"I don' know! She come and she go, and I don' see her; mebbe three, four hour ago."
"Where's Gale? He'll know. He's gone after her, eh?"
The upward glow of the lantern heightened the young man's pallor, and again the squaw broke into her sad lament.
"John Gale—he's gone away with the knife of my father. I am afraid—I am afraid."
Burrell forced himself to speak calmly; this was no time to let his wits stampede.
"How long ago?"
"Long time."
"Did he come back here just now?"
"No; he went to the jail-house, and he would not let me follow. He don' come back no more."
This was confusing, and Meade cried, angrily: