Then Morton suggested that they ought to be moving on; the Indians might return in larger force; it would not do to encamp where they were, and night was coming on.
To this there was a general assent. Don was carefully and tenderly lifted into his wagon and gently laid down upon the softest bed that could be improvised for him; then a volunteer driver from among the young men of the party took his seat and drove on, doing his best to make the motion easy to the sufferer. They were the last of the train, but not far behind the wagon next in front of them.
In spite of all the care and kindness shown him, Don's bodily sufferings were acute, yet by no means equal to his mental distress; his sense of bereavement—a bereavement so sudden, so shocking—and anguish at the thought of the poignant grief of his parents when the dreadful news should reach their ears.
The emigrants pushed on for several hours before they ventured to stop and encamp. When at last they did, the cessation of motion gave some slight relief to poor Don, and the food brought him by the kind-hearted woman who had tried to comfort him with the assurance of his brother's readiness for death, revived somewhat his failing strength; but it was a night of pain and grief, in which Don would have given much to be at home again, especially if he might have had Rupert there alive and well.
The night passed quietly; there was no new alarm, and early in the morning the emigrants pursued their way, pressing forward as rapidly as circumstances would permit, and keeping a sharp lookout for Indians.
Before they started—indeed, as soon as he was awake, Morton came to ask how Don was, and how he had passed the night.
Don answered briefly, then burst out, "Oh, Morton, are you quite sure that—that my brother was killed? May he not have been only stunned by the shot and the fall from his horse?"
Morton shook his head. "No, I looked back several times, and he never moved."
"Oh," groaned Don, "if only I were not helpless, I should go and search for him, for I do not feel at all sure that he is not still alive."
"Well, I think you may," said Morton; "for even supposing he was not killed by that first shot and the fall, the Indians would be sure to finish him when they went back, for they went off in that direction."