"Come here, and see for yourself, Peabody," said one of the company.
Lawrence Peabody peered at the dead men—he was rather near-sighted—and turned very pale.
"Is it the Indians?" he faltered.
"Yes, it's those devils. You can tell their work when you see it. Don't you see that they are scalped?"
"I believe I shall faint," said Peabody, his face becoming of a greenish hue. "Tom, let me lean on your shoulder. Do—do you think it has been done lately?"
"Yesterday, probably," said Ferguson. "The bodies look fresh."
"Then the Indians that did it must be near here?"
"Probably."
"These men were either traveling by themselves, or had strayed away from their party," said Fletcher. "It shows how necessary it is for us to keep together. In union there is strength."
The bodies were examined. In the pocket of one was found a letter addressed to James Collins, dated at some town in Maine. The writer appeared to be his wife. She spoke of longing for the time when he should return with money enough to redeem their farm from a heavy mortgage.