CHAPTER VII.
IN THE HORN OF A DILEMMA.
The rain was now coming down in a perfect torrent. The heavens were one broad sheet of red flame. The thunder rolled incessantly along the storm-girded sky. The winds rumbled wildly and ghostlike through the dark avenues of the forest, and lashed the waters of the river to a foam.
Town. Farnesworth stood aghast.
Old Tumult, gazing out upon the river, saw by the lightning’s flash, a canoe containing three or four persons making rapidly for the shore.
“Come, Town.,” he yelled, darting across the island, “and by the gods we will catch that essence o’ Satan again.”
Town. followed him to the shore, where both met with another surprise.
Their canoe was gone!
“The gals are lost, Town.; Satan and his imps have beaten us. We’re bound to stay here now till the storm abates, or Providence sends us a canoe.”
“Merciful Heaven!” cried Town., “can we not swim ashore, or construct a raft of driftwood?”
“Not while the river is tossin’ so, Town. We could not man a raft now. Even if we could, we might run right into a nest of red-skins that are no doubt watchin’ for us this minnit. Be patient, Town.; I know it goes hard with yer heart affairs, but patience is the key to success in Injun scoutin’.”
The two returned to the hut and went in out of the storm. Town. grew almost sick at heart as he sat and listened to the driving rain and howling winds, and realized that the two maidens were exposed to its fury, and he unable to assist them.
Old Tumult became quite calm in consequence of his defeat by Sherwood and his Indians, for he was sure he saw, at least, two Indians with him and his captives in the fleeing canoe.
No rest nor sleep came to the weary bodies and heavy eyes of Old Tumult and Town. that night.
The storm seemed to increase in fury each moment, and in order to dispel some of the damp, dismal gloom that seemed pervaded with an atmosphere and foreboding of danger, a fire was lighted within the hut.
The light showed an expression of bitter anxiety and suspense upon the face of young Farnesworth, while the hard, stony features of Old Tumult wore a grim smile denoting doubt and perplexity.
Every few minutes the old scout would go out and reconnoiter the island to make sure that no lurking red-skins were around. It was far past midnight, when on returning from one of these scouts, that Town. noticed his voice and actions were somewhat agitated, and asked:
“What is the matter, Tumult?”
“Why?”
“Your voice seems agitated.”
“Wal, I’ve diskivered sumthin’.”
“What?” and Town. started up.
“The river is risin’ rapidly.”
“What of that?”
“In an hour more this ’ere island will be overflown!”
“My God, Tumult! is it possible?”
“Ya-as. Thar’s never been sich a rain in these parts sense the rainy season seven years ago. A half a day’s rainin’ raised the river then till the Two Islands were completely kivered, sumthin’ that has never been done sense.”
“What are we to do, if the island is overflown?” asked Town.
“That’s easier axed than answered, lad. The wind is tossin’ the seethin’ waters up into little mountains—ah! hear ’em dash upon the island! We could never stick to a raft—the waves ’d wash us away like lumps o’ dirt.”
“God in heaven, are we to perish thus?” cried Town., gazing out upon the roaring river.
“Never say die, lad,” returned the scout, “there’s hope as long as thar’s life. We may escape yit.”
“How?”
“By climbin’ into one o’ the large saplin’s outside.”
“True, true; I had never thought of that. But will not the floating debris lodge against the bushes and bear them down?”
“Thar’ll be danger, but it’s our only resort, Town.”
“Then let us hasten to climb the saplings, for already I can hear the water creeping among the undergrowth, like a serpent—there—Heavens!”
It was a huge wave that dashed upon the island and rolled half a knee deep over—crept into the cabin and drowned out the fire.
For the next half-minute the two men stood wrapped in total darkness, with the wild, seething waters rolling around them. Then a prolonged flare of the red lightning revealed the swollen river and the dark wood-land beyond.
Wave after wave dashing against the island warned the old scout and Town. of their danger.
Procuring their weapons, they climbed into the largest sapling upon the island, and seated themselves securely among the topmost branches. They now found themselves some ten feet above the surface of the island. The tree was of sufficient size and strength to withstand the pressure of the flood in case no heavy weight of floating debris lodged against it.
The wind blew so fierce that it required every effort of our two friends to keep their seats in the tree. It was but a few minutes until they were drenched to the skin, though the green foliage around them protected them, in a great measure, from the driving force of the rain.
Half an hour after they had sought their new retreat, a huge wave rolled over the island and swept the hut away. In a few minutes more the Two Islands were entirely submerged, and the wild waves booming over them.
Not until the approach of day did the storm break away.
As the sun arose the rain ceased to fall, the wind went down, the clouds became broken, and in a few minutes the blue vault was sparkling clear and bright.
Our friends breathed an air of relief, but their heads grew dizzy when they gazed on the roaring flood beneath them.
Out upon either side the water had overflown the river banks and spread out a hundred yards into the bottom. Its turbulent current was black with floating logs and debris.
The tree in which our friends sat quivered under the agitated motion of the water, and ever and anon a floating log would strike it with a force that threatened to bear it down.
Wild birds wheeled and circled over their heads with a startled shriek, as though trying to add new terror to their already trying situation.
Old Tumult ran his eyes along the eastern shore in hopes of seeing some one that he could call to their assistance. But only wave after wave of the great prairie could be seen, rolling away in the distant haze of that autumnal morning. He turned his head and gazed toward the wooded shore. He saw a bird soar upward with a startled shriek from that point in the woods where the water had overflown the bank.
A novice in woodcraft would have paid no particular attention to so trivial a fact, but Old Tumult saw at once, that the bird had been frightened by something unusual.
In this the old scout was right. The next moment a large canoe, containing half a dozen Arapaho Indians, glided swiftly out from among the timber on the inundated shore, and bore down directly toward our friends.
Among the savages, our friends recognized the presence of Dick Sherwood, who, as the canoe glided from among the timber into the main channel of the river, arose to his feet and shouted:
“Surrender, Old Tumult and Town. Farnesworth, or by the heavens above you, and the water beneath, you will be riddled with bullets!”