By this time a bank of ominous black clouds had reared its head high up against the western sky, while along its purple, jagged edges, the red lightning ran its old fiery race, making the gloom that followed each flash pitchy black. The dull rumble of thunder had become continuous and sullen, and the whole surrounding had an air of awful solemnity about it.
Clara Bryant covered her eyes to shut out the blinding glare of the lightning, and shuddered when the hot winds touched her pale cheeks. Not so with Madge. A smile, that was almost grim in expression, rested upon her fair face; and her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy. The coming storm filled her breast, seemingly, with some wild joy and secret hope.
Dick Sherwood was silent, but the lightning’s glare showed his handsome face aglow with sinful radiance.
Pushing aside some bushes, Old Tumult pointed to a small, cone-shaped structure that stood within a little opening in the center of the island, and said:
“Thar’s a little shanty o’ mine that’ll do to pertect you and the gals from the storm, Town. Me and this essence o’ Satan here can tuck ourselves under a bush and grin it through till mornin’.”
“The girls can occupy it,” returned Town., “and I will assist you to guard the island, since there is no telling what dangers surround us.”
Town. conducted the maidens into the little hut, then went out and assisted Old Tumult in binding Dick Sherwood to a sapling that stood within a few feet of the building.
The renegade was so tightly and securely bound, that he fairly groaned with pain.
This done, Old Tumult said:
“Now I’ll reconnoiter the island and see that no lurkin’ red-skins are ’bout.”