"Anyway, we can't get home too quick—at least I can't, Sam."
"I'm with you, Henry. Your folks are my best friends. Besides, I want to learn what has become of Dave. You know what a sight I think o' him," concluded Barringford.
They advanced with caution until Henry felt compelled to rest. Then they sat down by the edge of a tiny stream and here obtained a drink, and the frontiersman washed and bound up Henry's wounded hand. At last they went on once more, taking a semi-circle which brought them in sight of the Morris cabin.
"Too late!" burst from Henry's lips, and his heart sank within him. Against the early morning sky was a heavy cloud of smoke curling lazily upward from the ruins of the cabin and the out-buildings. Around the ruins half a dozen redmen were prowling, on the hunt for anything of value which might have escaped their notice during the darkness of the night.
"Yes, lad, we're too late," responded Barringford, mournfully. "I only trust your folks escaped."
"Let—let us creep closer and see if there are any—any bodies lying around," faltered the young hunter. He was so agitated he could scarcely speak.
