"Here," answered his mother's voice, not far off, and in a moment he had crept to her. Annie, crying softly, was beside her, and they were lying well hidden in a dense thicket of reeds close to the creek.
"Where is your father?" whispered Mrs. Briscoe, the instant he reached her, gazing at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes.
"Why, he—he—can't come now," Al faltered.
"He is killed," said Mrs. Briscoe, simply, in a lifeless voice.
Her son did not look at her.
"Yes," he said, almost inaudibly.
It seemed to him that the end of all things was closing down upon them. His mother did not weep; she was past tears. She did not even move, but her face was almost like chalk.
"And Tommy?" she asked presently.
"The Indians have carried him away," answered Al.