As he finished the prayer, the priest said: "my poor
brother, I think you are safe with God," and as the words died upon
his lips he received his death-wound and fell prostrate across my
husband. I did not see who fired the shot. I only saw one shot fired;
I thought it was for myself but it was for my husband and it finished
him. In a couple of minutes an Indian, from the opposite side, ran up,
caught me by the wrist and told me to go with him. I refused, but I
saw another Indian shake his head at me and tell me to go on. He
dragged me by force away. I got one glance-the last-at my poor
husband's body and I was taken off. After we had gone a piece I, tried
to look back-but the Indian gave me a few shakes pretty roughly and
then dragged me through the creek up to my waist in water--then over a
path full of thorns and briars and finally flung me down in his tent.
I will not now stay to describe my feelings or attempt to give in
language, an idea of the million phantoms of dread and terror; memory
seemed but too keen, and only too vividly could I behold the
repetition of the scenes that had just passed before me. I stayed all
day in the tent. I had the hope that some one would buy me off. Yet
the hope was mingled with dispair. I thought if I could see Alec, one
of our own Indians, that he would buy me, but I could not find out
were he was.
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