CHAPTER XXIV.
A SAD SIGHT.
A day later, while the wagon-train was slowly winding through a mountaindefile, they encountered a sight which made even the stout-heartedleader look grave. Stretched out stiff and stark were two figures, coldin death. They were men of middle age, apparently. From each the scalphad been removed, thus betraying that the murderers were Indians.
"I should like to come across the red devils who did this," saidFletcher.
"What would you do with them?" asked Ferguson.
"Shoot them down like dogs, or if I could take them captive they shoulddangle upon the boughs of yonder tree."
"I hope I shall be ready to die when my time comes," said Ferguson; "butI want it to be in a Christian bed, and not at the hands of a dirtysavage."
Just then Lawrence Peabody came up. He had been lagging in the rear, asusual.
"What have you found?" he inquired, not seeing the bodies at first, onaccount of the party surrounding them.
"Come here, and see for yourself, Peabody," said one of the company.
Lawrence Peabody peered at the dead men--he was rather near-sighted--andturned very pale.
"Is it the Indians?" he faltered.
"Yes, it's those devils. You can tell their work when you see it. Don'tyou see that they are scalped?"
"I believe I shall faint," said Peabody, his face becoming of a greenishhue. "Tom, let me lean on your shoulder. Do--do you think it has beendone lately?"
"Yesterday, probably," said Ferguson. "The bodies look fresh."
"Then the Indians that did it must be near here?"
"Probably."
"These men were either traveling by themselves, or had strayed away fromtheir party," said Fletcher. "It shows how necessary it is for us tokeep together. In union there is strength."
The bodies were examined. In the pocket of one was found a letteraddressed to James Collins, dated at some town in Maine. The writerappeared to be his wife. She spoke of longing for the time when heshould return with money enough to redeem their farm from a heavymortgage.
"Poor woman!" said Ferguson. "She will wait for her husband in vain. Themortgage will never be paid through his exertions."
Tom looked sober, as he glanced compassionately at the poor emigrant.
"He came on the same errand that I did," he said. "I hope my journeywill have a happier ending."
"Always hope for the best, Tom," said his Scotch friend. "You will livehappier while you do live, and, if the worst comes, it will be timeenough to submit to it when you must."
"That is good philosophy, Mr. Ferguson."
"Indeed it is, my lad. Don't borrow trouble."
"We must bury these poor men," said Fletcher. "We can't leave them outhere, possibly to be devoured by wild beasts. Who will volunteer for theservice?"
"Come, Peabody," said John Miles, a broad-shouldered giant, who had agood-natured contempt for the young man from Boston. "Suppose you and Ivolunteer."
Lawrence Peabody shrank back in dismay at the unwelcome proposition.
"I couldn't do it," he said, shivering. "I never touched a dead body inmy life. I am so delicate that I couldn't do it, I assure you."
"It's lucky we are not all delicate," said Miles, "or the poor fellowswould be left unburied. I suppose if anything happens to you, Peabody,you will expect us to bury you?"
"Oh, don't mention such a thing, Mr. Miles," entreated Peabody, showingsymptoms of becoming hysterical. "I really can't bear it."
"It's my belief that nature has made a mistake, and Peabody was meantfor a woman," said Miles, shrugging his shoulders.
"I will assist you, my friend," said the Scotchman. "It's all thatremains for us to do for the poor fellows."
"Not quite all," said Tom. "Somebody ought to write to the poor wife. Wehave her address in the letter you took from the pocket."
"Well thought of, my lad," said Fletcher. "Will you undertake it?"
"If you think I can do it properly," said Tom modestly.
"It'll be grievous news, whoever writes it. You can do it as well asanother."
In due time Mrs. Collins received a letter revealing the sad fate of herhusband, accompanied with a few simple words of sympathy.
Over the grave a rude cross was planted, fashioned of two boards, withthe name of James Collins, cut out with a jack-knife, upon them. Thisinscription was the work of Miles.
"Somebody may see it who knows Collins," he said.
It happened that, on the second night after the discovery of Collins andhis unfortunate companion, Lawrence Peabody's turn came to stand watch.He was very uneasy and nervous through the day. In the hope of escapingthe ordeal he so much dreaded he bound a handkerchief round his head.
"What's the matter, Mr. Peabody?" asked Fletcher.
"I've got a fearful headache," groaned Peabody. "It seems to me as if itwould split open."
"Let me feel of it," said Fletcher.
"It doesn't feel hot; it doesn't throb," he said.
"It aches terribly," said Peabody. "I'm very subject to headache. It isthe effect of a delicate constitution."
"The fellow is shamming," said Fletcher to himself; and he felt disgustrather than sympathy.
"It's a little curious, Mr. Peabody, that this headache should not comeupon you till the day you are to stand on watch," remarked the leader,with a sarcasm which even the young man from Boston detected.
"Yes, it's strange," he admitted, "and very unlucky, for of course youwon't expect a sick man to watch."
"You don't look at it in the right light, Mr. Peabody. I regard it asrather lucky than otherwise."
Lawrence Peabody stared.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Fletcher," he said.
"If you have the headache, it will prevent you from going to sleep, andyou remember you expressed yourself as afraid that you might. If youwere quite well, I might feel rather afraid of leaving the camp in yourcharge. Now, I am sure you won't fall asleep."
Mr. Peabody listened in dismay. The very plan to which he had resortedin the hope of evading duty was likely to fasten that duty upon him.
"He'll be well before night," thought Fletcher shrewdly; and heprivately imparted the joke to the rest of the party. The result wasthat Mr. Peabody became an object of general attention.
In half an hour the young man from Boston removed his handkerchief fromhis head.
"Are you feeling better, Mr. Peabody?" asked Tom.
"Very much better," said Peabody.
"Your headache seems to pass off suddenly."
"Yes, it always does," said the young Bostonian. "I am like mother inthat. She had a delicate constitution, just like mine. One minute shewould have a headache as if her head would split open, and half an hourafterward she would feel as well as usual."
"You are very fortunate. I was afraid your headache would make ituncomfortable for you to watch to-night."
"Yes, it would; but, as the captain said, it would have kept me awake.Now I don't believe I can keep from sleeping on my post."
"Why don't you tell Fletcher so?"
"Won't you tell him, Tom? He might pay more attention to it if you toldhim."
"No, Mr. Peabody. You are certainly the most suitable person to speak tohim. What makes you think he would pay more attention to me, who am onlya boy?"
"He seems to like you, Tom."
"I hope he does, but really, Mr. Peabody, you must attend to your ownbusiness."
Fletcher was at the head of the train, walking beside the first wagon.Hearing hurried steps, he turned, and saw Mr. Lawrence Peabody, pantingfor breath.
"Have you got over your headache, Mr. Peabody?" he asked, with a quietsmile.
"Yes, Mr. Fletcher, it's all gone."
"I am glad to hear it."
"It would have kept me awake to-night, as you remarked," said Peabody."Now, I am really afraid that I shall fall asleep."
"That would be bad for you."
"Why so?"
"You remember those tw
o poor fellows whom we found scalped the otherday?"
"I shall never forget them," said Lawrence Peabody, with a shudder.
"Better think of them to-night. If you go to sleep on watch, those veryIndians may serve you in the same way."
"Oh, good gracious!" ejaculated Peabody, turning pale.
"They or some of their tribe are, no doubt, near at hand."
"Don't you think you could excuse me, Mr. Fletcher?" stammered Peabody,panic-stricken.
"No!" thundered Fletcher, so sternly that the unhappy Bostonian shrankback in dismay.
For the credit of Boston, it may be said that John Miles--abroad-shouldered young giant, who did not know what fear was--morehonorably represented the same city.