The war-whoop had aroused those about the wagons to a sense of danger. They crowded together like sheep when encircled by enemies—evidently wanting a head. Like painted demons the villains crowded around the doomed emigrants, dancing, leaping, shouting and making the most frantic gestures, accompanied by a shower of arrows, that were answered by the sharp ringing of rifles.
Then the savages rushed forward en masse, and the battle became hand-to-hand. The massacre of men and helpless women and innocent children followed, while the air rung with shrieks for mercy and the groans of the dying as they were cut down, hewed by hatchets, pierced by arrows, crushed by clubs, scalped and hurled into the plundered and burning wagons, even before life was extinct.
An hour after, three wretched prisoners—all that survived of the band of emigrants—were dragged along with ropes around their necks—tied to the horses' tails of the exultant Indians—three only—Olive, the doctor and the scout.
A forced march brought them to a village of the Indians, and the two men were bound and thrown into a wigwam, while the girl was given into the care of the squaws.
What a sudden and bitter awakening from dreams of safety and of love!
CHAPTER III.
WHAT HATE WILL MAKE A MAN DO.
Stung to the quick by the refusal of his love, and still more so by the somewhat tyrannical conduct of the scout, seconded by the physician, George Parsons suddenly determined upon a bitter revenge.
A frontier born and bred man, he had from childhood been brought in association with the Indians, and knew their ways. Under pretense of hunting, he deserted from the little band to whom he had sworn fealty, and immediately sought for the enemies of the white man.