The way was easier now, for it was a travelled path, made by Indians, it is true, and their cruel allies the British, but still it was daylight, and away from the river the air was clear and fresh,—too fresh for comfort to the shivering girl, who ran and stumbled in her haste to get her message delivered. The two miles dragged themselves away at last, and through the trees Dicey saw the group of rude houses which made the Elder Settlement, and ah! there was brother Tom already out of doors about his work.
As soon as Dicey saw him, she shouted, and when he looked up, he seized his gun, for a weapon lay ever within reach in those days. Little wonder was it that he did not recognise the small figure which ran towards him waving its arms and shouting words which he did but half catch. At the sound of the commotion Elie, his wife, came to the door, and at the first glance cried out,—
“Why, Tom, ’tis Dicey!” and ran out to meet her, fearful of bad tidings, since it was easy to see that the girl was almost at the limit of her strength. As soon as Tom realised who it was, he ran forward and caught her in his arms, and hurried into the house, his lips forming themselves into the one word, “Father?”
Dicey shook her head, and when Tom set her down on the stone hearth, she slipped down into a little wet heap with a pale face and eager eyes.
“Oh, brother Tom,” she began, as soon as she caught her breath.
“Stay,” said her brother, “is aught wrong with my father or brothers?”
“No,” said Dicey, “I came—”
“Then thy news will wait till thou art dry and warm, else we are like to have a dead Dicey instead of a living one. Elie, take and give her dry clothes, and I will make for her a mug of hot cider which will warm her through and through. From her clothes, the Tyger seems at flood these days.”
When Dicey, warm and dry once more, poured out her tale of warning, Tom hurried away to call the men of the settlement together. As the small handful of grave settlers came and heard the news, Dicey felt in their few words of thanks ample payment for what she had undertaken in their behalf. Nor did they hesitate in their course. Packing together what possessions were most valued, and driving before them the few cattle which remained, they and their families that very afternoon crossed the Tyger at the ford which poor Dicey had missed, and sought the protection of the fort at Ninety-six. The next day Dicey was left at her own home and in the arms of her anxious father.
She told her tale to him, sitting by his side and holding his hand, for he could hardly realise that his little girl, his Dicey, had been through an experience at which even a man might have hesitated.