"I suppose the Indians have murdered a great many people."
"I reckon they hev."
"It's awful!" exclaimed Fanny, shuddering, as she glanced at the place where poor Mrs. Grant lay cold and still in death.
"So 'tis, but 'tain't no use to think on't now; it makes a feller feel kind o' weak and sickly. We must figur' it out now."
"Thanks to your good management, we may yet escape."
"I reckon we will. Did you ever fire a pistil, Fanny?"
"No, but I'm not afraid to do so."
"Better take this, then, and I'll use the guns. I reckon it may be of use to you," added he, handing her the weapon. "Hokee!" suddenly exclaimed he, as he glanced out of the window.
"What is it, Ethan?"
"Them Injins is go'n off!"