"You'll go ashore?" said he.
I said I would, adding: "They have slaughtered poor old Darius, and I am
loath to leave his bones for the buzzards to pick."
He made no comment other than to swear in sympathy. When the pirogue
grounded, the Indian was out like a cat, to vanish phantom-wise among
the trees. I followed in some clumsier fashion, leaving Jennifer to
keep the canoe; but half way up the hill he joined me, and would not
turn back for all my urging. "No; hang me if I'll let you out of
eye-grip again," was all he would say; and so we went together, and were
together at the seeing of what the glowing ember-heap would show us.
Poor Tomas had his sepulture already. His cord had burned in two and let
him down so close beside the cabin wall that all the blazing debris from
the overhanging eaves had made his funeral pile. Darius lay as I had
last seen him; and him we buried in the maize clearing at the back, with
the ember glow for funeral lights.
It was a chanceful thing to do. Since the Cherokees had left their dead
and wounded, and Falconnet the body of his trooper who had yielded me
the musket, there was small doubt they would return. Yet we had time to
dig a shallow grave for my old henchman; to dig and fill it up again;
and afterward to make a circuit round the burning pile to reach the
river side once more.
When we had launched the canoe, and were afloat and ready for the start,
the Catawba was still missing.
"Where is the chief, think you?" I asked; but Dick's answer, if, indeed,
he gave me any, was lost in a chorus of ear splitting yells rending the
silence of the night like demon cries.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154