The Kickapoo said that he had heard suspicious sounds coming from the direction they were pursuing; barely audible yells and indistinct reports of firearms. Making due allowance for the dense forest, he believed these sounds came from Caughlands—from the cabin where they had expected to find a secure refuge.
No other dwelling was near. If the Indians had in reality attacked that, what hope was left the fugitives? Incumbered by helpless women, what could the borderers do? The prospect was dark.
Again Lightfoot led the way along the winding, intricate trail. By following its bends and curves the distance was lengthened, yet no other course could be followed with safety, while feeble women were of the party. The surrounding country was difficult, almost impassable in the darkness, save by the narrow trail.
Once more the guide paused, this time upon the crest of a considerable elevation. No need to ask why—the reason lay plain before them.
Over a mile distant was where stood the Caughland cabin. The spot was plainly indicated now. Only for the surrounding trees, the sturdy log walls might have been distinguished by the fugitives.
A momentarily increasing glow illumined the dark forest, mounting up toward the heavens. The blazon of death and destruction. The dread signet of the fire-fiend.
"My God! them too!" groaned Mordaunt.
Edith turned ghastly pale and seemed about to faint. The loving arms of her mother stole around her waist. She knew the sickening fear that filled her daughter's heart.
"The sign's mighty black, I must say, but mebbe 'tis better'n we think. Mebbe the cabin got afire by accident. Anyhow, we mustn't stop here. If the reds is at work down thar, we've got to pass by 'em. Our only show is to get to the settlements beyond the Blue."
"True. Courage, mother, and you, Edith. Be brave now, and we may escape. But if not, then we will die together!"