After all he had proved the victor, and had pushed the body of his fallen enemy through the hatchway in order to work a surprise upon his two friends, who, he learned from their conversation, had come out victors with the savages above. But, the old scout bore many a mark of the conflict. His face and neck were fearfully lacerated, and the few locks of yellow hair that were permitted to remain on his head, clung about his face and neck wet and sadly. His clothes were nearly all torn from his body, and his back bore many a red furrow where the sharp nails of the giant had plowed.
Town. stood speechless with happy disappointment.
Something like a scowl passed over Rollo’s face.
Old Tumult was the first to speak:
“Ay, lads!” he cried, “had thar’ been a leetle smell o’ brimstone down thar’ in that dark hold, I could have convinced myself that I was tusslin’ with the devil away down in the black pit.”
Town. and Rollo laughed at the scout’s coolness of speech rendered slightly ludicrous by his doleful appearance.
“If you could come out victor in a life-struggle with Satan, as with this savage, you’d be equal to Christian, the Pilgrim,” said Town.
“’Zactly,” returned the old scout, and having picked up his rifle from the deck, he related his adventures below. When he had succeeded in slaying his foe, he listened and learned from their talk that Town. and Rollo’s fears had been aroused as to the result of the conflict. A practical joke was thereby suggested to his mind, and he proceeded to carry it into execution by thrusting the body of the savage through the hatchway.
Washing the blood from his hands and face, and bathing his many, but not very serious, wounds and bruises, the scout declared his readiness for further business. Thereupon, Rollo headed the boat shoreward again, and in a few minutes the bank was reached.
Old Tumult and Town. went ashore, but Rollo remained on board.