“News?” echoed the other.
Lawler drew him down, and whispered in his ear, so that the drooping woman upon the horse should not hear again of the horrors that had devastated her home.
“Good God!” exclaimed the new-comer. “But have you sent out for help?”
“Yes,” said Lawler; “three messengers. One miscarried; and I’ve had no news yet of the others.”
A short conference was held as the new-comers, with darkened brows, learned more fully the state of affairs, and discussed it with John Lawler—earnestly, too, since each had a stake in the district, and knew full well that his might be the next turn to suffer as had suffered the family of Martin Lee.
Five minutes after, Lawler’s wife was clinging to him, begging that, for the child’s sake, he would accompany her to a place of safety; but although torn to the heart, the settler held firm. In a short consultation, it had been decided to let the women proceed, accompanied by Lawler’s crippled man, while the three remained to garrison the little farm, and cover the retreat of the fugitives, agreeing that, if hard pressed, they could but follow them.
“We must stay and help one another,” said Lawler gloomily. “You attend to poor Lee’s wife; we’ll see if we cannot save his child.”
“But could not he stay?” said his wife piteously, as she pointed to the man.
“Would you have your husband turn coward, Nell?” Lawler said gently. “Should we not say that man was contemptible who kept back from us in time of need? Be a woman! There will be help soon; and it would never do now for neighbours to come at my asking, and find me gone. Half an hour ago it was different, and there was good excuse; now there is none.”
Mrs Lawler uttered no complaint; only one sob rose from her breast as she hung on her husband’s neck; and then, with the man leading the horses, the party passed slowly out of sight.