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didn’t care at all.’ ”
    Martin let his hands drop. “I wasn’t listening,” he said. “I made her cry, and I never knew.”
    He let her take the unlucky sheet of paper out of his hand, and he never saw it again. But the lost day when he should have
     taken Debbie in his arms, and made everything all right, was going to be with him a long time, a peg upon which he hung his
     grief.
    The other thing he found was a miniature of Debbie. Miniatures had been painted of Martha and Lucy, too, once when Henry took
     the three of them to Fort Worth, but Martin never knew what becameof those. Debbie’s miniature, gold-framed in a little plush box, was the best of the three. The little triangular face and
     the green eyes were very true, and suggested the elfin look that went with Debbie’s small size. He put the box in his pocket.

Chapter Six
    They laid their people deep under the prairie sod beside Grandma. Aaron Mathison read from the Bible and said a prayer,
     while Martin, Amos, and the six others chosen for the pursuit stood a little way back from the open graves, holding their
     saddled horses.
    It wasn’t a long ser vice. Daylight had told them that Lucy must have been carried bodily from the house, for they found
     no place where she had set foot to the ground. Debbie, the sign showed, had been picked up onto a running horse after a pitifully
     short chase upon the prairie. There was hope, then, that they still lived, and that one of them, or even both, might be
     recovered alive. Most of Aaron’s amazing vitality seemed to have drained out of him, but he shared the cracking strain
     that would be upon them all so long as the least hope lasted. He made the ritual as simple and as brief as he decently could.
     “Man that is born of woman...”
    Those waiting to ride feared that Aaron would get carried away in the final prayer, but he did not. Martin’s mind was already
     far ahead on the trail, so that he heard only the last few words of the prayer, yet they stirred his hair. “Now may the light
     of Thy countenance be turned away from the stubborn and the blind. Let darkness fall upon them that will not see, that all
     Thy glory may light the way of those who seek …and all Thy wisdom lead the horses of the brave.... Amen.”
    It seemed to Martin Pauley that old Aaron, by the humility of his prayer, had invited eternal damnation upon himself, if only
     the search for Lucy and Debbie might succeed. His offer of retribution to his God was the only word that had been spoken in
     accusation or in blame, for the error of judgment that had led the fighting men away.
    Amos must have had his foot in the stirrup before the end of the prayer, for he swung into the saddle with the last “Amen,”
     and led off without a word. With Martin and Amos went Brad Mathison, Ed Newby, Charlie MacCorry, Mose Harper and his son
     Zack, and Lije Powers, who thought his old-time prairie wisdom had now come into its own, whether anybody else thought so
     or not. Those left behind would put layers of boulders in the graves against digging varmints, and set up the wooden crosses
     Martin Pauley had sectioned out of the house timbers in the last hours of the dark.
    At the last moment Laurie Mathison ran to Martin where he sat already mounted. She stepped up lightly upon the toe
     of his stirruped boot, and kissed him hard and quickly on the mouth. A boldness like that would have drawn a blast of wrath
     at another time, but her parents seemed unable to see. Aaron still stood with bowed head beside the open graves; and Mrs.
     Mathison’s eyes were staring straight ahead into a dreadful loneliness. The Edwardses, Mathisons, and Pauleys had come
     out here together. The three families had sustained each other while the Pauleys lived, and after their massacre the two
     remaining families had looked to each other in all things. Now only the Mathisons were left. Mrs. Mathison’s usually
     mild and kindly face was bleak, stony with an