“Well, it’s just hyer,” said Jackson, slowly. “Your darter and the young feller were in the ravine. They were attacked by the three that we’ve been tracking. One on ’em wounded—probably the young feller—and then both on ’em carried away by the ones that attacked ’em, ’cos thar’s no marks of their footsteps.”
“Think you that the attacking party were Indians?” asked Treveling.
“Nary Injun!” responded Jackson, tersely. “They’re white as I am.”
“What could be the motive of such a daring outrage?” said the old General, whose heart was sorely tried by the loss of his daughter.
“It’s hard to say, General,” said Jackson, dubiously, “unless you’ve got some enemies, and this is the way they are taking their revenge.”
“I can not understand it,” Treveling spoke, sorrowfully, and his brow was heavy with grief. “If my Virginia is lost, it is the second blow of the kind that has fallen upon me.”
“The second?” said Jackson, in wonder.
“Yes; my eldest daughter, Augusta, was stolen from me years ago. She wandered forth beyond the borders of the settlement, one bright summer’s afternoon, and never returned. Whether she was eaten up by the wild beasts that roamed the forest, or fell beneath the tomahawks of the hostile Indians, I never was able to discover. And now my second daughter, all that I have left to me in this world, is gone. My lot is hard to bear, indeed.”
The old man bent his head in agony. The rough woodmen looked upon him with pity. Fathers themselves, they knew how bitter were the feelings of the old man.
“Well, General, I don’t know what to do about this matter,” said Jackson, thoughtfully. “I s’pose there’s nothin’ to be done just at present but to return to the station, and then get up a party to search the country around thoroughly. It’s bad that it happened just at this time, too, ’cos we’ve got an Injun war on our hands, and we ain’t got any too many men to fight the red devils; but I guess we kin spare a few to help you out of this difficulty. I’ll go for one.”