n fearful
anticipation, there find everything, as they left it; except that their
families and fellow settlers are asleep. For all this, the fear does
not leave their hearts. If their houses are not aflame, as they
expected to see them--if their wives and children are not butchered in
cold blood--they know not how soon this may be. The Indians--for
Indians they still believe them--would not have attacked so strong a
settlement, unless in force sufficient to destroy it. The ruin,
incomplete, may still be impending. True, the interlude of inaction is
difficult to understand; only intelligible, on the supposition that the
savages are awaiting an accession to their strength, before they assault
the _rancheria_. They may at the moment be surrounding it?

Under this apprehension, the settlers are hastily, and by loud shouts,
summoned from their beds. Responding to the rude arousal, they are soon
out of them, and abroad; the women and children frantically screaming;
the men more calm; some of them accustomed to such surprises, issuing
forth armed, and ready for action.

Soon all are similarly prepared, each with gun, pistol, and knife borne
upon his person.

After hearing the tale of horror brought from the Mission-building, they
hold hasty council as to what they should do.

Fear for their own firesides restrains them from starting off; and some
time elapse before they feel assured that the _rancheria_ will not be
attacked, and need defending.

Meanwhile, they despatch messengers to the Mission; who, approaching it
cautiously, find no change there.

Colonel Armstrong is still roaming distractedly around, searching for
his daughters, Dupre by his side, Hawkins and Tucker assisting in the
search.

The girls not found, and the frantic father settling down to the
conviction that they are gone--lost to him forever!

Oh! the cruel torture of the truth thus forced upon him! His children
carried off captive, that were enough. But to such captivity! To be
the associates of savages, their slaves, their worse than slaves--ah! a
destiny compared with which death were desirable.

So reasons the paternal heart in this supreme moment of its affliction.

Alike, distressed is he, bereaved of his all but bride. The young
Creole is well-nigh beside himself. Never has he known such bitter
thoughts; the bitterest of all--a remembrance of something said to him
by his betrothed that very day. A word slight but significant,