“Where is she, Tom?”
“The good Lord on’y knows, boss. Leastways, I don’t. Didn’t see hide nor ha’r o’ her. But the reds is a-comin’.”
“Do they know where we are?”
“Reckon so; but ef not, they’ll soon find us.”
“If they do find us, how do you think it’ll end, Maxwell?” queried an emigrant, in a tone of anxiety.
“I kin tell better a’ter it’s over, fri’nd,” dryly replied Tom, with a significant shrug. “But ef they don’t git no more to help ’em, why we stand a fa’r show. They’re on’y three to one.”
“Only! And isn’t that enough, for conscience sake?”
“Fri’nd, where a feller is fightin’ fer his wife an’ lettle ones, he’s ekil to four, what’s on’y themselves,” and then silence once more reigned throughout the corral, at least so far as conversation was concerned.
But as may be imagined, the suspense and misgiving of the father, with others, was terrible, when they thought of what might have befallen the missing maiden. It was well that the welfare of the train helped to divide their thoughts. Without some such duty, their thoughts would have been doubly distracting.
It was plain that nothing more could be done, until after the threatened peril had passed. Until then, they could only hope and pray that no serious evil might befall the wanderer.