"Then this
is the Seneca camp. The battle is over," she said under her breath,
and she turned to me. Her eyes were brave, but I knew from her
trembling lips that she understood. "Where is my cousin?"
I took both her hands in mine. "He died in my arms. He died trying to
send me to you. He forgot self. It was the death of a brave man,
madame."
She stood and looked at me. She had forgotten the men around her.
"Monsieur," she said, and this time her eyes were soft with tears, "my
cousin was not so bad as he seemed. He could not help being what he
was."
"I understand."
"Monsieur, you conquered the Senecas?"
"Yes. We will forget it, madame."
She looked over the heads of the lines of soldiers and grew white to
the lips. I knew that she saw rows of scalps, and I could not save her
from it. Yet I implored.
"Do not think of it. It is all over, madame."
Her eyes came back to me. "And Pierre? Is Pierre safe?"
"Madame, he---- He died saving me."
Her hands grasped me harder. "And Labarthe?"
"I am all that is left, madame."
Still she held to me. "Where is Singing Arrow?"
I looked at Cadillac. He shook his head. "They found the Indian woman
this morning," he said.
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