"He's a Injun," muttered the scout, sullenly.
"But his heart's white; he resked his life last night to save the Mordaunts—"
"What—what did you say, old man?" cried Abel Dare, rousing from his apathy, his face flushing, his eyes glowing like living coals.
"Be cool, boy; 'tain't so bad but it might be wuss," muttered Boone, uneasily, beckoning for the Indian to approach, for Lightfoot had started toward cover at his unceremonious reception. "I don't think—that is, I hope the gal is alive."
Abel Dare sunk to the ground in a nerveless heap, with a groan of heart-rending despair. This new blow, following so closely what he had already undergone, broke down his forced composure, and he wept like a child. Boone motioned the men aside. He knew that it was better so; these tears might ease the over-tasked brain, and keep it from utterly giving way.
By his directions, the scouts gathered the remains of Mordaunt and his wife together, and placed them in a shallow grave, while he and Lightfoot searched the vicinity in the faint hope of finding some trace of Edith. But their efforts were unavailing. The heavy rain had obliterated all footprints.
Boone closely questioned the Kickapoo, but instead of throwing any light upon the subject, his statement rendered the uncertainty still deeper.
On recovering his senses, he had followed on after the Indians who were hunting for Boone, mingling with them in the darkness without fear of discovery. He soon learned that Edith was not with them, but neither was the White Wolf, Seth Grable. Still hoping to learn something of her—and resolving to free her, if need be, at the cost of his life—Lightfoot kept near the savages, even after they abandoned their hunt for Boone. They returned to the opening, to find their own dead scalped. Their rage and shame were delicious morsels to the Kickapoo. Carrying these to the hill, they hid the bodies in a gully, then set forth on their mission of blood. Knowing that Edith would not be taken upon such a tramp, Lightfoot left them and searched elsewhere; but all in vain. He could find no trace of either her or Grable.
"But we will find her, if alive—I swear to it!" and then the two men crossed palms; in each other's eyes they read the same resolve.
At this moment Abel Dare came up, ghastly pale, his eyes glowing like those of a madman's. In husky tones he called upon the men to follow him—that he would lead them to strike a blow for vengeance. The scouts seemed to catch the infection—they cheered wildly and then followed the lead of the half-crazed man.