The cavern was completely
covered. Mr. Wells was buried. A mossy stone marked the old
missionary's grave.
Nell and Jim were lost in wonder and awe.
"Ugh!" cried the chief, looking toward the opening in the glade.
Fearfully Nell and Jim turned, to be appalled by four naked, painted
savages standing with leveled rifles. Behind them stood Deering and
Jim Girty.
"Oh, God! We are lost! Lost! Lost!" exclaimed Jim, unable to command
himself. Hope died in his heart.
No cry issued from Nell's white lips. She was dazed by this final
blow. Having endured so much, this last misfortune, apparently the
ruin of her life, brought no added suffering, only a strange, numb
feeling.
"Ah-huh! Thought you'd give me the slip, eh?" croaked Girty,
striding forward, and as he looked at Wingenund his little, yellow
eyes flared like flint. "Does a wolf befriend Girty's captives?
Chief you hev led me a hard chase."
Wingenund deigned no reply. He stood as he did so often, still and
silent, with folded arms, and a look that was haughty, unresponsive.
The Indians came forward into the glade, and one of them quickly
bound Jim's hands behind his back. The savages wore a wild, brutish
look. A feverish ferocity, very near akin to insanity, possessed
them. They were not quiet a moment, but ran here and there, for no
apparent reason, except, possibly, to keep in action with the raging
fire in their hearts.
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