“Where am I?”

“This is the home of a trapper.  I brought you here.  It was the best —­in fact, the only place.”

“You saved me—­from—­from those devils?” she queried, hoarsely, and again the cold and horrible shade veiled her eyes.

“Yes—­yes—­but don’t think of them—­they’re gone,” replied Neale, hastily.  The look of her distressed and frightened him.  He did not know what to say.

The girl fell back with a poignant cry and covered her eyes as if to shut out a hateful and appalling sight.  “My—­mother!” she moaned, and shuddered with agony.  “They—­murdered—­her! ...  Oh! the terrible yells! ...  I saw—­killed—­every man—­Mrs. Jones!  My mother—­she fell —­she never spoke!  Her blood was on me! ...  I crawled away—­I hid! ...  The Indians—­they tore—­hacked—­scalped—­burned! ...  I couldn’t die!—­I saw! ...  Oh!—­Oh!—­Oh!” Then she fell to moaning in inarticulate fashion.

Slingerland and King came out and looked down at the girl.

“Wal, the life’s strong in her,” said the trapper.  “I reckon I know when life is strong in any critter.  She’ll git over thet.  All we can do now is to watch her an’ keep her from doin’ herself harm.  Take her in an’ lay her down.”

For two days and nights Neale watched over her, except for the hours she slept, when he divided his vigil with King.  She had periods of consciousness, in which she knew Neale, but most of the time she raved or tossed or moaned or lay like one dead.  On the third day, however.  Neale felt encouraged.  She awoke weak and somber, but quiet and rational.  Neale talked earnestly to her, in as sensible a way as he knew how, speaking briefly of the tragic fate that had been hers, bidding her force it out of her mind by taking interest in her new surroundings.  She listened to him, but did not seem impressed.  It was a difficult matter to get her to eat.  She did not want to move.  At length Neale told her that he must go back to the camp of the engineers, where he had work to do; he promised that he would return to see her soon and often.  She did not speak or raise her eyes when he left her.

Outside, when Red brought up the horses, Slingerland said to Neale:  “See hyar, son, I reckon you needn’t worry.  She’ll come around all right.”

“Shore she will,” corroborated the cowboy.  “Time’ll cure her.  I’m from Texas, whar sudden death is plentiful in all families.”

Neale shook his head.  “I’m not so sure,” he said.  “That girl’s more sensitively and delicately organized than you fellows see.  I doubt if she’ll ever recover from the shock.  It’ll take a mighty great influence....  But let’s hope for the best.  Now, Slingerland, take care of her as best you can.  Shut her in when you leave camp.  I’ll ride over as often as possible.  If she gets so she will talk, then we can find out if she has any relatives, and if so I’ll take her to them.  If not I’ll do whatever else I can for her.”