From the slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement, he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. She had no place she loved. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. ” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road.
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