The man had not spoken a half dozen words before Henry knew that
Wareville was the place, upon which the doom was so soon to fall. The
chill of horror that had seized him at sight of the yellow-haired scalp
passed over him again, deeper, stronger and longer than before. And the
colony would fall! There could be no doubt of it! Nothing could save it!
The hideous band, raging with tomahawk and knife, would dash without a
word of warning, like a bolt from the sky upon Wareville so long
sheltered and peaceful in its valley. And he could see all the phases of
the savage triumph, the surprise, the triumphant and ferocious yells,
the rapid volleys of the rifles, the flashing of the blades, the burning
buildings, the shouts, the cries, and men, women and children in one red
slaughter. In another year the forest would be springing up where
Wareville had been, and the wolf and the fox would prowl among the
charred timbers. And among the bleaching bones would be those of his own
mother and sister and Lucy Upton--if they were not taken away for a
worse fate.
He endured the keenest thrill of agony that life had yet held for him.
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