, and whom they supposed dead.
It was the handsome, yet wicked face of the renegade, Dick Sherwood!
CHAPTER VI.
OUTWITTED.
There was a momentary silence following the discovery of the existence of Dick Sherwood, in which time the bony fingers of Old Tumult became almost buried in the flesh of the renegade.
“Easy, Tumult, easy!” cried the supposed defunct villain, with a nonchalant air. “I’ll give up the ghost since you’ve stripped me of my reverend face and snowy locks.”