“You must pardon my exhibition of weakness,” said he, recovering himself. “Though I feel the strength of an army in these limbs of mine, yet I have the heart of a father in this bosom, and I can do any thing for the recovery of my darling daughter. Oh! I can hear her screams yet, as she was torn from us on that night.”
Graham and Haldidge remained silent, respecting his deep and moving grief. Soon the father spoke again, and this time his voice and manner were changed.
“But why stand we here idle? Is there nothing for us to do? Are we to remain desponding, when a single effort may save her?”
“That’s just what I’ve been thinking ever since we stopped here,” replied Haldidge. “I don’t see any use in waiting, especially when there is use in doing something.”
“Let us depart, then. You will accompany us, of course, Graham?”
“Certainly; but I should like to inquire your intentions?” asked he, pausing on the bank a moment, as the others seated themselves.
“I should think you would remember we can have but one intention,” answered Haverland, in a tone of slight rebuke.
“That is not exactly what I meant. Of course, I knew your ultimate intention, but I wished to inquire what course you intended to pursue.”
“Oh, that’s it!” replied Haldidge. “I’ve been considerable among the redskins of this region, and know that they can be soonest reached by going down the river some distance further—several miles below this bend—and taking the land.”