Boone, with horror-stricken eyes, looked toward the river.
The Indian chief had disappeared.
Only a dark mass, motionless on the prairie, met the eyes of the hunter.
Earnestly Boone swept his eyes along the horizon. No form was in sight—bird, beast or human.
The scout felt his blood congeal within his veins with horror.
“I can’t stand this,” he muttered, nervously; “I must see what’s been goin’ on. If I ain’t wrong, my way to the wood is clear now.”
Then Boone cast a rapid glance behind him in the direction of the village. He saw nothing there to alarm him.
“Here goes,” he muttered.
Slowly and cautiously the old hunter crept near to the dark form lying so still upon the prairie.
Some dozen paces from the shapeless mass the hunter paused.