When he had sponged the blood away he tried to draw the arrow from the wound, but it was too deeply imbedded. His efforts only succeeded in starting a terrific flow of blood, in the midst of which the wounded man moaned and opened his eyes.
"Marian!" his lips shaped rather than spoke the word. Surmising that it must be the name of his wife, Joshua Peniman sent Lige running to call her. Then he bent over the wounded man, saying distinctly, "Thee is with friends, friend. Thy wife is safe, and with my wife back of the wagons."
The wounded man rolled his eyes about, then whispered tensely, "Nina! Nina!"
Not knowing what he meant, the Quaker nodded reassuringly.
"Indians?" he asked, pointing to the arrow.
The man slowly raised his hand and groped toward the wound. To the intense astonishment of both father and sons he shook his head. "Tell—Marian—watch out—watch out for—for——" his head dropped back, the blood gushed from his mouth, and with a gurgling cry he sank back on the grass.
Joshua Peniman knelt beside him.
"Gone!" he said solemnly, reverently removing his hat.
CHAPTER II
THE GRAVE IN THE DESERT