in such cases, – but we expected every moment to meet some of them returning to look after us. We travelled on, however, until noon, and still none of them appeared. We could see before us a rough tract of country with rocky hills, and some trees growing in the valleys; and the trail we were following evidently led among these.
“As we pushed forward, we heard among the hills a loud crashing report like the bursting of a bombshell. What could it mean? We knew there were some shells along with the howitzers. Were our comrades attacked by Indians, and was it one of the cannon they had fired upon them? No; that could not be. There was but one report, and I knew that the discharge of a shell from a howitzer must give two, – that which accompanies the discharge, and then the bursting of the bomb itself. Could one of the shells have burst by accident? That was more likely; and we halted, and listened for further sounds. We stopped for nearly half an hour, but could hear nothing, and we then moved on again. We were filled with apprehension – less from the report we had heard, than from the fact that none of the men had come back to see what delayed us. We still followed the track of the wagons. We saw that they must have made a long march on the preceding day, for it was near sunset when we entered among the hills, and as yet we had not reached their camp of the night before. At length we came in sight of it, – and oh! horror! what a sight! My blood runs cold when I recall it to my memory. There were the wagons – most of them with their tilts torn off, and part of their contents scattered over the ground. There were the cannons too, with fires smouldering near them, but not a human being was in sight! Yes, there were human beings – dead men lying over the ground! and living things – wolves they were – growling, and quarrelling, and tearing the flesh from their bodies! Some of the animals that had belonged to the caravan were also prostrate – dead horses, mules, and oxen. The others were not to be seen.
“We were all horror-struck at the sight. We saw at once that our companions had been attacked and slaughtered by some band of savage Indians. We would have retreated, but it was now too late, for we were close in to the camp, before we had seen it. Had the savages still been upon the ground, retreat would be of no avail. But I knew that they must have gone some time, from the havoc the wolves had made in their absence.
“I left my wife by our wagon, where Harry and Frank remained with their little rifles ready to guard her, and along with Cudjo I went forward to view the bloody scene. We chased the wolves from their repast. There was a pack of more than fifty of these hideous animals, and they only ran a short distance from us. On reaching the ground we saw that the bodies were those of our late comrades, but they were all so mutilated that we could not distinguish a single one of them. They had every one been scalped by the Indians; and it was fearful to look upon them as they lay. I saw the fragments of one of the shells that had burst in the middle of the camp, and had torn two or three of the wagons to pieces. There had not been many articles of merchandise in the wagons, as it was not a traders’ caravan; but such things as they carried, that could be of any value to the Indians, had been taken away. The other articles, most of them heavy and cumbersome things, were lying over the ground, some of them 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 though they were about to lose her for ever. And, indeed, it is likely that an indistinct thought of this kind had flitted across their minds, when they saw that she was no longer their sister – for they had almost forgotten that she was not so, and they loved her as well as if she had been. Up to this time none of them had thought of her but as a sister; and Harry, with whom she was a great favourite, used to call her his “dark sister,” while the younger, Mary, was known as the “fair” one in the midst of the group stood the little brunette, like the rest, overwhelmed with singular emotions, but calmer, and apparently more mistress of her feelings, than any of them.
The traders and hunters were all upon their feet congratulating McKnight on the happy discovery; while each of them shook hands with our host and his wife, whom they now remembered having heard of, as well as the story of the massacre. Old Cudjo leaped over the floor, whipping the panthers and wolf-dogs, and cutting various capers, while the very animals themselves howled with a sort of fierce joy. Our host went into an inner apartment of the cabin, and presently returned with a large jar of brown earthenware. Cups cut out of the calabash were set upon the table; and into these a red liquid was poured from the jar, and we were all invited to drink. What was our surprise on tasting the beverage to find that it was wine – wine in the middle of the desert! But it was so – excellent wine – homemade, as our host informed us – pressed from the wild muscadine grapes that grew plentifully in his valley.
As soon as we had all passed the cups of wine, and had got fairly seated again, McKnight, at the request of Rolfe, took up the thread of the story, in order to detail how he had escaped from the Indians on that fearful night. His story was a short one and ran as follows: —
“After I left you,” said he, addressing Rolfe, “where you had broken your wagon, I rode on, and overtook the caravan. The road, as you may remember, became smooth and level; and as there appeared to be no good camping-ground nearer than the hills, we kept on for them without stopping. It was near sundown, when we reached the little stream where you saw the wagons. There, of course, we halted, and formed our camp. I did not expect you to come in for an hour or so later, as I calculated that it would take you about that length of time to mend the tongue. We kindled fires, and, having cooked our supper and eaten it, were sitting around the logs chatting, smoking, and some of the Mexicans, as is their custom, playing at monte. We had put out no guard, as we had no expectation that there were Indians in that quarter. Some of the men said they had travelled the trail before; and had never met an Indian within fifty miles of the place. At length it became dark, and I began
