After a hurried survey of the field, the question arose by what means the savages had been enabled to creep upon the camp without being observed. Angry recriminations ensued, and hard words seemed likely to lead to hard blows.
“Perhaps you can tell us who was at fault, Captain Benning?” said Mr. Laurie, the principal agent of Mr. Robinette. “You should know, if any man knows.”
“What good will it do to argue that matter now?” tartly replied Benning. “Somebody was careless, of course, and perhaps I might put my finger on the man; but of what use would that be now? The mischief has been done, and no one knows the extent of it yet. Has anybody seen Miss Flora?”
The faces of all changed, and greater consternation than they had yet shown was now visible among the rough trappers.
Flora Robinette was the only child of her father, a beautiful dark-haired and dark-eyed girl of nineteen. Since the death of her mother, the trader had been so strongly attached to her, that it had seemed almost impossible for him to separate himself from her. As it was part of the object of this expedition to establish a post west of the Rocky Mountains, at which he expected to spend the greater part of his time, he had at last yielded to her entreaties, and permitted her to accompany him and share his home in the wilds. He believed that his party was strong enough to furnish a safe escort, and that she could be in no danger when the post was established. Her only hardships, as he supposed, would be such as would result from traveling over the plains, and from deprivation of the comforts and luxuries of civilization; but these she had professed herself able and willing to endure.
She had endured them, so far, without grumbling, and with all apparent cheerfulness. She had manifested, also, a spirit of daring and love of adventure, together with a real delight in the fresh air and free life of the plains, that had charmed the rough men into whose company she was thrown, and rendered her the idol of them all. It was no wonder that their cheeks blanched when they were asked if they had seen her.
No one had seen Flora Robinette since the commencement of the fray. At the usual hour she had retired to the wagon in which she slept, and was supposed to have been there when the horses were stampeded and broke through the camp; but an examination showed that the wagon was empty.
On the ground, near the wagon, lay the body of her father, his head, from which the gray hair on the top had been stripped, surrounded by a pool of his own blood; but no trace of Flora could be found. A careful search was made by the disheartened trappers; but it disclosed nothing. They could only suppose that she had been awakened by the tumult, had looked out of the wagon, and had thus been espied by the Indians, who would lose no time in taking possession of such a prize. It was certain that she had disappeared, leaving no trace.
When the fruitless search was ended, a great change had come over George Benning. He stood like a statue, silent and motionless, and one would have thought, from the expression of his countenance, that every thing that was worth living for in the world had been taken from him. His demeanor was so strange, that Martin Laurie, the agent, took him aside and spoke with him.
Laurie was a Scotchman, whose age might have been anywhere between forty and forty-five. He had the sandy hair, red eyes and watery complexion peculiar to many of his race; but was not really ill-looking. He was sedate and precise, a shrewd and methodical man of business, and as such had been highly esteemed by Mr. Robinette.