“There house,” said Deerfoot, pointing ahead of him as he spoke.
Sure enough. Through the trees the young brothers could see a clearing which they immediately recognized as theirs. They saw no house, however. Steadily they crept nearer to the edge of the forest and a heart-rending scene lay spread before their eyes. What had once been a sturdy little cabin was now a mass of blackened embers from which a thin spiral of smoke was still curling.
“Do you suppose it’s safe to go closer?” asked Robert in a sorrow-stricken voice. “Out into the clearing, I mean.”
“I don’t know whether it is or not,” replied Joseph. “But I do know that I am going anyway.”
The two brothers stepped out from the shelter of the trees and approached their ruined home. They held their guns ready for immediate use, however, and they were alert to any danger which might arise. Deerfoot walked at their side.
“Me keep guard,” he said. “No stay long though, please.”
“No, not long, Deerfoot,” promised Joseph. The Indian took up his post in the tiny orchard that the Hall family had nursed so carefully, while the two boys went forward to examine the ruins.
The devastation had been complete. The smouldering pile of charred ruins alone bore witness to the fact that a house had once stood on the site. The two young brothers were too completely overcome to speak for several moments. All they could do was to stand and look sorrowfully at the ruins of what had once been their home.
“We can’t do much here, I guess,” said Joseph at length.
“No,” replied Robert, choking back a sob. “It looks as though Black Hawk and his band have made a good job of it.”