Hickman exploded in a burst of laughter at this.
“Well, now,” he said, and repeated, “well, now—why damn your soul to hell, I got chickens at home with more heart. What are you afraid of, Tom Raymond?”
“I ain't saying I'm afraid,” but his face was ghastly.
“No, by thunder! you ain't saying it, you don't need to. What do you expect to see anyhow? Ghosts?”
“Shut up, Bill.”
The hill Raymond had indicated was, perhaps two miles distant from their camp, and in a little less than half an hour they had reached its summit.
“It's easy to see what happened here,” said Hickman, glancing about him. He moved away, circling the top of the hill, while Benson examined the charred wood and rusted iron work that littered the ground. He was thus engaged when Hickman called to him.
“Come here; I've found the spot,” he said, and the lawyer hastened to his side.
He was standing on the edge of a gully the rains had cut in one of the slopes of the hill.
“See,” he said, “there's where Tom Raymond heaved in the bank. The Indians are keen to kill, but they're damn slow to bury. I wa'n'. none too sure that Raymond had been back here, but this settles it.”