"Wah!" replied the chief, with satisfaction, "I am a friend of the grey head; redskins have not two hearts: my father saved my life,—my father shall come to my hut."
"Thanks, chief! I accept your offer," said the old man, warmly pressing the hand the Indian held out to him.
And he hastily placed himself by a woman of middle age, with a noble countenance, whose features, though faded by grief, still preserved traces of great beauty.
"God be praised!" she said, with great emotion, when the old man rejoined her.
"God never abandons those who place their trust in Him," he replied.
During this time the redskins were preparing the last scenes of the terrible drama which we have made the reader witness.
When all the colonists were shut up in the fort, the fire was revived with all the materials the Indians could find; a barrier of flames for ever separated the unfortunate Americans from the world.
The fort soon became one immense funeral pyre, from which escaped cries of pain, mingled at intervals with the report of firearms.
The Comanches, motionless, watched at a distance the progress of the fire, and laughed like demons at the spectacle of their vengeance.
The flames, which had seized upon the whole building, mounted with fearful rapidity, throwing their light over the desert, like a dismal beacon.