“What in the name of the holy tortures does this all mean?” yelled Old Tumult, as he knelt by the prostrate form of the man, while Town. Farnesworth knelt by the woman.
The scout bent low and gazed into the face of the man.
A shout, that rolled through the forest aisles like a peal of thunder, burst from his lips. He recognized the face of the man.
It was that of Dick Sherwood!
The old scout communicated his discovery to Town., and then asked:
“Who’ve you got thar, Town.?”
A groan burst from the young man’s lips and he started up.
“What’s up, what’s up?” questioned the scout.
“Oh, God! my eyes deceive me, Tumult!” he cried, “or else that is the face of Madge Taft.”
“Holy smoke o’ torture!” burst from Tumult’s lips, as he knelt by the motionless form of the woman, and gazed into her face. “Yes, yes; it is the trader’s gal, but she is not dead.”