"Who's there!" he demanded, weapon ready.
There was no answer, but slowly, wearily, with unspeakable sadness
in every gesture, there rose the figure of the girl Lily, around
whose fortunes had centered all these turbulent scenes.
In the confusion which followed, no one had a clear conception of
all the events which concluded this tragic encounter. Dunwody,
Jamieson and Clayton cleared the men from the decks of the boat.
The wounded hobbled to a place of shelter. The dead were laid out
in a long and ghastly row at the edge of the willow grove.
Meantime, busy hands brought dried brush and piled it up against
the side of the boat as she lay against the bank, the leader in
this being the Honorable William Jones, who now mysteriously
reappeared, after a temporary absence which had not been noted.
The faint light of a match showed in the dim dawn. There came a
puff of smoke or so, a tiny crackling. A denser burst of smoke
pierced through the light flames. Soon the fire settled to its
work, eating in even against the damp planking of the boat.
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