They had never had any reservations from one another, and though he wished now with all his heart that he might spare her he knew that he stood in need of her courage, her help, her calm, cool judgment.
"There has been a massacre of whites by the Indians not far from here," he told her. "The white settlers along the Little Sioux have been obliged to flee, and many of them have been murdered. I cannot tell thee the horrible details. They are sending out State troops. It was all brought about by the treachery of a white man, they tell me, but——" He broke off abruptly and sat gazing into her horrified face.
"They say," he continued, "that most of the Indians around here are friendly, but a white trader deceived and murdered the brother of Chief Inkpaducah, and he has roused his whole tribe to vengeance."
"And they have killed the settlers—and women—and children?" she gasped, every vestige of color leaving her face.
"They killed the children. They have carried the women away into captivity."
"Oh, God, have mercy on us!"
"In God's care and mercy alone can we trust, Hannah," he answered. "We will never give these red brothers cause for anger against us, and perhaps we may escape harm at their hands. But I must confess it has given me a great shock. I wish——"
"The children—the children——" she whispered in anguish. "Oh, Joshua, I wish we had never come to this terrible country. I wish we had stayed at home——"
"I have been wishing the same thing. But it is too late now. We have come too far on our way. Thee—thee would not advise that we turn back now, would thee, Hannah? When we are so near the goal?"
For a moment she sat silent, her sweet blue eyes, wide and filled with horror, fixed upon the western horizon, her arms clasped tightly about the baby, which she pressed almost fiercely to her breast. After a time she turned to her husband and laid her hand on his arm, saying bravely: