“Remain here hidden,” he whispered, “until I learn the truth; we may face grave peril below.”
He left me trembling, and white-lipped, yet I made no effort to restrain him. The horror of those dead bodies gripped me, but I would not have him know the terror which held me captive. With utmost caution he crept forth, and I lay in the shadow of the covert, watching his movements. Body after body he approached seeking some victim alive, and able to tell the story. But there was none. At last he stood erect, satisfied that none beside the dead were on that awful spot, and came back to me.
“Not one lives,” he said soberly, “and there are men, women and children there. The story is one easily told––an attack at daylight from the woods yonder. There has been no fighting; a massacre of the helpless and unarmed.”
“But who did such deed of blood?”
“’Tis the work of the Iroquois; the way they scalped tells that, and besides I saw other signs.”
“The Iroquois,” I echoed incredulous, for that name was the terror of my childhood. “How came these savages so far to the westward?”
“Their war parties range to the great river,” he answered. “We followed their bloody trail when first we came to this valley. It was to gain protection from these raiders that the Algonquins gathered about the fort. We fought the fiends twice, and drove them back, yet now they are here again. Come, Adele, we 263 must return to the canoe, and consult with Barbeau. He has seen much of Indian war.”
The canoe rode close in under the bank, Barbeau holding it with grasp on a great root. He must have read in our faces some message of alarm, for he exclaimed before either of us could speak.
“What is it?––the Iroquois?”