“What is it that troubles you, Jo? Come, out with it; what are you thinking about?”
“Little Lizzie Manning!” was the reply of the scout, in a voice that was sepulchral in its solemnity.
The shaft of a Comanche’s poisoned arrow, driven to the heart of Egbert Rodman, could not have startled him more than did this reply. He gave a gasp as if of pain, and almost fell to the earth, before he could compose himself sufficiently to sit down and collect his thoughts. When he did so, he looked across from the opposite side of the camp-fire, and asked, pleadingly:
“What about her, Jo? Is she living or dead? Can you tell me what has become of her? Don’t keep me in suspense!”
“You didn’t seem in quite so much suspense a little while ago,” he remarked, somewhat resentfully; and then, as if regretting the words, he hastened to add, in a more considerate voice:
“That’s just the trouble, Roddy; you know when the fresh came, we hadn’t any time to look after each other, but we went spinning down the kenyon as if Old Nick was arter us. I heerd you yell, and of course you heerd my answer, but there wasn’t much to be seen then, and so we each kept on sailing on our own hook.”
“But Lizzie! Did you hear nothing of her?” inquired the breathless lover.
“Yes; I did hear her,” replied Jo, with another sigh; “some time arter that I heerd her call out somebody’s name.”
“Whose was it?” asked Egbert, with a painful throb of his heart, and a staring, eager look that brought a wan smile to the face of Jo for the instant, but passing instantly as he made answer:
“As near as I could make out, it was your’n. In course you didn’t hear it, but as I did, I called back to her, and she know’d me on the instant. I axed her how she was fixed, and she said she was on the back of her horse, but had no idea where she was going, or how it was possible for her to get out of this scrape. You can understand that it wasn’t very easy to gabble at such a time, with the roar of the kenyon in your ears. I told her to hang on to her hoss, no matter where he went, and there was a chance of her getting through somewhere. At the same time I didn’t think there was much chance of any one ever coming out of that place alive. I could tell by the sound of the gal’s voice that she wasn’t very far away, and I worked as never a poor wretch worked before to get to her. I tired my hoss out, and when we got down to that ’ere lake, or whatever you’re a mind to call it, I struck out fer myself. The minute I left the mustang, I sung out to her, but I didn’t hear any answer. I yelled ag’in and ag’in, but it warn’t no use, and I swum ashore and made up my mind—well, no—confound it,” added the scout, fretfully, “I haven’t made up my mind, either, that the little gal has been drowned, and we ain’t never more to hear her sweet voice. That’s what I’ve been feeling, and what I was thinking about when you come sneaking up so sly that you thought nobody could hear you.”