Memories of that terrible day often surfaced in Alice’s mind. Five whole years had passed since then, yet the images remained painfully vivid. What had happened could not be forgotten. She tossed the laundry aside and stared at her trembling palms. She sat down on a smooth, rounded stone in the middle of the river and waited for the bad moment to pass. But no—she had to relive the tragedy once again...

Back then, Alice had been fourteen years old. She was sitting by the window, darning socks. Her sister Susan had gone out to draw water from the well. Her dress gleamed white among the dry grasses in the distance. The two of them were alone. Their father and Frank—Susan’s husband—had gone hunting deer and probably would not return until evening.

Alice put the socks away in the chest and opened the book she had received as a birthday present. The author was some eccentric Englishman named Arthur Conan Doyle. She liked his stories, though some of them struck her as overly frightening. She began to read and thus detached herself from the dullness of everyday life.

She had just finished one of the stories when a scream rang out outside. Startled, Alice looked through the window and saw Susan running like a madwoman. She had abandoned the bucket of water. Upon entering the yard, she suddenly stumbled and fell face-first. From her back protruded an arrow with red feathers at the rear. Only then did Alice notice the Indians. There were three of them, on horseback. They stood by the fence, calmly observing the fallen woman. Their faces were painted with multicolored dyes.

Alice covered her mouth with her hand, unable to believe her eyes. Until now she had never seen hostile Indians. Could her sister be dead? Terror seized her. But she quickly pulled herself together and ran to the chest where, in the bottom drawer, lay an old revolver. She took the weapon but did not dare go outside. She looked through the window. Susan was slowly dragging herself through the dust, her head tilted to one side. The arrow embedded in her back swayed. Alice trembled with fear. She decided to wait, since the Indians had entered the yard. She prayed her sister would find the strength to reach the house. Perhaps the attackers did not intend to finish her off; perhaps they were merely amusing themselves. There was no point in risking firing at them.

The waiting was agonizing. After what felt like an eternity, Susan clutched the wooden logs from which the house was built like a drowning person and pulled herself up with incredible force of will. Her face, darkened by pain, pressed against the glass and twisted grotesquely. She looked at Alice with hope—Alice was only inches away.

“Help me,” Susan groaned, struggling to stay on her feet.

“Yes, I’m coming, Susan, I’m coming! Hold on, sister!” Alice only had to go out, wave the revolver at the Indians to scare them off, and then bring her sister inside.

She had just stepped toward the door when the windowpane shook—Susan had slammed her cheek against it after receiving another arrow in the back. Her eyes widened in surprise, then drifted into emptiness. She hiccupped, and pink foam rose at the corner of her mouth.

Alice ran outside and fired into the air, causing the revolver to fly from her hand and roll into the grass. The Indians burst out laughing. They waved at her, spurred their horses, and disappeared in clouds of dust. Alice tried to lift her sister but could not. Susan seemed to have become twice as heavy after death had come.

Her father and Frank arrived several hours later. Upon seeing the contorted corpse of his eldest daughter, the old man clutched his heart and fainted, while Frank began to howl like a wolf, cursing the whole world—including himself. At one point Frank pulled Alice to him and hugged her, seeking comfort. They cried together. Alice felt deeply sorry for him; he was clearly a man capable of loving truly. Only then did she realize that Susan had been the love of his life. She had thought people married merely to avoid loneliness and to have children. She felt guilty that she did not suffer as much as he did. He seemed to be losing his mind, while Alice was simply deeply depressed. The only good thing was that her father recovered from his fainting spell. He would overcome the pain of losing his beloved daughter. He drank heavily for a week, then pulled himself together and became himself again.