A
heavy rain had fallen recently and it would have obliterated tracks.
Neale's suspense sustained the added burden of dread. In the
oppressive silence of the valley he read some nameless reason for
fear. The trail seemed the same, the brook flowed and murmured as of
old, the trees shone soft and green, but Neale sensed a difference.
He dared not look at Larry for confirmation of his fears. The valley
had not of late been lived in!
Neale rode hard up the trail under the pines. A blackened heap lay
where once the cabin had stood. Neale's heart gave a terrible leap
and then seemed to cease beating. He could not breathe nor speak nor
move. His eyes were fixed on the black remains of Slingerland's
cabin.
"Gawd Almighty!" gasped Larry, and he put out a shaking hand to
clutch Neale. "The Injuns! I always feared this--spite of
Slingerland's talk."
The feel of Larry's fierce fingers, like hot, stinging arrows in his
flesh, pierced Neale's mind and made him realize what his stunned
faculties had failed to grasp. It seemed to loosen the vise-like
hold upon his muscles, to liberate his tongue.
He fell off his horse.
"Red! Look--look around!"
Allie was gone! The disappointment at not seeing her was crushing,
and the fear of utter loss was terrible. Neale lay on the ground,
blind, sick, full of agony, with his fingers tearing at the grass.
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