inspecting
the scene from a higher point of vantage.

From that narrow, dark crimson ribbon, left behind by the flaunting
sun, a faint reflection entered the great open windows of the chamber
and revealed Mauville gazing without, pistol in hand; Constance
leaning against the curtains and the driver of the coach standing in
the center of the room, quaking inwardly and shaking outwardly. This
last-named had found an old blunderbuss somewhere, useful once
undoubtedly, but of questionable service now.

Meanwhile Oly-koeks had not returned. Having faithfully closed and
locked all the iron shutters, he had crept out of a cellar window and
voluntarily resigned as care-taker of the manor, with its burden of
dangers and vexations. With characteristic prudence, he had timed the
period of his departure with the beginning of the end in the fortunes
of the old patroon principality. The storm-cloud, gathering during the
life of Mauville's predecessor, was now ready to burst, the impending
catastrophe hastened by the heir's want of discretion and his failure
to adjust difficulties amicably. That small shadow, followed by a
smaller shadow, passing through the field, were none other than
Oly-koeks and Oloffe, who grew more and more imperceptible until they
were finally swallowed up and seemingly lost forever in the darkness
of the fringe of the forest.

A branch of a tree grated against the window as Mauville looked out
over the peaceful vale to the ribbon of red that was being slowly
withdrawn as by some mysterious hand. Gradually this adornment,
growing shorter and shorter, was wound up while the shadows of the
out-houses became deeper and the meadow lands appeared to recede in
the distance. As he scanned the surrounding garden, the land baron's
eye fell upon an indistinct figure stealing slowly across the sward in
the partial darkness. This object was immediately followed by another
and yet another. To the observer's surprise they wore the headgear of
Indians.

Suddenly the patroon heard the note of the whippoorwill, the nocturnal
songster that mourns unseen. It was succeeded by the sharp tones of a
saw-whet and the distinct mew of a cat-bird. A wild pigeon began to
coo softly in another direction and was answered by a thrush. The
listener vaguely realized that all this unexpected melody came from
the Indians, who had by this time surrounded the house and who took
this method of communicating with one another.

An interval of