Hand in hand they ran from the shed that was now in a light flame, and down the slope up which had come the band of unconscious Samaritans.
"The stream!" said Landless. "There is a small raft upon it if they have not destroyed it."
They made for the water, found the raft hidden in a clump of reeds and uninjured, and stepped upon it. In ten minutes' time from the appearance of the new factor in the sum they were moving steadily, if slowly, down a stream so wide that in Europe it would have been called a river. The glare from the burning cabin faded, the flaming mass itself shrunk until it looked a burning bush, then dwindled to a star. The noise of the struggle upon the mount was with them longer, but at length it, too, died away.
"Which will conquer?" said Patricia at last, from where she crouched at the feet of Landless, who stood erect, poling.
"The Ricahecrians were the stronger," he answered. "But they may be so handled that they will not come at us again. That must be our hope."
There followed a long silence, broken by Patricia.
"The baby," she said in a quivering voice, "the poor, pretty, innocent little thing!"
"It is well with it," said Landless. "It is spared all toil and suffering. It is better as it is."
"The man and woman went together," said Patricia, still with the sob in her voice. "They would have chosen it so, I think. But the poor Indian—"
"He was my friend," said Landless slowly, "and I brought him death."