“Hurry up—don’t be so long, Tom. There’s a long trail before us, and not much time to lose. It’s nearly daylight now.”
But the Delaware seemed to find a peculiar pleasure in his revolting task, and took his own time about it. This was the reward of his tedious exercise of Indian tactics.
But then the job was completed by dragging the mutilated dead to the stream, and casting them in, when the current quickly swept them away. As the last corpse disappeared, Travers raised his voice and bade Clara come down; that all danger was past.
But there came no reply. Again he called, louder than before. Still the silence, save in the echoes of his own voice among the hills.
Travers wondered at this, though he did not think of any serious wrong. He believed that Clara, frightened by the wild struggle, had not yet recovered sufficiently to recognize his voice.
“Here, Tom, hold the horses, and I will go up after her,” said Travers, a little impatiently. “She’s afraid to come down alone.”
Muttering at the foolish squeamishness of the white squaw, the Delaware did as bade, and then the soldier lightly bounded up the steep hillside. As he neared the line of bushes, Travers called again:
“Miss Calhoun—Clara, come out. It is all over, and the road is free for us. Come.”
Still no answer, save in the echoes of his own voice as before. A strange fear seized upon the strong-hearted soldier.
Why this continued silence? Why did not the maiden answer him? Could it be, that, frightened at the scene of death and bloodshed, she had fainted?