And the burden, lying upon a sweeping
cedar branch which he held and dragged by a long stem, was the body of a
white man. The scalp had been neatly lifted, and blood lay in a broad
smear upon the cheeks and forehead.
Then, for the first time that night, the terror that had paralysed my
muscles and my will lifted its unholy spell from my soul. With a loud
cry I stretched out my arms to seize the big Indian by the throat, and,
grasping only air, tumbled forward unconscious upon the ground.
I had recognised the body, and _the face was my own_! . . .
It was bright daylight when a man's voice recalled me to consciousness.
I was lying where I had fallen, and the farmer was standing in the room
with the loaves of bread in his hands. The horror of the night was still
in my heart, and as the bluff settler helped me to my feet and picked up
the rifle which had fallen with me, with many questions and expressions
of condolence, I imagine my brief replies were neither self-explanatory
nor even intelligible.
That day, after a thorough and fruitless search of the house, I left the
island, and went over to spend my last ten days with the farmer; and
when the time came for me to leave, the necessary reading had been
accomplished, and my nerves had completely recovered their balance.
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