Now there emerged from one side a
woman who spoke to none but who clambered down the rough waterway and
waded into the little pool below the rock and stooped and lifted
something from the water. It was the body of the brave old hunter of the
hills. With her arms clutched about it the woman began the clamber upward
again, shaking her head dumbly, when rude warriors, touched somehow,
despite the coarse texture of their being, came wading in to assist her
with the ghastly burden. She emerged with it upon the level and laid it
gently down upon the grass, but still uttered no word until her children
gathered and the weeping Lightfoot came to her and put her arms about
her, and then from the uncouth creature's eyes came a flood of tears and
a gasp which broke the tension, and the death wail sounded through the
valley. The poor, affectionate animal was a little nearer herself again.
There were dead men lying beside the flames at the Eastern end of the
valley, and these were brought by the men and tossed carelessly into the
pools below where lay so many others of the slain. There were storm
clouds gathering and all the valley people knew what must happen soon.
The storm clouds burst; the little creek, transformed suddenly into a
torrent by the fall of water from the heights above, swept the dead men
away together to the river and so toward the sea.
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