The days passed rapidly. There was so much to do that it seemed that deep snows might make hunting a difficult task rather than a pleasure, before they could get to it. No sooner was the barn built than the corn, or all that remained of it, had to be gathered and stored away—the fodder stacked against the stable, the ears hung over the rafters of the cabin,—and the few scattered potatoes which remained, harvested. Of the latter there was scarcely more than enough for seed for the following spring, and to supplement their store of food in addition to the meat they might always have, nuts were gathered—beech nuts, chestnuts, hickory nuts and butternuts.
When all this had been done there was grass to be stored away for the horses. It scarcely deserved the name of hay—the long grass which grew in open spots along the valley; but quite a large stack of it was laboriously harvested with no tools other than a scythe and home-made rake.
Thus more than two weeks passed, and Theodore Hatch, as much a mystery as ever, was becoming strong enough to dress himself and walk about for a few minutes at a time, when Ree again reminded John of the necessity of their giving the bones of Ichabod Nesbit a decent interment. The result was that John proposed to go himself, on horseback, the following day, and perform the task referred to.
So it was agreed, and allowing the Quaker to rest under the impression that he was going back along their trail only to bring up the old cart, which for more than a year had stood exposed to the weather in the ravine where it had been left, John started off at daylight on a clear, frosty morning. The fine air and the beautiful, peaceful quiet of the woods, broken only by the occasional call of wild turkeys or the chattering of squirrels and other small animals, put the younger of the boy pioneers in a most happy frame of mind.
Neb, having done little work for more than a fortnight, was also in high spirits and needed no urging to trot or gallop wherever the forest was sufficiently open to permit it. Good progress being made, therefore, horse and rider reached and crossed the gully where the abandoned cart stood, by the middle of the forenoon. Proceeding more slowly then, for the trail was becoming more difficult for traveling, they approached the spot they sought.
“I don’t mind the ride at all, but I shan’t enjoy playing sexton, I know,” John was saying to himself, as he dismounted to lead Neb down the hill sloping to the brook beside which Ichabod Nesbit’s bones lay, and casting about for a suitable place to tie the horse.
“Hark!”
John spoke beneath his breath, and his heart beat fast. Angry voices came to his ear, and they were not far away.
Slipping the bridle rein over a branch, the lad went cautiously forward, keeping behind the thicket which skirted the stream.
Again the voices were heard. Undoubtedly they were those of white men engaged in violent argument.