“Curses on that scout! Did you come here to see that girl?” Howard Lawrence demanded harshly.
“Red Bud has seen the Rose of the Woodland, and told her not to love Many Faces,” was the Indian girl’s brave answer.
“By Heaven, girl, you shall die for that!” cried the aroused man, and he attempted to draw a pistol from his belt.
Before he could do so, Red Bud unslung a light rifle from her back, and covered him with deadly aim.
“Let not Many Faces seek to slay the Pawnee girl,” she said, “for she would not die by his hand. Her heart is broken, but she will not harm the paleface chief who broke it. Let him go, and never cross the path of the Red Bud again. Go; the Red Bud bids him go!”
Still holding her aim upon his heart, the look of the Indian girl proved that she would kill him if he hesitated, and with a bitter curse Howard Lawrence drove the spurs into the flanks of his horse and dashed away, leaving Red Bud watching him until he was out of sight.
A rapid ride of five minutes brought Lawrence to the cabin door. Then what a scene met his gaze! Here and there were scattered numerous pieces of furniture and household effects; the strong door was broken from its hinges, desolation was over all, while bloodstains were upon the floor and ground.
There lay the body of the faithful watchdog, dead at his post.
The occupants of the cabin were nowhere to be seen. The face of Howard Lawrence turned pale as he followed the trail where some heavy objects had been dragged. A walk of a few hundred yards brought him to a thicket of small timber upon the river bank, and there he beheld two new-made graves side by side.
“My God, Alfred Carter and all his family gone! No, there are but two graves, and they numbered four. If Rose has been killed, her death has saved me a world of trouble, for I do not wish two women as rivals in the same settlement.”