THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
We all turned round and then with one accord sprang to our feet The horror of what we saw held us spellbound and speechless. We did not feel the icy air, the swirl of fine snowflakes that came driving into the room, for in the doorway stood Baptiste, his honest face almost unrecognizable with hot passion, and in each hand he thrust out a ghastly, gory, red-dripping thing of hair and flesh. They were human scalps, and we knew at once from whose heads they had been torn.
“Nom de Dieu!” cried the priest. “The poor wretches!”
“Yes, Valle and Maignon!” Baptiste said thickly, grinding his teeth. “They did not get far, sir, Heaven rest their souls! But a moment ago the red devils flung these bloody trophies over the stockade—none can tell how they crept so near! It is a warning, messieurs, that we are all to be served the same way.”
“My poor voyageurs!” groaned Christopher Burley. “That they should come to such an end! Oh, this barbarous country!”
He suddenly turned sick and faint, and dropping into a chair, he sat there trembling, his face buried in his hands. Father Cleary was crossing himself and muttering piously.
“A thing like this,” cried Captain Rudstone, “is enough to turn a man into a fiend. By Heaven! Hawke, if you say the word, I’ll lead a party out against the savages!”
But the factor did not seem to hear him. He was leaning heavily on a chair, his face the hue of ashes. “My fault—my fault!” he said hoarsely. “I sent the poor fellows to their death. But God knows I believed they would get through safely!”
“We all believed that,” broke in Andrew Menzies.
“Compose yourself, sir! No blame can possibly attach to you.”