“What do you mean?” asked Peter Brush, hurriedly.
“Look at that, and you won’t need to ask.”
With his whip-handle he pointed to the left. There, at only a few rods distance, was a sight which made Tom’s blood run cold in his veins.
Stiff and stark lay the bodies of two emigrants, with their scalps removed, evidently the victims of a ruthless band of savages.
CHAPTER XXXI.
TWO NEW COMRADES.
IT WAS the first time Tom had ever looked upon a man who had met a violent death, and the sight impressed him deeply.
The two men were fairly well dressed, apparently between thirty and forty years of age, not unlike the average emigrant of those days, who left a comfortable home in the East to seek his fortune in the far West.
“How long since this happened, doctor?” asked Peter Brush, soberly.
He naturally deferred in this matter to the superior judgment of a physician.