"In a moment; all these surely are dead, beyond our aid, and yet we must not depart foodless. We know not how far it still may be to Ottawa. Wait, while I search for the things we need."
"Not alone; I must be where I can touch you. Try to understand. Oh, you do not know those hours I have spent in agony—I have died a thousand deaths since that sun went down."
"You were conscious—all night long?"
"Conscious? Yes, and unhurt, yet prisoned helpless beneath those two logs yonder, saved only by that over-turned bench. Elsie, poor thing, never knew how death came, it was so swift, but I lay there, within a foot of her body unscratched. I could think only of you, Steven, but with never a dream that you lived. There were groans at first and cries. Some Indians crept in through the door and dragged out a few who lived. But with the coming of darkness all sounds ceased and such silence was even more dreadful than the calls, for help. Oh, I cannot tell you," and she clung to me, her voice breaking. "I—I dared not move for hours, and then, when I did try, found I could not; that I was held fast. Only for a knife in the hand of a dead savage, which I managed to secure, I could never have freed myself. And oh, the unspeakable horror of creeping in the darkness among those bodies. I knew where the fireplace must be; that there might be live coals there still. I had to have light; I had to know if you were dead."
"Don't think about it any more, dear heart," I urged. "Yes, we can go now—nothing else holds us here."
We crept out through the door, underneath a mass of debris, into the gray of the dawn. How sweet the air, how like a benediction the song of birds. Neither of us looked back, and I held her close against me as we moved onward, past the big tree, and down the long slope. It was a wondrous view of peace and beauty, the broad green valley, with the silver thread of water shining in its center—the valley of the Bureau. We followed the faint trail, which wound in and out among small copses of trees; the sun began to brighten the far east and her hand stole into mine. The light was upon her face, and gave me a glimpse of the sadness of her eyes. Beyond a little grove we found some horses browsing in the deep grass; they were those that had brought us from Yellow Banks, and whinnied a greeting as we drew near. Two of them were fit to ride and the others followed, limping along behind.
A half mile up the valley we came to a beaten trail, running straight across from bluff to bluff, and disappearing into the prairie beyond, heading directly toward the sunrise. We stopped and looked back for the first time. There on the side of the slope, under the shade of the big tree, stood the cabin. Only for the wreck of the roof it spoke no message of the tragedy within. The sun's rays gilded it, and the smoke from its chimney seemed a beckoning welcome. I reached out and took her hand, and our eyes met in understanding. What I whispered need not be told, and when we again rode forward, it was upon the trail to Ottawa.