“I thought I saw you fall,” and Pike’s face wore the most puzzled look imaginable. His fingers sought the yellowish tuft of hair on his chin and gazing at one and another of us he sighed: “I don’t understand it all.”
“We none of us understand it,” said one of the crowd, sneeringly.
“All here—all here!” said Pike, his countenance wearing the look of an insane person.
“Pike,” said I, “you must have dreamt all this about Indians.”
Pike’s face brightened for a moment, but soon resumed its old look of despair. “No, no,” said he, “no dream. I saw them all killed.”
“But, Pike, look at us; we are all here—all alive and well!”
Pike looked vacantly about him at the boys, and said: “Yes, I know, but I don’t understand it at all.”
“Well,” said I, “all there is about it is that you were dreaming and suddenly rose up shouting ‘Injuns! Injuns!’ and before we could stop you, you ran away down the cañon.”
“Yes,” said Pike, “it must have been a dream. You are all here—it must have been a dream. But it don’t seem that way at all.”
“Don’t seem what way?”