Old Tumult, the hunter and trapper, volunteered his services to Town. Town. gladly accepted, for, of all others, there were none he would have selected in preference to this daring scout. Ere night had fully set in, they had crossed the river, and were threading the trackless aisles of the great woods. They had no hopes of striking the trail of the enemy that night, owing to the darkness. Knowing, however, that if the girls really were taken prisoners, their captors would hurry them away toward the village, and by a forced march the two hoped to cut them off from their stronghold; for, once there, there would be little chance for the captives. Being well acquainted with almost every foot of the country, Old Tumult had no difficulty in keeping his course, and so they were thereby enabled to move quite briskly. At the cabin of Talbott Taft they stopped to inquire about Madge, but finding no one at home they pushed on. Leaving Wildwood lake to the left, they pursued a course which would eventually bring them back to the Sioux river, though many miles above the post. As they would have to follow the course of the river after it was reached, they resolved to make part of the journey by water, as Old Tumult knew where a canoe was concealed along the river bank. Fortune, however, lay in waiting for the two pursuers. In a little valley not far from the river, gleamed the cheerful light of a camp-fire, and within its radius _sat five human forms_. Two of these were Madge Taft and Clara Bryant. They sat a little in the background, with hands bound, and heads bowed in grief. The third form was the reverential figure and face of the Reverend Israel Ainesley. He was not bound, but sat before the fire smoking a huge pipe, and exercising a will of perfect freedom. The other two persons were painted and plumed Arapaho Indians! But a single glance was sufficient to convince the keen-eyed scout and his young companion that Israel Ainesley _was in league with the Indians_. Town. Farnesworth shuddered with disgust when he realized what a mockery of God Ainesley had proven himself to be; while Old Tumult could scarcely keep down the revengeful wrath that, like an internal volcano, was surging within his breast. Patience, discretion and self-control, however, were characteristic traits of the old scout, born of necessity. In this lay his great success as an Indian-fighter. The enemy seemed to have no fears of being pursued, and were quite boisterous and regardless of danger. “I don’t understand it,” said Old Tumult, when he and Town. had crawled within easy earshot of the camp. “What?” questioned Town., in an undertone. “The hilarity o’ them ’ere red pups. Inguns ’re generally more keerful.” “Ah! _that’s_ the cause!” whispered Town., on seeing the gray-haired hypocrite, Israel Ainesley, draw from his bosom a flask containing some kind of spirits, place it to his lips, and drink, then pass it on to his companions; “the damnable wretch!”