“It was not his,” muttered Flora, with a sigh of relief.
“Of whom are you speaking?”
“Of no one in particular—one of our party. I thought that some of my friends might have followed the trail of the Indians. Do you know who those two white men were whom you saved from burning?”
“I do not know their names. One was an Irishman, with red hair, and he seemed to be dumb.”
“That might have been Dennis Regan; but he was any thing but dumb.”
“The other was a tall and lean man, with keen eyes, a crooked nose, and a very solemn face.”
“That was surely the man whom my father called Pap Byers. How did they happen to be captured?”
“They were trying to take horses from the Blackfeet, and were surprised. One was killed, and two were made prisoners.”
“Was there no other? Did you hear nothing more?”