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: “Well, I was just thinking--thinking whether I had better reveal the suspicion that has arisen in my mind lately.” “Certainly; tell it, by all means,” exclaimed Tumult. Town. stepped nearer the scout and said: “I solemnly believe that Rollo is a traitor--that he knew of the savages being concealed in the ferry-boat.” The old scout at once grew restless; he looked at Town.--shifted his rifle to the other shoulder, and said: “What makes ye think so, Town.?” “His actions during the fight on the boat--he never lifted a hand to help us, but directly I caught him assisting on board the boat, the savage that you knocked overboard.” “Didn’t he ’pologize when ye ketched him?” “He plead excitement.” “Ugh--humph!” ejaculated Old Tumult; “wal, Town., as to that lad bein’ a traitor, we think alike; and thar’s sumthin’ else that I’ve diskivered ’bout him, and what s’prises me is that you haven’t see’d it yerself.” “What is it?” asked Town.; “all questions are fair.” “You’d shoot me, Town., if I’d tell you.” Town. was surprised by this blunt remark. “I will give my word as security for your life,” he said. “Then I’ll tell it. Rollo, the Ranger--” he began, but broke abruptly off in consequence of the angry crack of a rifle, and the “whizz” of a bullet in close proximity to his head. “’Tarnal furies!” he exclaimed, as his keen eyes swept the surrounding forest for the enemy that had fired the shot; “what a bad shot that war. Come, lad, tramp quick--tramp lively!” The old scout quickened his steps and lengthened his strides, until Town. was scarcely able to keep pace with him.