"Was my father dead?" asked William.

"I could not find his body, although I searched for it everywhere. It is my belief that he was only wounded and then carried off, a prisoner. Five of my friends lay dead and cold by my side. Myself and your father made up the seven men who were present when the fight began. My wife was bleeding at my feet. She was not dead—but only survived long enough to gently press my hand, and look her last farewell. She could not speak. I had but an indistinct recollection of her having thrown herself before me, and the blow levelled at my life was received by her. Oh! God, why was I saved to life—but not to live? For I cannot live without her! I had only been stunned by the blow."

"And my sister?" asked William.

"She, too, must have been taken captive!"

"Then, by heavens, we have much to live for!" cried William, starting to his feet.

"Much to live for? Yes—our country—our hopes—revenge! Oh! William, could you have seen that sight, you would feel as I now feel. Could you have felt the burning fires that seared my heart as I lifted the dying form of her I loved so truly, in my arms, and vainly begged her not to leave me yet, you would feel as I now feel. Could you have heard the cry of agony wrung from my wretched breast when I knew I no longer had a wife, you would feel as I do now. Oh! William, it is terrible—terrible!"

"What course did you pursue?" asked William.

"I consigned our loved ones to the grave, disguised myself, staining my skin with walnut bark, and then started forth for vengeance!"

"And what have you accomplished?"

"But little as yet. I have not met the man. I could have killed, but if discovered, or even suspected, it would prevent the carrying out of my plans. Price has employed me as a spy, and thus I have access through his lines. My plans are first, to find your father and your sister. I am almost certain she is with the rebel army, and that I heard her sweet voice, last night, singing a mournful song."

"Oh! if she lives—but let us go. I will enter the lines of the rebel army this very night. I will go, and if my sister is there, she shall be saved, or I will perish with her!"

"I am waiting only for to-morrow night. At that time Price will suppose I have just returned from Warsaw. Then I will go with you!" replied Johnson.

"I shall go to-night!" answered William. "But I shall enter the camp by stealth, crawl from tent to tent, listen to all conversations, and perhaps in this manner may get important information, both for our friends, and of my father and sister."

"It is a desperate hazard, William!"

"I am resolved!"

"I shall go with you!" replied Johnson.

"No, or at least, not within the camp. If you were seen before the expected time, it would create suspicion. You will conceal yourself before you reach the outer pickets. But I must find Fall-leaf. I will go to the point where I heard the rifle report. He may be wounded—perhaps dead."

Night was fast approaching as the friends took their course down the mountain, and toward the rebel camp. The fires could be distinctly seen, and the shrill notes of the fife, and the rattle of the drum, echoed across the mountain, and from hill to hill. As they reached the river, William exclaimed:

"It is nine o'clock. They are beating the tattoo in camp. In an hour all will be quiet. But let us now search for Fall-leaf. The moon is shining brightly, which will favor our search!"

The friends sprang into a small skiff which Johnson drew from its concealment in a clump of under brush, and in a moment were upon the opposite bank. Without further words, William led the way, and soon arrived on the spot where Fall-leaf had been wounded. He examined the ground carefully, and at last exclaimed:

"Here are traces of blood, and the grass is trodden down, plainly showing that a great struggle has occurred, or that a large party have passed over this place."

"Let us trace the path. Here it runs, up this slope, toward this rock. And look! here the earth has been disturbed. Do you not remember there was a cave here? And its mouth or entrance is filled with rock and earth, which has been newly thrown there. Fall-leaf has been killed, and buried here!"

"Why buried? These rebels are not in the habit of burying those whom they murder. Why should they bury Fall-leaf?"

"Because he is of a powerful tribe, and his death, if known, would make eternal enemies of all the Delawares."

"He was their friend, was he not?"

"No! He met Fremont at Tipton. He had formerly been his friend, having often met him on the plains between this and the Rocky Mountains. His whole tribe is deeply attached to the general, and will do all in their power to assist him. And if the Delawares should learn of his death, I believe that tribe alone would almost annihilate Price and his army."

The work of removing the stone and earth which obstructed the entrance of the cave, now began.

They toiled on in silence. At length the last obstacle was removed, and William called:

"Fall-leaf! Fall-leaf!"

There was no answer.

"He is dead, or not here!" said Johnson.

"He must be here else why has this cave been filled, and so recently. I will descend and ascertain."

William sprang into the cave. He had nothing with which to strike a light, but in a moment he said:

"There are two bodies here. I will pass them out, and by the moonlight we can examine their features."

William lifted the bodies toward the entrance, and as he did so he said:

"One of them has been here a long time, as the decomposition indicates. Lay them on the ground, Johnson, and I will search farther!"

After a moment's pause, Johnson asked:

"Do you find anything else?"

"No—nothing!"

"Then come out."

William left the cave, and as he did so, Johnson grasped him by the arm, and asked:

"Will you be calm!"

"Yes—yes!" replied William. "But what do you mean?"

"Will you think only of revenge?"

"Of revenge! What do you mean?"

"Look there!" cried Johnson, pointing to one of the bodies which had been taken from the cave.

"My father!" shrieked William, as he glanced at the corpse.

"Yes, your father! But, pray be firm—be calm."

"I am calm—very calm!" sobbed William, as he sank beside the inanimate clay.

"The Indian is recovering, William," said Johnson.

This was indeed the case. In spite of his long confinement in the cave, and the suffering endured from his wound, Fall-leaf had recovered sufficiently to speak. He had partially raised himself from the ground, and was resting his head upon his elbow.

But William was too deeply affected to observe this, or to notice the words spoken by Johnson.

At last he arose from his prostrate position beside his father's corpse, and for a moment gazed wildly around him. He pressed his hands to his temples, as if endeavoring to collect his scattered thoughts. His eyes fell upon the Indian, and then were raised to Johnson.

"I remember all now!" he said. "I hoped it was a dream—but it is a dread reality—but not all—not all!"

"William! You know me?"

Johnson gazed upon him with earnestness.

"You think I am mad, Johnson! But I am not. Hark! Great heavens! Listen!"

Johnson shook his head.

"Here, Johnson—here! kneel with me—here, beside my father's clay! That voice tells me I have work to do!"

"What voice, William?"

"A thousand voices calling for vengeance. But, kneel with me now, and swear by the God of truth and justice—swear by my wrongs, your wrongs, our country's wrongs—swear by your murdered wife, to join me in pursuing these fiends in human form, until they are swept from the earth!"

"I swear!" cried