“No, no; they love him too well—you don’t really think this, grandma,” cried Mary, turning pale with sudden terror.
“Well, no; I suppose he stands as good a chance as the rest of us; but that isn’t saying over-much, for I tell you what, gals! there’ll be squally times in the valley afore another year goes over our heads, or I lose my guess. All these ’ere forts and stockades ain’t being built for nothing.”
Jane started up in affright. “You don’t think they mean to attack us at once?—that they are camping under the ledge in order to pounce upon us unawares, do you, grandma? Oh, I wish I was away! I wish I’d gone while there was a chance! They’ll scalp me the very first one—I can almost feel that horrid Indian girl’s knife in my hair!”
“Don’t fear,” said Mary; “they have left Campbell’s Ledge. I was up there at daylight, and found the camp empty.”
“You up there at daylight, Mary? What for?” cried Jane, flushing with angry surprise. “Who did you go to see?”
“I went with the missionary.”
“And who was he after, I should like to know?”
“I believe, Jane he wished to speak with the young girl whom he married to Walter Butler last night, and perhaps to her mother, the strange white lady, also.”
“And what about?—what business has that man with Walter Butler’s affairs? I should think he’d meddled enough already,” cried the angry beauty.
“It was not Butler, but his wife whom the minister went in search of.”