Yet, perhaps, I ought not to say that it was any memory of the gambler which held me dumb. For it was not thought of the man, but rather of the woman, whose honor I felt bound to guard by closed lips. Some instinct of my own higher nature, or some voiceless message from her personality, told me the line of safety—told me that she would secretly resent any familiarity she was not free to welcome. She might ride through the black night beside me, our hands clasped in friendship, our hearts thrilling with hope. We could understand, could dream the dream of ages together—and yet, this was not now to be expressed in words; and there must still remain between us a barrier blacker than the night. She needed not to tell me this truth—I felt it; felt it in the purity of her soul, her silence, her perfect trust in me. For this I knew, then and forever—only by respect could I win the love of her. This knowledge was restraint enough.
We rested for an hour at midnight, on the banks of a small stream. The sky had lightened somewhat, and we could perceive the way fairly well when we again advanced, now traveling through a more open country, a prairie, interspersed with groves of trees. Daylight overtook us at the edge of a slough, which bordered a little lake, where in the gray dawn, Tim, by a lucky shot, managed to kill a crippled duck, which later furnished us with a meager breakfast. In the security of a near-by cluster of trees, we ventured to build a fire, and, sitting about it, discussed whether to remain there, or press on. It was an ideal spot for a camp, elevated enough to afford a wide view in every direction. No one could approach unseen, and thus far we had no evidence that our pursuers were even on our trail. Only the crack of that single rifle shot the evening before had suggested that we were being followed—yet, even if this were true, the black hours since would have prevented any discovery of the direction of our night. Not even an Indian tracker could have picked up our trail amid that darkness. So it was decided to remain where we were, and rest.
I need not dwell on the details of our flight. They remain in my memory in all clearness, each scene distinct, each incident a picture engraved on the mind. I came to believe in, implicitly rely on, all my comrades—on the black-eyed, dusky Elsie, emotional and efficient, whose care-free laugh was contagious, and whose marvelous skill in cooking only increased our hunger, who knew every wild plant that grew, and unearthed many a treasure to help out our slim larder from the forest and prairie soil; on the solemn-faced Kennedy, whose profanity could not be restrained, and whose sole happiness was found in an ample supply of tobacco; who persistently saw only the dark side of things, yet who was ever competent, tireless, and full of resource; but most of all on Eloise, her patient, trustful eyes following my every movement, uncomplaining, cheerful, with a smile for every hardship, a bright word of hope for every obstacle. In the darkness of night travel, when no eye could see her, she might droop from weariness, clinging to her pommel to keep in the saddle, yet it was always her voice which revived courage, and inspired new endeavor.
The way was generally rough and puzzling, bringing before us no familiar landmarks by which to guide our course. My map proved utterly useless, confusing me by its wrong location of streams, and its inaccuracy in the estimation of distances. We must have wandered far to the north from our direct course, led astray in the dark, and by our desire to advance swiftly. For there soon came to us warning signs that we were indeed being pursued; and some evidence also that we were even within Indian territory. Once we beheld from an eminence the wisp of a camp fire far in our rear, a mere misty curl of smoke showing against the distant blue of the sky. And once, from out the shadow of a grove, we stared perplexed across a wide valley, to where appeared a dim outline of bluffs, and watched a party of five horsemen creep slowly along their summit, too far away to be recognized—mere black dots, we could not identify as either white men, or red.
But the savages had left their unmistakable mark for our finding. It was in the early twilight of the second day, the western sky already purple with the last fading colors, the prairie before us showing in patches of green and brown. To our left was a thick wood, even then grown gloomy and dark in shadows, and slightly in advance of us Kennedy rode alone, hopeful of thus dislodging some wild animal. I could see the gleam of the pistol in his hand, held in instant readiness, cocked and primed. Suddenly he drew rein, and then, turning his horse's head sharply, advanced cautiously toward the miniature forest, leaning forward to gaze intently at something unseen from where we were. I halted the others in a thrill of expectancy, anticipating the report of his weapon, and hopeful of a successful shot. He halted his horse, which pawed restlessly, and sat motionless, staring down into a little hollow immediately in front of him; then he turned in the saddle, and beckoned me.
"Cum over yere, Cap," he called, his voice sounding strange. "No, not the gurls; you cum alone."
I rode forward and joined him, only to stare also, the heart within me almost ceasing to beat, as I beheld the gruesome sight so suddenly revealed. There, within the confines of that little hollow, almost at the edge of the wood, lay the dead and mutilated bodies of eleven men, in every distorted posture imaginable, some stripped naked, and showing ghastly wounds; others fully clothed; but with the cloth hacked into rags. It had once been a camp, the black coals of a fire still visible, with one man lying across them, his face burnt and unrecognizable. With the exception of one only—a mere boy, who lay at few rods away, as though brought down in flight—the entire group were together, almost touching each other in death. Beyond question they had been soldiers—militia volunteers—for while there was only one uniform among them, they all wore army belts, and a service insignia appeared on their hats. Tim vented his feelings in a smothered oath.
"Militia, by God!" he muttered gruffly. "No guard set; the bloody Injuns jumped 'em frum out them woods. Those poor devils never hed no chanct. Ain't thet it, Cap?"
"No doubt of it; the whole story is there. None of them alive?"
"I reckon not—cudn't be hacked up like thet, an' most o' 'em skelped. Them reds never left a damn gun behind neither. Why say, this affair must a took place this yere very maunin', 'bout breakfast time."