ggling mob
within, the heavy timbers crushing out their lives. And the cause!
But one was possible--the half-keg of blasting power Kennedy had placed
in the corner as a last resort. Had Tim reached it in a final, mad
effort to destroy, or had some accidental flame wrought the terrible
destruction? Perhaps no one could ever answer that--but, was I there
alone, the sole survivor? Had those others of our little party died
amid their Indian enemies, and were they lying now somewhere in this
darkness, crushed and mangled in the midst of the debris?

Kennedy, Elsie Clark, the half-witted boy Asa Hall--their faces seemed
to stare at me out of the blackness. They must be dead! Why, I had
seen Kennedy fall, the heedless feet crunching his face, and Asa Hall
tossed into the air and shot at as he fell. Eloise! Eloise! I
covered my eyes with the free hand, conscious that I was crying like a
child--Eloise. My God, Eloise! I wonder if I fainted; I knew so
little after that; so little, except that I suffered helplessly. That
awful, pressing weight upon my chest, the impossibility of moving my
limbs, the ceaseless horror of the dark silence, the benumbing
knowledge that all about me lay those dead bodies, with sightless eyes
staring through the black. If I did not faint, then I must have been
upon the verge of insanity, for there was a time--God knows how
long--when all was blank.

Some slight, scarcely distinguishable noise aroused me. Yes, it was
actually a sound, as though someone moved in the room--moved
stealthily, as though upon hands and knees, seeking a passage in the
darkness. I imagined I could distinguish breathing. Who, what could
it be? A man; a prowling wild animal which had scented blood? But for
my dry, parched lips I would have cried out--yet even with the vain
endeavor, doubt silenced me. Who could be there--who? Some sneaking,
cowardly thief; some despoiler of the dead? Some Indian returned
through the night to take his toll of scalps, hoping to thus proclaim
himself a mighty warrior? More likely enemy than friend. It was
better that I lie and suffer than appeal to such fiend for mercy.

The slight sound shifted to the right of where I lay, no longer
reminding me of the slow progress of a moving body, but rather as
though someone were attempting blindly to scrape together ashes in the
fireplace. Yes, that must be what was being done; whoever the strange
invader might be, and whatever his ul