em broken. It was evident the savages had gone off in
a hurry. Perhaps they had been frightened by the bursting of the shell,
not knowing what it was, and from its terrible effects--which they no
doubt witnessed and felt--believing it to be the doing of the Great
Spirit.

"I looked on all sides for my friend, the young Scotchman, but I could
not distinguish his body from the rest. I looked around, too, for his
wife--who was the only woman besides Mary that accompanied the caravan.
Her body was not to be seen. `No doubt,' said I to Cudjo, `the savages
have carried her off alive.' At this moment we heard the howls and
hoarse worrying of dogs, with the fiercer snarling of wolves, as though
the dogs were battling with these animals. The noises came from a
thicket near the camp. We knew that the miner had brought with him two
large dogs from Saint Louis. It must be they. We ran in the direction
of the thicket, and dashed in among the bushes. Guided by the noises,
we kept on, and soon came in sight of the objects that had attracted us.
Two large dogs, foaming and torn and covered with blood, were battling
against several wolves, and keeping them off from some dark object that
lay among the leaves. We saw that the dark object was a woman, and
clinging around her neck, and screaming with terror, was a beautiful
child! At a glance we saw that the woman was dead, and--"

Here the narrative of our host was suddenly interrupted. McKnight, the
miner, who was one of our party, and who had appeared labouring under
some excitement during the whole of the recital, suddenly sprang to his
feet, exclaiming--

"O God! my wife--my poor wife! Oh! Rolfe--Rolfe--do you not know me?"

"McKnight!" cried Rolfe, springing up with an air of astonishment,
"McKnight! it is he indeed!"

"My wife!--my poor wife!" continued the miner, in accents of sorrow. "I
knew they had killed her. I saw her remains afterwards--but my child!
Oh, Rolfe! what of my child?"

"She is _there_!" said our host, pointing to the darkest of the two
girls, and the next moment the miner had lifted the little Luisa in his
arms, and was covering her with his kisses. He was her father!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE MINER'S STORY.

It would be very difficult, my young readers, to describe to you the
scene which followed this unexpected recognition. The family had all
risen to their feet, and with cries and tears in their eyes clung around
the little Luisa as