The Frenchman Bertrand was sobbing like a child.
We took the bones, and made a shallow grave for them in the rosary.

We had no spades, but a stake did well enough to dig a resting-place for those few poor remains.

I said over them the Twenty-third Psalm: "_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff shall comfort me_." Then suddenly our mood changed.

Nothing that we could do could help the poor souls whose bones lay among the ashes.

But we could bring their murderers to book, and save others from a like fate.
We moved away from the shattered place to the ford in the river where the road ran north.