Harry shrugged his shoulders.  “He has a queer character certainly; but of the two, I think I should be more afraid of disturbing the Indians, especially if I had to ride about the country at all hours.  It would not be very difficult to waylay the Doctor; and I dare say some of them are savage enough to do it, if they had a serious grudge against him.”

“I don’t believe they have pluck enough to do anything of the kind.  Look what miserable fellows those are that Dawson has at the mill now.  They look as if all the spirit had been starved out of them.”

So they went on talking until they caught glimpses of the mill before them, whenever their way lay over the open ground; and then George Anderson touched the horse with his whip, and they began to get over the remaining distance more quickly.  They were trotting briskly round the side of a low thicket of brambles, when suddenly a horse, which was grazing on the further side, raised its head and looked at them.  There was nothing remarkable in that, certainly, for horses were not unfrequently turned out there; but what was remarkable, was that this one had a bridle on.  George involuntarily tightened his reins; and the next moment the animal, which seemed to have been disturbed by their coming, trotted slowly across the road in front of them.  It was bridled and saddled, and the saddle was a little on one side, as if it had been dragged round.  Harry sprang from the waggon.  He followed the horse, and in a minute or two caught and led it back to where George, who had also dismounted, was now tying his to a tree.

They both recognized the runaway.  Harry said one word as he led it up, “Doctor Morton!” and with a horror-struck face pointed to a dark wet stain partly on the saddle, partly on the horse’s neck.

George darted round the thicket, and in a moment a cry called Harry to the same place.  A bridle path, more direct than the road, ran close beside the thorn bushes, and there, half hidden in branches and leaves, lay something—­something that had once been human and living.  Dark pools of blood lay about it, and there were horrible gashes and wounds as if the murderer had been unable to satisfy his rage, and had taken a frantic pleasure in mutilating his victim.

The two young men stood and looked at each other and at the ghastly heap before them.  Silently with white faces they questioned each other what to do?  To touch what lay there seemed almost impossible, and any thought of succour was hopeless; but something must be done.  They both drew away from the spot before they spoke.  Then Harry said in a low voice, “There are plenty of men at the mill; you might fetch some of them.”

George went towards the waggon without a word; but just as he was going to get in he turned round,

“No, Harry, you must go.  Somebody must take the news on to Cacouna, and that can’t be me.”

“Very well.”

Harry was in the waggon instantly, and away.  His first errand was quickly done.  In a very few minutes George could see, from the place where he kept watch, that the men began to hurry out of the mill, and come towards him in a confused throng.  Some, however, stayed to bring a kind of dray with them, and then, when these also had started, he could see Harry Scott moving slowly off in the waggon towards the town.