CHAPTER XVI
Norton awoke, with the strange and persistent idea that the face of Audubon was bending over him. It was nonsense, of course; he turned his head, and saw that he lay quite alone, opposite a doorway. The sun was warm and bright outside.
What of that horrible nightmare, that hell of death and madmen, of which he had dreamed? The very remembrance brought out the cold sweat on his brow; he lifted his hand and found his head bandaged.
Yet, looking out that doorway, he slowly recalled what had happened on that night of horror, for he was gazing across the clearing where it had taken place. There was no doubt of it; a hundred yards away were the ruins of the burned building, the cache-barn; he himself, then, must be lying in that shack to which he had brought the women?
The place seemed deserted, however. There were no Indians in sight; no bodies strewed the clearing; everyone seemed to have vanished and left him alone in desolation. No—he was mistaken after all; a voice strangely like that of Audubon lifted faintly to him.
"—so do you see how he is, sir. I must look to the litter."
"Good heavens, am I mad?" thought Norton. He strained to sit up, but found himself too weak. An instant later a tall, stooping figure darkened the doorway and came to his side with a cry of joy.
For a moment Norton shrank away, not recognizing the man who had come to his knees beside the pallet. Yet—it must be! The shaggy hair was trimmed, the shaggy matted beard was gone; but from the heavily lined face, the deep-set eyes of Red Hugh were looking at him.
"Man—man—we thought you never would come round!" And Red Hugh clasped his hand in a warm pressure.