thought, "There is no use in going in. The
Indian's long legs are loping far away in the forest, be sure.
Cowlson! friend Cowlson!" he asked, "art thou dead, or only scalped?"

He listened for an answer, but none was returned. Proceeding round the
little building, he soon found what he sought--the soldier, tied by
the neck and heels, in a most uncomfortable posture, and soaked with
the rain.

"Humph!" ejaculated Bars; "these salvages be learning civilization
fast. An' I had done it myself, I could not have tied the knot with
more judgment."

The soldier (to add to whose misfortunes, his musket was gone,
together with the powder and ball wherewith he had been furnished)
felt in no talking humor, and sulkily followed the jailer into the
house, where he recovered his speech, and recounted his portion of the
adventures of the night. Bars pretended to believe that the party
consisted entirely of Indians; of which, however, Cowlson could by no
means be persuaded; "for how," asked he, "could they learn our
countersign?"

"They be cunning vermin," said Bars. "But now, that I recollect,
methinks that when they deceived me it sounded a little heathenish."

"Then, why did you admit them?" demanded Cowlson.

"A fine question for you to ask, Jim Cowlson. An' I had not, the
chance is they would have bowled you off with them, as a hostage for
the sachem, and like as not burned us up besides. But the fact is, I
was half asleep. An' I had been wide awake, perhaps I would have
discovered the trick. And who would have guessed that Indians knew
anything about countersigns? I wonder how they found it out."

"I must report this night's work forthwith," said Cowlson, rising;
"but I had almost as lief have lost my scalp as my musket."

The disconsolate soldier accordingly wended on his way, to tell the
best story he could to save himself from blame; while Bars, after
relocking his empty prison, and barring his door, snuggled himself
alongside his partner to busy his rather obtuse brain with schemes of
a like nature on his own behalf.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"This monument shall utter of the past
It hath no tongue; and yet Demosthenes,
Or Roman Tully, never stirred the breasts
Of gaping citizens with subtler speech,
Than shall this pile of stones the wayfarers.
Who pass this way."

ANONYMOUS.

While with rapid steps through the tempestuous night the retiring
party were seeking the forest, one of them, the only