They separated. The scout and Town. turned their faces westward and set off through the forest. Had they, however, crept back and kept a watch upon the movements of the young ranger, they would have seen sufficient of his proceedings to have justified them in sending a bullet through his heart. But, “where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.”
CHAPTER XII.
THE PIPE OF PEACE.
Old Tumult felt none the better of his ferry-boat adventure. In fact, he felt quite sore, but the consciousness of having defeated the enemy, proved a radical mental relief, and repaid him, in one sense of the word, for the bruises he had received.
Hunger was the next enemy with which they had to contend, for the want of fire. Game was around them in abundance, but they had no way of cooking it. Continuing on, however, they were so fortunate as to come across the remnants of a deserted camp-fire. This was at once replenished with fuel, and soon a savory slice of venison was roasting before it.
After a hearty meal, they continued on toward the Indian village. They proceeded quite leisurely, for their late adventures had nearly exhausted them; besides there was no need of haste, as they had plenty of time to reach the Devil’s Staircase before night.
As they moved along, Town. became silent and thoughtful, and Old Tumult wary and cautious. The latter finally noted a curious expression upon his companion’s face, and asked:
“What is it, Town.?”
“What is what?’ queried Town., apparently perplexed.
“That makes yer face twitch so.”
Town. laughed, as the color came to his face. The fact of it was, he was thinking of the pretty Madge Taft, but to evade a direct answer, he said: