CHAPTER XXVII

A GHOSTLY VISION

The touch of the water brought renewed life to De Croix.  This was shown by the brighter color stealing into his cheeks, as well as by the more careless tone that crept into his voice.  The lake proved shallow for some considerable distance off shore, and I compelled the Frenchman to wade with me southward, and as far out as we dared venture, until we must have reached the extreme limit of the field of massacre.  Indeed, I fully believed we had passed beyond the point where the attack had first burst upon Captain Wells’s Miamis; for I could perceive no sign of any bodies lying opposite us against the white background of sand.  As the night drew on, squads of savages wandered over the scene of slaughter, despoiling the stiffening corpses, and taking from the wagons whatever might suit their fancy.  Yet we were now so far removed that we could distinguish little of their deeds, although the sound of their voices echoed plainly enough across the water to our ears.

As time passed, the numbness that had paralyzed my brain, either from the cruel blow that felled me or the terrible shock my nerves had experienced, gradually passed away, and our situation became more vivid to my mind.  I thought again of all who had gone forth that morning filled with hope and life.  I had, it is true, known none of them long, but there were many in that ill-fated company who had already grown dear to me, and one was among them who I now knew beyond all question was to remain in my heart forever.

I recalled the faces one by one, with some tender memory for each in turn.  I thought of the brave Captain Wells, with his swarthy face, and Indian training, who had proved himself so truly my friend for my father’s sake; of Captain Heald, the typical bluff soldier of the border, ready to sacrifice everything to what he deemed his duty; of Lieutenant Helm, grave of face and calm of speech, always so thoughtful of his sweet girl bride; and of young Ronan, loyal of heart and impetuous of deed, whose frank manliness had so drawn me to him.  And now all these brave, true comrades were dead!  Only five or six hours ago I had spoken with them, had ridden by their side; now they lay motionless yonder, stricken down by the basest treachery, their poor bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition.  I could scarcely realize the awful truth; it rested upon me like some horrible dream, from which I knew I must soon awaken.

But it was Mademoiselle,—­Toinette, with the laughing eyes and roguish face, which yet could be so tender,—­whose memory held me vibrating between constant dread and hope.  Living or dead, I must know the truth concerning her, before I felt the slightest consideration for my own preservation.  If I lived, it should be for her sake, not mine.  Plan after plan came to me as I stood there, my face barely raised above the water level, praying for the