ing war-clubs, flashes of powder
smoke, a circle of gesticulating, screeching dark faces in the
background, my Indian fighting like a very fiend, and a pale-faced woman
with a little curly-headed boy at her feet standing against the woods.

"Run, _Monsieur_; I keep bad Indians off," urged Little Fellow.
"Run--save white squaw and papoose--run, _Monsieur_."

Now, whatever may be said to the contrary, however brave two men may be,
they cannot stand off a horde of armed savages. I let go my whole
pistol-charge, which sent the red demons to a distance and intended
dashing for the woods, when the Sioux woman put her hand in her pocket
and hurled a flint head at Little Fellow. The brave Indian sprang aside
and the thing fell to the ground. With it fell a crumpled sheet of
paper. I heard rather than saw Little Fellow's crouching leap. Two forms
rolled over and over in the camp ashes; and with Miriam on my shoulder
and the child under the other arm, I had dashed into the thicket of the
upper ground.

Overhead tossed the trees in a swelling wind, and up from the shore
rushed the din of wrangling tongues, screaming and swearing in a clamor
of savage wrath. The wind grew more boisterous as I ran. Behind the
Indian cries died faintly away; but still with a strength not my own,
always keeping the river in view, and often mistaking the pointed
branches, which tore clothing and flesh from head to feet, for the hands
of enemies--I fled as if wolves had been pursuing.

Again and again sobbed Miriam--"O, my God! At last! At last! Thanks be
to God! At last! At last!"

We were on a hillock above our camp. Putting Miriam down, I gave her my
hand and carried the child. When I related our long, futile search and
told her that Eric was waiting, agitation overcame her, and I said no
more till we were within a few feet of the tents.

"Please wait." I left her a short distance from the camp that I might go
and forewarn Eric.

Frances Sutherland met me in the way and read the news which I could not
speak.

"Have you--oh--have you?" she asked. "Who is that?" and she pointed to
the child in my arms.

"Where's Hamilton? Where's your father?" I demanded, trembling from
exhaustion and all undone.

"Mr. Hamilton is in his tent priming a gun. Father is watching the
river. And oh, Rufus! is it really so?" she cried, catching, sight of
Miriam's stooped, ragged figure. Then she darted past me. Both her arms
encircled Miriam, and the two began w