Old Tumult became quite calm in consequence of his defeat by Sherwood and his Indians, for he was sure he saw, at least, two Indians with him and his captives in the fleeing canoe.
No rest nor sleep came to the weary bodies and heavy eyes of Old Tumult and Town. that night.
The storm seemed to increase in fury each moment, and in order to dispel some of the damp, dismal gloom that seemed pervaded with an atmosphere and foreboding of danger, a fire was lighted within the hut.
The light showed an expression of bitter anxiety and suspense upon the face of young Farnesworth, while the hard, stony features of Old Tumult wore a grim smile denoting doubt and perplexity.
Every few minutes the old scout would go out and reconnoiter the island to make sure that no lurking red-skins were around. It was far past midnight, when on returning from one of these scouts, that Town. noticed his voice and actions were somewhat agitated, and asked:
“What is the matter, Tumult?”
“Why?”
“Your voice seems agitated.”
“Wal, I’ve diskivered sumthin’.”
“What?” and Town. started up.