These were the questions that poured from the lips of the soldier, as his comrade gained his side. For a time Tom made no reply, and bent low down over the ground, as if trying to read the truth by some sign left there.
“She gone—dat all we know now,” grunted the Delaware, as he rose erect. “Don’t know how—mebbe tell bumbye, when light comes ’g’in.”
“Do you think that any one has carried her off, Tom?” asked Travers, agitatedly.
“Mebbe so—mebbe not so. Don’t know not’ing, me say. Too much dark—can’t see. She gone, dat all me kin tell now,” persisted the Delaware, doggedly.
Travers glanced anxiously up at the heavens. The moon had rolled on, until the cliff above their heads shut off the light from the hill-side.
All there was dim and indistinct; light enough to distinguish forms, but not sufficiently so to trace out a trail, especially when left upon the rocky ground by so light a foot as that of the missing maiden. As Tom had said, the truth could not be learned until the day had dawned.
Fortunately, this period was not far distant. A couple of hours, at most, and the sun would make its appearance.
But in that length of time, what might not happen? If the maiden was in the hands of an enemy, she would be conveyed far beyond their reach before they could strike the trail.
And then there was danger to themselves, too, as well. The messenger who had been dispatched for help, hours before, by the Arapahoes, might return at any moment, bringing a force that they could not hope to cope with successfully. Or the two savages who had fled the massacre of their comrades might chance upon friends, and gathering courage from that fact, return to avenge the slaughter of their brethren.
All these thoughts agitated the minds of the two men, as they stood gazing gloomily upon each other. That they were puzzled was plain; equally plain was it that not for even a moment did either think of abandoning to her fate the maiden who had so strangely been thrown upon their protection, and for whom they had already dared so much.