"Ha! well it's supposed Younker and his wife are captives too, or else that thar bones lie white among the ashes of thar own ruins."
"Good heavens!" cried Boone. "Any more, David?"
"Yes, thar's Absalom Switcher and his wife, and a young gal of twelve; and Ephraim Stokes' wife and a young boy of five; who war left by themselves, (Stokes himself being away, and his son Seth at the wedding, as was a son o' Switcher's also) have all bin foully mardered—besides Johnny Long's family, Peter Pierson's, and a young child of Fred Mason's that happened to be at Pierson's house, and one or two others whose names I disremember."
"But when did this happen, David?"
"Last night," replied the other. "It's suspected that the Injens ha bin warting round here, and took advantage of this wedding, when the greater part on 'em war away. It's thought too that thar war a white spy out, who gin 'em information, and led 'em on—as a villainous looking chap war seed about the vicinity not long ago."
"Do they suspicion who war the spy?" asked Boone.
"Why some thinks as how it war that thar accussed renegade, Simon Girty."
"Wretch!" muttered Boone, grasping his rifle almost fiercely; "I'd like to have old Bess, here, hold a short conflab with him. But what have you got thar in your arms, that seems so heavy, David?"
"Rifles, Colonel. I've bin riding round and collecting on 'em for this mad party of Younker's, who went off without any precaution; and I'm now on my way to deliver 'em, that they may start instanter arter the cussed red skins, and punish 'em according to the Mosaic law."
"Spur on then, David, and you may perhaps overtake some o' them; and all that you do, arm and send 'em here as quick as possible—for I'm dreadful impatient to be off."