not know of his death. Throw him into that hole by yonder rock, then fill it up with stone and dirt."

The form of Fall-leaf was taken from the ground, and cast with violence into a cavern, or "sink-hole," about twenty feet in depth, large enough at its bottom to contain the bodies of a dozen men, but, unlike the majority of such old water-escapes to caverns in the bowels of the earth, the mouth of this hole was so small that it was quite difficult for the passage of a single form. As soon as this was done, the party proceeded to fill the entrance with rock and rubbish.

"It is done. He will trouble us no more!" said Rains.

"He is buried alive!"

"Yes, but no matter. Let us return to camp!"

The rescuer of Fall-leaf, after his escape, pushed rapidly forward to the river bank. Here he paused for a moment and listened. No sound was heard. He placed his ear to the ground.

"They are no longer in pursuit, but are returning to camp," he muttered, after a pause. Then he drew a small whistle from his pocket, and sounded a shrill note. There was no reply, and he repeated the call. Still there was no answer.

"Has he been seized by those ruffians? If so, I must return to his rescue. But, stay. I heard the report of a rifle, and then a sharp cry. He may have met some of the soldiers, and suffered at their hands. At all events, it will be useless now for me to go again to camp, as the guard will be doubly vigilant. I will return to the cabin, and if Fall-leaf does not appear by nightfall, I will then go in search of him. Perhaps Johnson will accompany me."

He plunged into the river, and soon reached the other side. Onward he went, up the mountain, not pausing for a moment, showing himself perfectly familiar with the locality. At length he emerged into an open space, near the summit of the ridge he had been traversing, at the opposite side of which appeared a rude log cabin. He sprang forward with a smile as his eyes fell upon the dwelling, but as he came nearer the smile faded, and a look of wonder, or painful anxiety, became fixed upon his face. At length he paused and exclaimed:

"What means all this? How I tremble! What forebodings flash across my brain! If harm has come to them, I shall go mad, mad! Oh! my father—my dear sister, why are you not upon the threshold to welcome my return? No answer! All is silent there—and all is desolation, too. The creeping vines are torn away—the flowers choked with weeds—the beauty of the place departed—she is not there, else it would not be so! And I am doomed to—I must be satisfied first. Alibamo! Sister! Alibamo!" His voice rang out with startling clearness.

"Who calls! William! Brother!"

"Johnson—my best friend—oh! you are yet living!" cried William, as he sprang into the arms of Johnson, who had appeared in the cabin door.

"Yes, friend, you are living; but where is my fa—— oh! I fear to ask—I am a coward, Johnson!"

"You observe a change here, I suppose?" asked Johnson.

"Yes! But tell me why this change? I can bear it now!"

"First let me hear of yourself, William, and then I will answer you. Where have you been detained so long?"

"I cannot answer until you have told me of my father and my sister. Are they alive?"

"I hope so!"

"You hope so! Oh! Johnson, my heart will burst with this suspense. Think for a moment. I have been a prisoner now nearly three months. At the battle of Wilson's Creek I was taken by the enemy, having been left wounded upon the field. I suffered—oh! how terribly! I suffered from bodily pain—from hunger—my heart wrung by the taunts and insults heaped upon me by the wretches who held me in their power. I often felt death would be a great relief, but hope—the bright star of hope rose high above the dark cloud which surrounded me, and I lived on. What was that hope, Johnson? It was of home! Father! Sister! I dreamed of liberty, even in my dungeon's depths—and on the grimmy walls I traced the flowers and vines my sister reared. The night winds whistled through my casements, and I heard my sister's voice—her song so sweet and thrilling. If dreaming thus, I woke to sadness, my father's voice would speak to me, bidding me be firm and hope. At last the news reached me, even in my cell at Springfield, that Fremont was coming. My wounds were healed, and I resolved to escape. Oh! how I longed for freedom. And why? First, that I might once more clasp my father and my sister in my arms, and then join Fremont. I watched for opportunity, and soon it came. I escaped at night, by the assistance of Fall-leaf, an Indian chief. I started at once for home. I was crossing the mountain this morning, when suddenly I came upon the outposts of Price. I saw my deliverer a prisoner, and bound. I did not hesitate, and by a stratagem, released him. The trick was discovered and we were pursued. I became separated from Fall-leaf. I should have returned in search of him, but I could not. In the distance I could see my home, never before so loved. I felt that dear ones were waiting my approach, and I hastened onward. And now, with burning brain and bursting heart I ask, are they yet living, and you reply you 'hope so!'"

"Come in, William, I will tell you all," answered Johnson.

"All! Oh! that word has a terrible sound. I cannot go in if they are not here! Each familiar article would only be a dart piercing my heart. Here I will listen where there is air to breathe."

He seated himself upon a log before the door, and dropping his face in his hands, he said:

"Go on!"

"William, it will require all your fortitude to listen to the narrative, for it is a tale of blood!"

"Go on!" replied William, without raising his head.

"I will. After the fall and defeat of the brave General Lyon, at Wilson's Creek, and the consequent retreat of the Union army, our position here was by no means an enviable one. It was well known that we were originally from the East. We were called 'abolitionists,' and this was enough. Other families were equally persecuted, and we resolved to leave the country. A party of Unionists, consisting of all our immediate neighbors, assembled here to make arrangements for leaving on a stated day. We were seated around this very spot, unconscious of danger, conversing upon our present trials and future hopes. We numbered twenty souls, thirteen of whom were women and children. On a sudden a party of rebel ruffians dashed upon us from the surrounding woods. Escape was impossible, and but one of our party was armed. We sat quietly awaiting their approach, thinking this the best course to pursue, as we could not believe unarmed men would be murdered in cold blood, even by those wretches. But we were wofully in error. Their captain, one Robert Branch, rode to the side of Walter Leeman, and clove his skull. I sprang to my feet—so did our comrades. But the conflict was of short duration. Seven unarmed men could not cope long with forty mounted assassins. I saw—your father—fall—"

A groan was the only response from William. He did not raise his head.

"I seized the rifle of my fallen friend, and for a moment used it with terrible effect. I saw three villains fall under the blows I gave, but this could not last. I was stricken down, but not until I had heard the barbarous captain cry out, 'Spare that maiden beauty—she must be mine!' I could not save her—I fainted!"

"Oh! sister—Alibamo!" sobbed William.

"I must have remained unconscious for some hours, as it was dark when I awoke. I could scarcely move, either from loss of blood, or the terrible excitement and exertion I had undergone. I remained quiet until daylight, with the exception of several times calling the names of my friends. But I received no answer. And no wonder. Oh! what a sight met my eyes in the morning. I almost wished it had never come. Even the bright sun must have sickened as it gazed on such a sight."