With a glad cry Winona was folded in her lover’s arms.
“Let it be as you wish,” said Judah after a short time, as he silently viewed the happiness of the lovers. Then he prepared to help Warren lift Thomson from the stream. They turned faint and sick at the sight of the man’s wounds. “His back is broken,” said Warren, in reply to Winona’s questioning eyes.
“It were more merciful to shoot him on the spot,” said Judah, but even he felt now the sheer human repulsion from such butchery master him, as they moved slowly and carefully up the steep ascent.
The Rangers were completely routed by the desperate valor of the Brown men. Incredible as it seemed, most of the enemy had been killed outright and a number of prisoners taken, who were to be tried by court-martial and shot, according to the rough justice of the times.
The anti-slavery men met with small loss, but among the wounded was Ebenezer Maybee. With the other wounded men he was carried back to camp; at sunrise the next morning he was aroused from his stupor by a volley of musketry. Steward was at his side. He asked what it meant.
“Well, partner, you know we won the fight,” said he. “Captain Brown is a shootin’ all the pris’ners; well, now, ain’t that tough fer a prefesser?”
“No, not all the prisoners,” replied the Parson. “The most of them have been begged off by young Maxwell. He’s the most softest hearted young feller I ever met for such a good shot.”
“This yer’s a good cause to go in, Parson.”
The Parson answered gruffly, in a choked voice: “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, partner; we’ll pull you through.”
Maybee’s face worked, and he planted a knowing wink in vacancy. “We’ve been partners fer a right smart spell, ain’t we, Parson?”