She obeyed him, and he could say no more for the beating of his heart. Carefully and slowly he made his way, setting his feet cautiously among the stones that obstructed his path. Madam Manovska from her heights above saw how her daughter was being carried, and, guessing the trouble, snatched up the velvet bag Amalia had dropped in her haste, flung her cloak about her, and began to thread her way down, slowly and carefully; for, as she said to herself, “We must not both break the bones at one time.”
To Harry it seemed no sound was ever sweeter than Amalia’s low voice as she coaxed him brokenly to set her down and allow her to walk.
“This is great foolishness, ’Arry King, that you carry me. Put me down that you rest a little.”
“I can’t, Amalia.”
“You have walk all the long trail––I saw you walk––and lead those horse, for only to bring our box. How my heart can thank you is not possible. ’Arry King, you are so weary––put me down.”
“I can’t, Amalia,” again was all he said. So he held her, comforting his heart that he had this right, until he drew near the cabin, and there Amalia saw the pelt of the sheep hung upon the wall of the cabin, pitifully dangling, bloody and ragged. Strangely, at the sight quite harmless, yet gruesome, all her fortitude gave way. With a cry of terror she hid her face and clung to him.
“No, no. I cannot go there––not near it––no!”
“Oh, you brave, sweet woman! It is only a skin. Don’t look at it, then. You have been frightened. I see how you have suffered. Wait. There––no, don’t put your foot to the ground. Sit on this hillock while I take it away.”
But she only clung to him the more, and sobbed convulsively. “I am afraid––’Arry King. Oh, if––if––they are there still! Those Indian! Do not go there.”