THE CORN CRIB OF THE CITY IN THE GLOOM.
The entrance showed signs of a conflict. Chunks of plaster had been dislodged. His people had put up a fight. As little things will often attract attention in dire extremities, so the first thing he noticed on entering, were the dead white ashes scattered on the hearth. Nearby was a broken pot of hominy, partly spilled.
The massacre had taken place the day before. One of the men lay dead by the fireplace, also the thirteen-year-old girl. The maurauders would have no object in slaying her. Ulric wondered if she had killed herself. The form he sought wasn't there. He passed into the next room. To do so he had to step over the body of the chief that lay through the doorway, a hatchet cleaving his skull. In her chamber he found Merari decapitated. Dear old Merari, Ulric reflected, her servant, who loved her as much as he. Parts of her pallet were scattered about the room, but Gualzine was not there.
Many of the inhabitants were missing. Old Malcre was gone. She could make good corn cakes. The Indians had a use for her. The other woman with her babe was missing. They also had a use for her. Ulric hoped the child would live. He did not think that Gualzine would be carried off without a struggle, yet, search as he would, he could find no shred's of her cotton clothing. What if she had died before the cliff dwelling was attacked? In times of siege it was the custom to bury the dead beneath the floor. He hastily searched through the house but he found no sign of a recent excavation.
The next morning he renewed the hunt. He found that a number of bodies had been thrown over the cliff. Hopeful, yet dreading, he made the precipitous descent. Her remains were not there, although he felt rewarded for the climb, for there were several bodies of the Lamanites. The Nephites had clutched their antagonists and locked in their embrace, and leaped over the cliff with them to destruction.
II.
Alone.
At first, overwhelmed with the disaster, Ulric did not realize his condition. He spent a number of days burying the dead beneath the floor. He placed their implements of war with them, and at the head he put an olla, containing a little of the corn that was left; over all he put a layer of charcoal and covered it up with earth. Merari's head he placed upon a shelf, saying, "You stay there old fellow, and help me. You and I are great pals. You are the only friend I've got left."
In the after days he realized his utter desolation. At first he clung to life and he bounded over the rocks like a hunted thing. One night a party of Lamanite robbers passed through the valley and he watched them from the cliffs. He looked hungrily down into their camp, but dared not move, for fear that they would shoot. Later, when he got frightened of the solitude, he would have gladly given himself up. He became a perfect coward. Most scared of all was he of the stillness. The mountains made him infinitely lonely; he felt as if the peaks weighed down on his chest and he could not get his breath. He foresaw that he would go insane, which gave rise to a new fear. What would happen to him there among the hills if he lost his reason? He could not journey to his own people, for he knew not if any of them were alive.