"'Twould only hev been tew more sculps ef we had been thar," replied the Yankee. "Now, I'll tell yew what I think. Willimack turned back with his own warriors arter the Skileton Scout set you free, and put out fer the stockade."
"I am afraid you are right. Let us press on as quickly as we can."
"No use of that. If he did turn back, and I'm pesky 'fraid he did, all we kan do won't bring us thar in time. I'm afeard the old man didn't half understand his danger, nuther, and was keerless arter we went away. Here, order yure men to close up. Them Injins are behind us now, but I reckin they won't leave a stick or stone standing along the Wabash, now that their blood is up."
The rangers closed up. They quickened their pace, and, late in the afternoon, began to near the clearing in which the settler had built his house and stockade. As they entered the clearing, a heavy smoke was seen to rise toward the summer sky, and, uttering a cry of agony, the young soldier spurred quickly forward, to see what he had most feared and yet had hardly dared to hope had not happened—his father's house in ruins, and still smoking, though the flames had nearly gone out! It was a terrible scene of desolation, but one all too common in the history of these Indian wars.
The rangers surrounded the blackened walls. In some places the fire had lost its power over the walls from their green state, and they still stood, though blackened and half consumed. The house itself had fallen, and the charred rafters lay among the smoldering embers of that once happy home. The desolation did not stop here, for there, in the opening between the stockade and the house, lay the bodies of the two soldiers, who had been killed and scalped and horribly mutilated.
"Poor Lefebre! unhappy Forbes!" said the young soldier. "Yours was indeed a sad, sad fate. God in his mercy take you in his keeping! But, where is my father?"
They searched here and there, and, at length, half hidden by a heavy beam which had fallen upon their lifeless bodies, they found the murdered forms of the three negroes, like the soldiers, scalped and gory. All the indignities which savage ferocity could invent had been heaped upon the wretched men who had here met their fate. Floyd was ghastly pale, and reeled in his walk like a drunken man as the five bodies were drawn out into the open space and laid down, side by side. One of the soldiers dismounted, and, taking his blanket from his saddle, and begging another from a comrade, covered the lifeless forms from the public gaze. The Yankee, whose face seemed twitching convulsively, looked fiercely about him as each new exhibition of savage spite showed itself.
"Why don't you help me, Seth?" said Floyd, feebly.
"I don't know. I'm sartin of one thing, and that is that Miss Madge would kill herself if she could to keep herself out of the hands of them pizen critters. It's awful, awful! Move round, boys, and look fer the capt'in's father. Be alive, men, and don't look so scared. I don't blame yew, poor lads, when tew of yure comrades are gone. And then, them black boys and the old lady. Here, take hold of these rafters and throw 'em off. Mebbe the old gentleman is underneath."
They tossed aside the still smoldering rafters and yet found nothing. The floor was only partly burned. The Yankee threw off a trap-door which had led into the cellar, and looked down. He could see nothing as yet, for a mass of dense smoke was rolling slowly upward from the cellar and he stood aside until this passed off, and then descended.