So deeply was he plunged in grief that when he chanced to glance out and see two riders dashing across the prairies he took no interest in them. He glanced at them idly, then turned away as the blur of hot, bitter tears dimmed his eyes.
Brushing them hastily aside he took up his pail and went on to the spring.
Thus it was that Sam was the first to herald the approach of the strangers.
"Father," he said, in a sad, subdued voice, utterly unlike Sam's usual cheerful bellow, "here come two men on horseback. One of 'em looks like an Indian."
Mr. Peniman rose quickly and went to the door. He had no hope, yet something in the words of Neowage the night before had clung in his memory and said themselves over and over in his brain all night.
"Nee-ah-nah no see him die."
No one had seen him die! Perhaps—perhaps God in His infinite mercy——
As he stood in the doorway with his hand shading his eyes, his silvery hair glistening in the morning light, there was a strange tumult in his breast.
He shaded his eyes and gazed intently. Presently when the riders had come nearer he saw one of them lean forward and wave his hat about his head.
"Hannah!" he called in a queer, choked voice, "Hannah!"