Chapter XIII. A Forest Page

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　When the survivors of the band of Wyoming fugitives that the fivehad helped were behind the walls of Fort Penn, securing the foodand rest they needed so greatly, Henry Ware and his comrades feltthemselves relieved of a great responsibility. They were alsoaware how much they owed to Timmendiquas, because few of theIndians and renegades would have been so forbearing.Thayendanegea seemed to them inferior to the great Wyandot.Often when Brant could prevent the torture of the prisoners andthe slaughter of women and children, he did not do it. The fivecould never forget these things in after life, when Brant wasglorified as a great warrior and leader. Their minds alwaysturned to Timmendiquas as the highest and finest of Indian types.

　　While they were at Fort Penn two other parties came, in a fearfulstate of exhaustion, and also having paid the usual toll of deathon the way. Other groups reached the Moravian towns, where theywere received with all kindness by the German settlers. The fivewere able to give some help to several of these parties, but thebeautiful Wyoming Valley lay utterly in ruins. The ruthless furyof the savages and of many of the Tories, Canadians, andEnglishmen, can scarcely be told. Everything was slaughtered orburned. As a habitation of human beings or of anythingpertaining to human beings, the valley for a time ceased to be.An entire population was either annihilated or driven out, andfinally Butler's army, finding that nothing more was left to bedestroyed, gathered in its war parties and marched northward witha vast store of spoils, in which scalps were conspicuous. Whenthey repassed Tioga Point, Timmendiquas and his Wyandots werestill with them. Thayendanegea was also with them here, and sowas Walter Butler, who was destined shortly to make a reputationequaling that of his father, "Indian" Butler. Nor had theterrible Queen Esther ever left them. She marched at the head ofthe army, singing, horrid chants of victory, and swinging thegreat war tomahawk, which did not often leave her hand.

　　The whole force was re-embarked upon the Susquehanna, and it wasstill full of the impulse of savage triumph. Wild Indian songsfloated along the stream or through the meadows, which were quietnow. They advanced at their ease, knowing that there was nobodyto attack them, but they were watched by five woodsmen, two ofwhom were boys. Meanwhile the story of Wyoming, to an extentthat neither Indians nor woodsmen themselves suspected, wasspreading from town to town in the East, to invade thence thewhole civilized world, and to stir up an indignation and horrorthat would make the name Wyoming long memorable. Wyoming hadbeen a victory for the flag under which the invaders fought, butit sadly tarnished the cause of that flag, and the consequenceswere to be seen soon.

　　Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, Sol Hyde, Tom Ross, and Jim Hart werethinking little of distant consequences, but they were eager forthe present punishment of these men who had committed so muchcruelty. From the bushes they could easily follow the canoes,and could recognize some of their occupants. In one of the rearboats sat Braxton Wyatt and a young man whom they knew to beWalter Butler, a pallid young man, animated by the most savageferocity against the patriots. He and Wyatt seemed to be on thebest of terms, and faint echoes of their laughter came to thefive who were watching among the bushes on the river bank.Certainly Braxton Wyatt and he were a pair well met.

　　"Henry," said Shif'less Sol longingly, "I think I could jestabout reach Braxton Wyatt with a bullet from here. I ain't overfond o' shootin' from ambush, but I done got over all scruples sofur ez he's concerned. Jest one bullet, one little bullet,Henry, an' ef I miss I won't ask fur a second chance."

　　"No, Sol, it won't do," said Henry. "They'd get off to hunt us.The whole fleet would be stopped, and we want 'em to go on asfast as possible."

　　"I s'pose you're right, Henry," said the shiftless one sadly,"but I'd jest like to try it once. I'd give a month's goodhuntin' for that single trial."

　　After watching the British-Indian fleet passing up the river,they turned back to the site of the Wyoming fort and the housesnear it. Here everything had been destroyed. It was about duskwhen they approached the battlefield, and they heard a dreadfulhowling, chiefly that of wolves.

　　I think we'd better turn away," said Henry. " We couldn't doanything with so many."

　　They agreed with him, and, going back, followed the Indians upthe Susquehanna. A light rain fell that night, but they sleptunder a little shed, once attached to a house which had beendestroyed by fire. In some way the shed had escaped the flames,and it now came into timely use. The five, cunning in forestpractice, drew up brush on the sides, and half-burned timberalso, and, spreading their blankets on ashes which had not longbeen cold, lay well sheltered from the drizzling rain, althoughthey did not sleep for a long time.

　　It was the hottest period of the year in America, but the nighthad come on cool, and the rain made it cooler. The five,profiting by experience, often carried with them two lightblankets instead of one heavy one. With one blanket beneath thebody they could keep warmer in case the weather was cold.

　　Now they lay in a row against the standing wall of the oldouthouse, protected by a six- or seven-foot slant of board roof.They had eaten of a deer that they had shot in the morning, andthey had a sense of comfort and rest that none of them had knownbefore in many days. Henry's feelings were much like those thathe had experienced when he lay in the bushes in the little canoe,wrapped up from the storm and hidden from the Iroquois. But herethere was an important increase of pleasure, the pattering of therain on the board roof, a pleasant, soothing sound to whichmillions of boys, many of them afterwards great men, havelistened in America.

　　It grew very dark about them, and the pleasant patter, almostmusical in its rhythm, kept up. Not much wind was blowing, andit, too, was melodious. Henry lay with his head on a little heapof ashes, which was covered by his under blanket, and, for thefirst time since he had brought the warning to Wyoming, he wasfree from all feeling of danger. The picture itself of thebattle, the defeat, the massacre, the torture, and of the savageQueen Esther cleaving the heads of the captives, was at times asvivid as ever, and perhaps would always return now and then inits original true colors, but the periods between, when youth,hope, and strength had their way, grew longer and longer.

　　Now Henry's eyelids sank lower and lower. Physical comfort andthe presence of his comrades caused a deep satisfaction thatpermeated his whole being. The light wind mingled pleasantlywith the soft summer rain. The sound of the two grew strangelymelodious, almost piercingly sweet, and then it seemed to behuman. They sang together, the wind and rain, among the leaves,and the note that reached his heart, rather than his ear,thrilled him with courage and hope. Once more the invisiblevoice that had upborne him in the great valley of the Ohio toldhim, even here in the ruined valley of Wyoming, that what waslost would be regained. The chords ended, and the echoes,amazingly clear, floated far away in the darkness and rain.Henry roused himself, and came from the imaginative borderland.He stirred a little, and said in a quiet voice to Shif'less Sol:

　　"Did you hear anything, Sol?"

　　"Nothin' but the wind an' the rain."

　　Henry knew that such would be the answer.

　　"I guess you didn't hear anything either, Henry," continued theshiftless one, "'cause it looked to me that you wuz 'bout ez nearsleep ez a feller could be without bein' ackshooally so."

　　"I was drifting away," said Henry.

　　He was beginning to realize that he had a great power, or rathergift. Paul was the sensitive, imaginative boy, seeing everythingin brilliant colors, a great builder of castles, not all of air,but Henry's gift went deeper. It was the power to evoke theactual living picture of the event that bad not yet occurred,something akin in its nature to prophecy, based perhaps upon thewonderful power of observation, inherited doubtless, fromcountless primitive ancestors. The finest product of thewilderness, he saw in that wilderness many things that others didnot see, and unconsciously he drew his conclusions from superiorknowledge.

　　The song had ceased a full ten minutes, and then came anothernote, a howl almost plaintive, but, nevertheless, weird and fullof ferocity. All knew it at once. They had heard the cry ofwolves too often in their lives, but this had an uncommon notelike the yell of the Indian in victory. Again the cry arose,nearer, haunting, and powerful. The five, used to the darkness,could see one another's faces, and the look that all gave was thesame, full of understanding and repulsion.

　　"It has been a great day for the wolf in this valley," whisperedPaul, "and striking our trail they think they are going to findwhat they have been finding in such plenty before."

　　"Yes," nodded Henry, "but do you remember that time when in thehouse we took the place of the man, his wife and children, justbefore the Indians came?"

　　"Yes," said Paul.

　　"We'll treat them wolves the same way," said Shif'less Sol.

　　"I'm glad of the chance," said Long Jim.

　　"Me, too," said Tom Ross.

　　The five rose up to sitting positions against the board wall, andeveryone held across his knees a long, slender barreled rifle,with the muzzle pointing toward the forest. All accomplishedmarksmen, it would only be a matter of a moment for the stock toleap to the shoulder, the eye to glance down the barrel, thefinger to pull the trigger, and the unerring bullet to leapforth.

　　"Henry, you give the word as usual," said Shif'less Sol.

　　Henry nodded.

　　Presently in the darkness they heard the pattering of light feet,and they saw many gleaming eyes draw near. There must have beenat least thirty of the wolves, and the five figures that they sawreclining, silent and motionless, against the unburned portion ofthe house might well have been those of the dead and scalped,whom they had found in such numbers everywhere. They drew nearin a semicircular group, its concave front extended toward thefire, the greatest wolves at the center. Despite many feastings,the wolves were hungry again. Nothing had opposed them before,but caution was instinctive. The big gray leaders did not mindthe night or the wind or the rain, which they had known all theirlives, and which they counted as nothing, but they always hadinvoluntary suspicion of human figures, whether living or not,and they approached slowly, wrinkling back their noses andsniffing the wind which blew from them instead of the fivefigures. But their confidence increased as they advanced. Theyhad found many such burned houses as this, but they had foundnothing among the ruins except what they wished.

　　The big leaders advanced more boldly, glaring straight at thehuman figures, a slight froth on their lips, the lips themselvescurling back farther from the strong white teeth. The outer endsof the concave semicircle also drew in. The whole pack was aboutto spring upon its unresisting prey, and it is, no doubt, truethat many a wolfish pulse beat a little higher in anticipation.With a suddenness as startling as it was terrifying the fivefigures raised themselves, five long, dark tubes leaped to theirshoulders, and with a suddenness that was yet more terrifying, agush of flame shot from five muzzles. Five of the wolves-andthey were the biggest and the boldest, the leaders-fell dead uponthe ashes of the charred timbers, and the others, howling theirterror to the dark, skies, fled deep into the forest.

　　Henry strode over and pushed the body of the largest wolf withhis foot.

　　"I suppose we only gratified a kind of sentiment in shootingthose wolves," he said, " but I for one am glad we did it."

　　"So am I," said Paul.

　　"Me, too," said the other three together.

　　They went back to their positions near the wall, and one by onefell asleep. No more wolves howled that night anywhere nearthem.

　　When the five awakened the next morning the rain had ceased, anda splendid sun was tinting a blue sky with gold. Jim Hart builta fire among the blackened logs, and cooked venison. They hadalso brought from Fort Penn a little coffee, which Long Jimcarried with a small coffee pot in his camp kit, and everyone hada small tin cup. He made coffee for them, an uncommon wildernessluxury, in which they could rarely indulge, and they wereheartened and strengthened by it.

　　Then they went again up the valley, as beautiful as ever, withits silver river in the center, and its green mountain walls oneither side. But the beauty was for the eye only. It did notreach the hearts of those who had seen it before. All of thefive loved the wilderness, but they felt now how tragic silenceand desolation could be where human life and all the daily waysof human life had been.

　　It was mid-summer, but the wilderness was already reclaiming itsown. The game knew that man was gone, and it had come back intothe valley. Deer ate what had grown in the fields and gardens,and the wolves were everywhere. The whole black tragedy waswritten for miles. They were never out of sight of some trace ofit, and their anger grew again as they advanced in the blackenedpath of the victorious Indians.

　　It was their purpose now to hang on the Indian flank as scoutsand skirmishers, until an American army was formed for a campaignagainst the Iroquois, which they were sure must be conductedsooner or later. Meanwhile they could be of great aid, gatheringnews of the Indian plans, and, when that army of which theydreamed should finally march, they could help it most of all bywarning it of ambush, the Indian's deadliest weapon.

　　Everyone of the five had already perceived a fact which wasmanifest in all wars with the Indians along the whole border fromNorth to South, as it steadily shifted farther West. Thepractical hunter and scout was always more than a match for theIndian, man for man, but, when the raw levies of settlers werehastily gathered to stem invasion, they were invariably at agreat disadvantage. They were likely to be caught in ambush byoverwhelming numbers, and to be cut down, as had just happened atWyoming. The same fate might attend an invasion of the Iroquoiscountry, even by a large army of regular troops, and Henry andhis comrades resolved upon doing their utmost to prevent it. Anarmy needed eyes, and it could have none better than those fivepairs. So they went swiftly up the valley and northward andeastward, into the country of the Iroquois. They had a plan ofapproaching the upper Mohawk village of Canajoharie, where oneaccount says that Thayendanegea was born, although anothercredits his birthplace to the upper banks of the Ohio.

　　They turned now from the valley to the deep woods. The trailshowed that the great Indian force, after disembarking again,split into large parties, everyone loaded with spoil and boundfor its home village. The five noted several of the trails, butone of them consumed the whole attention of Silent Tom Ross.

　　He saw in the soft soil near a creek bank the footsteps of abouteight Indians, and, mingled with them, other footsteps, which hetook to be those of a white woman and of several children,captives, as even a tyro would infer. The soul of Tom, the good,honest, and inarticulate frontiersman, stirred within him. Awhite woman and her children being carried off to savagery, to belost forevermore to their kind! Tom, still inarticulate, felthis heart pierced with sadness at the tale that the tracks in thesoft mud told so plainly. But despair was not the only emotionin his heart. The silent and brave man meant to act.

　　"Henry," he said, "see these tracks here in the soft spot by thecreek."

　　The young leader read the forest page, and it told him exactlythe same tale that it had told Tom Ross.

　　"About a day old, I think," he said.

　　"Just about," said Tom; "an' I reckon, Henry, you know what's inmy mind."

　　"I think I do," said Henry, " and we ought to overtake them byto-morrow night. You tell the others, Tom."

　　Tom informed Shif'less Sol, Paul, and Long Jim in a few words,receiving from everyone a glad assent, and then the five followedfast on the trail. They knew that the Indians could not go veryfast, as their speed must be that of the slowest, namely, that ofthe children, and it seemed likely that Henry's prediction ofovertaking them on the following night would come true.

　　It was an easy trail. Here and there were tiny fragments ofcloth, caught by a bush from the dress of a captive. In oneplace they saw a fragment of a child's shoe that had been droppedoff and abandoned. Paul picked up the worn piece of leather andexamined it.

　　"I think it was worn by a girl," he said, "and, judging from itssize, she could not have been more than eight years old. Thinkof a child like that being made to walk five or six hundred milesthrough these woods!"

　　"Younger ones still have had to do it," said Shif'less Solgravely, "an' them that couldn't-well, the tomahawk."

　　The trail was leading them toward the Seneca country, and theyhad no doubt that the Indians were Senecas, who had been morenumerous than any others of the Six Nations at the Wyomingbattle. They came that afternoon to a camp fire beside which thewarriors and captives had slept the night before.

　　"They ate bar meat an' wild turkey," said Long Jim, looking atsome bones on the ground.

　　"An' here," said Tom Ross, "on this pile uv bushes is whar thewomen an' children slept, an' on the other side uv the fire iswhar the warriors lay anywhars. You can still see how the bodiesuv some uv 'cm crushed down the grass an' little bushes."

　　"An' I'm thinkin'," said Shif'less Sol, as he looked at the trailthat led away from the camp fire, "that some o' them little oneswuz gittin' pow'ful tired. Look how these here little trails arewobblin' about."

　　"Hope we kin come up afore the Injuns begin to draw thartomahawks," said Tom Ross.

　　The others were silent, but they knew the dreadful significanceof Tom's remark, and Henry glanced at them all, one by one.

　　"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we mustovertake them in the night when they are not suspecting. If weattack by day they will tomahawk the captives the very firstthing."

　　"Shorely,', said the shiftless one.

　　"Then," said Henry, " we don't need to hurry. "We'll go on untilabout midnight, and then sleep until sunrise."

　　They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen farless skillful than they could have followed. But a silent dreadwas in the heart of every one of them. As they saw the path ofthe small feet staggering more and more they feared to beholdsome terrible object beside the path.

　　"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announcedPaul.

　　"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and iscarrying it. See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven."

　　"Poor woman," said Paul. "Henry, we're just bound to overtakethat band."

　　"We'll do it," said Henry.

　　At the appointed time they sank down among the thickest bushesthat they could find, and slept until the first upshot of dawn.Then they resumed the trail, haunted always by that fear offinding something terrible beside it. But it was a trail thatcontinually grew slower. The Indians themselves were tired, or,feeling safe from pursuit, saw no need of hurry. By and by thetrail of the smallest child reappeared.

　　"It feels a lot better now," said Tom Ross. "So do I."

　　They came to another camp fire, at which the ashes were not yetcold. Feathers were scattered about, indicating that the Indianshad taken time for a little side hunt, and had shot some birds.

　　"They can't be more than two or three hours ahead," said Henry,"and we'll have to go on now very cautiously."

　　They were in a country of high hills, well covered with forests,a region suited to an ambush, which they feared but little ontheir own account; but, for the sake of extreme caution, they nowadvanced slowly. The afternoon was long and warm, but an hourbefore sunset they looked over a hill into a glade, and saw thewarriors making camp for the night.

　　The sight they beheld made the pulses of the five throb heavily.The Indians had already built their fire, and two of them werecooking venison upon it. Others were lying on the grass,apparently resting, but a little to one side sat a woman, stillyoung and of large, strong figure, though now apparently in thelast stages of exhaustion, with her feet showing through thefragments of shoes that she wore. Her head was bare, and herdress was in strips. Four children lay beside her' the youngesttwo with their heads in her lap. The other two, who might beeleven and thirteen each, had pillowed their heads on their arms,and lay in the dull apathy that comes from the finish of bothstrength and hope. The woman's face was pitiful. She had moreto fear than the children, and she knew it. She was so worn thatthe skin hung loosely on her face, and her eyes showed despaironly. The sad spectacle was almost more than Paul could stand.

　　"I don't like to shoot from ambush," he said, "but we could cutdown half of those warriors at our firs fire and rush in on therest."

　　"And those we didn't cut down at our first volley would tomahawkthe woman and children in an instant," replied Henry. " Weagreed, you know, that it would be sure to happen. We can't doanything until night comes, and then we've got to be mightycautious."

　　Paul could not dispute the truth of his words, and they withdrewcarefully to the crest of a hill, where they lay in theundergrowth, watching the Indians complete their fire and theirpreparations for the night. It was evident to Henry that theyconsidered themselves perfectly safe. Certainly they had everyreason for thinking so. It was not likely that white enemieswere within a hundred miles of them, and, if so, it could only bea wandering hunter or two, who would flee from this fierce bandof Senecas who bad taken revenge for the great losses that they'had suffered the year before at the Oriskany.

　　They kept very little watch and built only a small fire, justenough for broiling deer meat which they carried. They drank ata little spring which ran from under a ledge near them, and gaveportions of the meat to the woman and children. After the womanhad eaten, they bound her hands, and she lay back on the grass,about twenty feet from the camp fire. Two children lay on eitherside of her, and they were soon sound asleep. The warriors, asIndians will do when they are free from danger and care, talked agood deal, and showed all the signs of having what was to them aluxurious time. They ate plentifully, lolled on the grass, andlooked at some hideous trophies, the scalps that they carried attheir belts. The woman could not keep from seeing these, too,but her face did not change from its stony aspect of despair.Then the light of the fire went out, the sun sank behind themountains, and the five could no longer see the little group ofcaptives and captors.

　　They still waited, although eagerness and impatience were tuggingat the hearts of every one of them. But they must give theIndians time to fall asleep if they would secure rescue, and notmerely revenge. They remained in the bushes, saying but littleand eating of venison that they carried in their knapsacks.

　　They let a full three hours pass, and the night remained dark,but with a faint moon showing. Then they descended slowly intothe valley, approaching by cautious degrees the spot where theyknew the Indian camp lay. This work required at least threequarters of an hour, and they reached a point where they couldsee the embers of the fire and the dark figures lying about it.The Indians, their suspicions lulled, had put out no sentinels,and all were asleep. But the five knew that, at the first shot,they would be as wide awake as if they had never slept, and asformidable as tigers. Their problem seemed as great as ever. Sothey lay in the bushes and held a whispered conference.

　　"It's this," said Henry. " We want to save the woman and thechildren from the tomahawks, and to do so we must get them out ofrange of the blade before the battle begins." "How?" said TomRoss.

　　"I've got to slip up, release the woman, arm her, tell her to runfor the woods with the children, and then you four must do themost of the rest."

　　"Do you think you can do it, Henry ?" asked Shif'less Sol.

　　I can, as I will soon show you. I'm going to steal forward tothe woman, but the moment you four hear an alarm open with yourrifles and pistols. You can come a little nearer without beingheard."

　　All of them moved up close to the Indian camp, and lay hidden inthe last fringe of bushes except Henry. He lay almost flat uponthe ground, carrying his rifle parallel with his side, and in hisright hand. He was undertaking one of the severest and mostdangerous tests known to a frontiersman. He meant to crawl intothe very midst of a camp of the Iroquois, composed of the mostalert woodsmen in the world, men who would spring up at theslightest crackle in the brush. Woodmen who, warned by somesixth sense, would awaken at the mere fact of a strange presence.

　　The four who remained behind in the bushes could not keep theirhearts from beating louder and faster. They knew the tremendousrisk undertaken by their comrade, but there was not one of themwho would have shirked it, had not all yielded it to the one whomthey knew to be the best fitted for the task.

　　Henry crept forward silently, bringing to his aid all the yearsof skill that he had acquired in his life in the wilds. His bodywas like that of a serpent, going forward, coil by coil. He wasnear enough now to see the embers of the fire not yet quite dead,the dark figures scattered about it, sleeping upon the grass withthe long ease of custom, and then the outline of the woman apartfrom the others with the children about her. Henry now layentirely flat, and his motions were genuinely those of a serpent.It was by a sort of contraction and relaxation of the body thathe moved himself, and his progress was absolutely soundless.

　　The object of his advance was the woman. He saw by the faintlight of the moon that she was not yet asleep. Her face, wornand weather beaten, was upturned to the skies, and the stony lookof despair seemed to have settled there forever. She lay uponsome pine boughs, and her hands were tied behind her for thenight with deerskin.

　　Henry contorted himself on, inch by inch, for all the world likea great snake. Now he passed the sleeping Senecas, hideous withwar paint, and came closer to the woman. She was not payingattention to anything about her, but was merely looking up at thepale, cold stars, as if everything in the world had ceased forher.

　　Henry crept a little nearer. He made a slight noise, as of alizard running through the grass, but the woman took no notice.He crept closer, and. there he lay flat upon the grass within sixfeet of her, his figure merely a slightly darker blur against thedark blur of the earth. Then, trusting to the woman's courageand strength of mind, he emitted a hiss very soft and low, likethe warning of a serpent, half in fear and half in anger.

　　The woman moved a little, and looked toward the point from whichthe sound had come. It might have been the formidable hiss of acoiling rattlesnake that she heard, but she felt no fear. Shewas too much stunned, too near exhaustion to be alarmed byanything, and she did not look a second time. She merely settledback on the pine boughs, and again looked dully up at the pale,cold stars that cared so little for her or hers.

　　Henry crept another yard nearer, and then he uttered that lownoise, sibilant and warning, which the woman, the product of theborder, knew to be made by a human being. She raised herself alittle, although it was difficult with her bound hands to situpright, and saw a dark shadow approaching her. That dark shadowshe knew to he the figure of a man. An Indian would not beapproaching in such a manner, and she looked again, startled intoa sudden acute attention, and into a belief that the incredible,the impossible, was about to happen. A voice came from thefigure, and its quality was that of the white voice, not the red.

　　"Do not move," said that incredible voice out of the unknown. "Ihave come for your rescue, and others who have come for the samepurpose are near. Turn on one side, and I will cut the bondsthat hold your arms."

　　The voice, the white voice, was like the touch of fire to MaryNewton. A sudden fierce desire for life and for the lives of herfour children awoke within her just when hope had gone the callto life came. She had never heard before a voice so full ofcheer and encouragement. It penetrated her whole being.Exhaustion and despair fled away.

　　"Turn a little on your side," said the voice.

　　She turned obediently, and then felt the sharp edge of cold steelas it swept between her wrists and cut the thongs that held themtogether. Her arms fell apart, and strength permeated every veinof her being.

　　"We shall attack in a few moments," said the voice, "but at thefirst shots the Senecas will try to tomahawk you and yourchildren. Hold out your hands."

　　She held out both hands obediently. The handle of a tomahawk waspressed into one, and the muzzle of a double-barreled pistol intothe other. Strength flowed down each hand into her body.

　　"If the time comes, use them; you are strong, and you know how,"said the voice. Then she saw the dark figure creeping away.