"Are you hurt?"
"What has happened?"
"Killed? My God!"
It was Farring, Trask and the other plotters, reeking with excitement. Their horses were wet from the fierceness with which they had been ridden.
"Do not touch him! You have killed him!" she cried, striving to shield the body from Farring's anxious touch.
"Killed him? Good God, Kate! where did you meet them!" cried Farring, as Trask pulled her from Studdiford's side.
"Are you not dead?" she finally whispered to the men.
"We? He killed three of them—split their heads! But the wretches put an arrow into him, after all. What a dreadful thing we have done! Fairly tricked him to his death!" cried poor Trask.
"Then—then it was not you?" cried Kate.
"Heavens, no! We found the Indians dragging their dead from the road, three miles back, and knew that something terrible had happened.