They wos a party o'
white men."
Mrs. Varley sighed again, and her face assumed an expression of
anxious pain as she thought of her son Dick being exposed to a similar
fate. Mrs. Varley was not given to nervous fears, but as she listened
to the boy's recital of the slaughter of a party of white men, news
of which had just reached the valley, her heart sank, and she prayed
inwardly to Him who is the husband of the widow that her dear one
might be protected from the ruthless hand of the savage.
After a short pause, during which young Marston fidgeted about and
looked concerned, as if he had something to say which he would fain
leave unsaid, Mrs. Varley continued,--
"Was it far off where the bloody deed was done?"
"Yes; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs said that he found
a knife that looked like the one wot belonged to--to--" the lad
hesitated.
"To whom, my boy? Why don't ye go on?"
"To your son Dick."
The widow's hands dropped by her side, and she would have fallen had
not Marston caught her.
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