As the prairie schooner drew nearer the wonder and excitement of the family increased.
On the high driver's seat in the front of the wagon they could now make out a woman; a woman young, beautiful, white and livid as death; a mass of hair that gleamed like molten gold in the sunshine blowing wildly about her shoulders, her eyes distended, her arms bare to the elbows extended far in front of her, one hand clutching the reins, the other lashing the panting, staggering horses, that, lathered with foam and sweat, were heaving and stumbling, ready to drop with exhaustion.
"Help, help, help!" her wild, piercing shriek came to them above the clattering of the wagon.
Joshua Peniman, Joe and Lige leaped from their wagons and ran forward to meet her. As they reached her she threw down the reins and reeled and tottered on the seat.
"My husband—my husband!" she gasped, and pointed to the inside of the wagon.
Joshua Peniman took the poor exhausted beasts by their bits and led them up to his own encampment.
"What is it? What has happened?" Hannah Peniman cried, running to the woman and with strong, tender arms lifting her down from the seat.
The woman staggered, and would have fallen if it were not for her strong support.
"My husband—Lee—my husband!" she cried again, and breaking from the supporting arms ran to the rear of the wagon.
Joshua Peniman was there before her.