In a moment all was still again but the wind and thunder. Town. noticed that Sherwood still kept his eyes upon the little cone-shaped hut, and so Town. himself glanced that way. He started. A gleam of lightning showed to him a human hand protruding from a small opening in the side of the hut. In that mysterious hand was clutched a small, glittering dagger. “Heavens! what can that mean?” thought Town., “it was _not_ the hand of either of the girls; it was too large. What if an enemy--Ah, what now?” It was a hasty movement upon the upper side of the island that interrupted him--a movement that produced a sound resembling the threshing of a heavy body through the undergrowth. This sound was followed by a dull thud, then upon the wings of the gathering storm came a wild yell from the lips of Old Tumult, again followed by a triumphant, mocking laugh. Then all became still again, and while Town. stood trying to gain some solution to the mysterious proceedings, the old scout approached him unseen and touched him upon the shoulder. Town. started. “This way, lad,” said the scout. Town. followed him to the upper margin of the island, when he drew from the forks of a bush and held up before him a _human scalp_. “Where did you get that?” asked Town., with a shudder of disgust. “Thar,” replied Old Tumult, pointing to the ground. Town. looked and saw the lifeless body of an Indian lying at his feet. “I found the red hound skulking on this very island,” said Old Tumult. “And did you slay him?” “Ya-as. It war a neat job, too; the demon didn’t git a chance to screech afore I closed his weazen, and slid his hair off. It looks bloody and wicked to you, lad, but sich is the game. It don’t take long to git used to it, either.” At this juncture drops of rain began to fall. “Go to the shanty, lad, or ye’ll git wet,” said Old Tumult. “I am no better than you, Tumult; if it will not hurt you, it will not hurt me.” “Yer plucky, lad; but let us not tarry here too long. We must keep an eye on Sherwood. I brought you here to show you that danger lurked about.” This remark of the old scout reminded Town. of the hand he had seen thrust from a crack in the hut, and he at once narrated it to him. “Smoke o’ torture!” exclaimed the scout, turning toward the hut; “come, lad, come.” They hastily retraced their steps toward the cabin; as they neared it, a long, vivid flash of lightning showed them that _Dick Sherwood was gone_! Old Tumult fairly roared with rage and anger. Town. rushed into the hut, excitedly calling on Madge and Clara. But there was no response. He groped about the room and found that it was empty! Wild with excitement he rushed out into the pelting storm. “The girls--they, too, are gone, Tumult!” he exclaimed. “Smoke o’ torture! that essence o’ Satan has outwitted us after all our precaution--Hark!” They bent their heads and listened, and from far out upon the water came the imploring cry: “Save me, Town., save me! help! help!”