The negro, awakened by foot and voice, sprang up, and stood bewildered
beside his master. "It is the valley that we have been seeking, Juba,"
said the latter, speaking rapidly and low. "That burning pile is the
cabin, and 't is like that there are Indians between us and it! Leave the
horses; we shall go faster without them. Look to the priming of your gun,
and make no noise. Now!"

Rapidly descending the hill, they threw themselves into the woods at its
base. Here they could not see the fire, but now and then, as they ran,
they caught the glow, far down the lines of trees. Though they went
swiftly they went warily as well, keeping an eye and ear open and muskets
ready. But there was no sound other than their own quick footfalls upon
the floor of rotting leaves, or the eager brushing of their bodies through
occasional undergrowth; no sight but the serried trees and the checkered
light and shade upon the ground.

They came to the shallow stream that flashed through the valley, and
crossing it found themselves on cleared ground, with only a long strip of
corn between them and what had been a home for English folk. It was that
no longer: for lack of fuel the flames were dying down; there was only a
charred and smoking pile, out of which leaped here and there a red tongue.

Haward had expected to hear a noise of savage triumph, and to see dark
figures moving about their handiwork. There was no noise, and the
moonlight showed no living being. The night was changelessly still and
bright; the tragedy had been played, and the mountains and the hills and
the running water had not looked.

It took but a few minutes to break through the rustling corn and reach the
smouldering logs. Once before them, there seemed naught to do but to stand