oking sobs breaking from him,
the unaccustomed tears raining down his cheeks.

The brothers wept together. Perhaps those tears saved Charles from
some severe fever of the brain. He wept till he was perfectly
exhausted, and at last his condition of prostration so far aroused
Humphrey that he was forced into action.

He half lifted, half dragged his brother into one of the empty
barns, where he laid him down upon some straw. He rolled up his own
coat for a pillow, and after hastily finishing the filling in of
the grave, he went back into the forest for his game bag, and
having kindled a fire, cooked some of the meat, and forced his
brother to eat and drink. It was growing dark by that time, and the
blackness of the forest seemed to be swallowing them up.

A faint red glow still came from the direction of the burning
homestead, where the fire still smouldered amid the smoking ruins.
Humphrey closed the door of the barn, to shut out the sight and
also the chill freshness of the autumn night.

He lay down upon the straw beside his brother, worn out in body and
mind. But there could be no thought of sleep for either man that
night; the horror was too pressing and ever present, and anguish
lay like a physical load upon their hearts.

The silence was full of horror for both; in self defence Humphrey
began to speak.

"When was it, Charles? I was in the forest all day, and I saw and
heard nothing. The silence was never broken save by the accustomed
sounds of the wild creatures of the wood. No war party came my way.
When was it?"

"At the noontide meal. We had all gathered within doors. There was
none to give warning of danger. Suddenly and silently as ghosts
they must have filed from out the forest. We were already
surrounded and helpless before the first wild war whoop broke upon
our ears!"

Charles put up his hands as though to shut out that awful yell, the
echoes of which rang so long in the ears of those who had heard it.
Humphrey shivered, and his hands clinched themselves nervously
together.

"Why was I not here to fight and to die?"

"Better to live--and to avenge their blood!" answered Charles, with
a gleam lighting his sunken eyes. He was silent awhile, and then
went on with his narrative.

"It was not a fight; it was only a slaughter! The children rushed
screaming from the house, escaping the first rush of the painted
savages when they burst in upon us. But there were others outside,
who hacked and slas