"Your mother was dead, and you were in the care of my brother, whom I knew would take proper care of you, and so I tried to content myself here, and have succeeded very well, though many is the time I have thought of home and found the hot tears streaming down my face."
"You say you lost your leg through the treachery of one of your own party," said Van. "Tell me how it happened, won't you?"
"I will do that in a few words, my son. It was this way: The party I was leading on my tour of discovery had dwindled down to eleven men—six whites and five blacks.
"All, save one besides myself, had often declared that they would travel no further, but, under our persuasion, they would again start out.
"I began to notice that the fellow who took sides with me had more control over the men than I did, but thought nothing of it until one day, when I gave orders to resume our march, after eating dinner.
"It was then that the man I trusted deliberately drew his rifle to his shoulder and shot me; and then without a word they started over the back trail, leaving me lying bleeding upon the ground.
"The man who did that was a cousin of yours, Van. His name was John Moreland."
"What!" gasped Van. "Why, the scoundrel is in the city this very moment. He is the prisoner who is confined in the cell."
Then it was the elder Vincent's turn to be surprised.