“We’ve got to get a doctor right away, and we’ve got to get Dauph home,” announced Ed. “We might do more harm than good if we tried to carry him ourselves, so, Kali, you had better hurry over to your camp and have the men come on their ponies, and rig up a litter.” The Indian lad looked up in a mute appeal to not be sent away from his stricken friend, but as it became clear that this was perhaps the only chance to save Dauphin’s life, he hastened away on his errand.
“Rob, you are the best runner; you had better get down to Necedah as soon as you can, and get Doctor Cook up. We can’t tell how badly Dauph is hurt.”
Who can describe the thoughts of that young lad, left alone with his dying comrade? for the wound proved, indeed to be unto death. Ed was not naturally superstitious, but the unexplained shot following the Indian’s warning could not help but have a terrifying effect, deepening as the hours brought darkness upon him.
Some of the time the wounded boy was delirious, and imagined that the Indians were attacking them, and in his endeavors to spring up it was all Ed could do to restrain him. At length the Indians arrived on their ponies, and a rude but serviceable litter was made, upon which the red men, two at a time, carried Dauphin to his home.
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had been no strangers to sorrow and death; their lives had known many bereavements and years of suffering, but Ed never forgot the agony of the hour in which he bore to them the knowledge of the accident to their young son.
Before morning Rob arrived with Doctor Cook, from Necedah, but it was too late. The spirit of the lad they had all so fondly loved, had passed out, and Dauph was dead.
Mr. Allen at once notified the authorities and a thorough search was made for some clue to the one who had fired the fatal shot, but without success; and it was not until years afterward that a man in a distant state confessed to the facts. He said that with a companion he had been on a hunting trip to the northern part of the state, and shortly after having passed the old mounds they saw a patch of gray deerskin moving along in the top of a thicket, and supposed it to be a part of the head of a deer and had fired. The cry of a human being that followed had shown their horrible mistake, and in a cowardly fear of possible consequences they had hidden in the thicket until after dark and then slipped away.
A new experience had entered the life of the Allen boys—Death. For the first time they had looked in the still face of one who had been near and dear, and heard it said “He is dead.”
What is death! Where was the boy who, just a few hours before, had been with them so full of hope and joy and vigor? Had he ceased to exist? Was that dead body, so soon to turn to dust, all that was left of their friend? Or, was the real Dauphin somewhere, yet alive, and entering upon an existence in which all his powers and aspirations would have full scope, unhindered by earthly limitations?
Was it not really true that somewhere there was a God, who had made all this marvelous universe, and man with the ability to discover and enjoy its secrets? Did He make man like Himself? Would not man of necessity have to be like Him in order to enjoy all that He had created? What did it mean to be like God? Were they like God? If not, how could they become so?