At last I did so. Blood gushed over my hand and wrist, the clutch
upon my arm relaxed, the head fell back. The dying eyes glared
into mine; then the lids shut forever upon that unquenchable
hatred. I staggered to my feet and turned, to find that Diccon had
given account of the third Indian.
We stood up in the hail and the wind, and looked at the dead men
at our feet. Then, without speaking, we went our way through the
tossing forest, with the hailstones coming thick against us, and the
wind a strong hand to push us back. When we came to a little
trickling spring, we knelt and washed our hands.
The hail ceased, but the rain fell and the wind blew throughout the
morning. We made what speed we could over the boggy earth
against the storm, but we knew that we were measuring miles
where we should have measured leagues. There was no breath to
waste in words, and thought was a burden quite intolerable; it was
enough to stumble on through the partial light, with a mind as gray
and blank as the rain-blurred distance.
At noon the clouds broke, and an hour later the sunshine was
streaming down from a cloudless heaven, beneath which the forest
lay clear before us, naught stirring save shy sylvan creatures to
whom it mattered not if red man or white held the land.
Side by side Diccon and I hurried on, not speaking, keeping eye
and ear open, proposing with all our will to reach the goal we had
set, and to reach it in time, let what might oppose.
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