Dr. Lycurgus Spooner dismounted from his horse and examined the unfortunate victims of Indian barbarity with a professional eye.
“Not many hours,” he answered, briefly.
“Then the plaguy redskins are not far away?”
“Probably not,” answered the doctor. “In fact, only a few miles back I fell in with a party who had a narrow escape from the red rascals.”
“I wonder we did not meet them.”
“They took a more northerly course than you are doing.”
“But you met them?”
“I struck to the south after meeting them, partly because I thought in that way I should get further away from the Indians. It seems, however, from this sad sight, that the red devils have been in this neighborhood.”
“What shall we do?” queried Brush, doubtfully. “I don’t care to meet them, nor Tom here I reckon.”