"The chief! it is the chief!" cried Howe, recognizing the sound, "he has come to bring us joyful tidings."
"May it be so for your sakes," returned the curate, with apparent joy.
Approaching with their panting horses, the Indians were dismounted the next moment, and shaking hands with the little group; but, when the chief came to Jane, he caught her in his arms and gazed wistfully in her clear blue eyes.
"They are all safe and close at hand," said he speaking rapidly, anticipating her inquiry, "and I have come to claim the antelope. Will she not now go with her chief?"
"I cannot tell you yet; my mother! father! let me see them," cried the bewildered girl.
"They will be here very soon. The hill yonder is all that now hides them from view," replied the chief, releasing her from his embrace.
"We will go to meet them," said Sidney who, in gratitude to the chief for safely conducting his more than father and mother over the dreary wilds, forgot to evince jealousy at the embrace to which the chief had so unceremoniously treated himself.
"Yes, yes; let us go to meet them," responded Jane, eagerly.
"The white mother longs for her children," said the chief; "you shall go to meet her. The antelope can ride,—will you?" he continued, pointing to his horse, and before she had time to speak he caught her in his arms, and with the agility of a chamois, sprang on the horse's back, placing the half terrified girl before him, and then galloped away to the forest in the direction whence he came, with the rest, including the curate, following after them. Turning the curve of the hill, they came suddenly upon the emigrants, who at sight of their children, uttered an exclamation of joy, and ran forward, catching Jane who was the first to come up, from the chief's arms, and who, with a glad cry, sprang to meet a long embrace from her father and mother.
"Mother! father! Jane!" was all they could say, for their hearts were too full to speak.