At these words Old Mammy lifted her bowed head. She had been swaying to and fro, and moaning in the most doleful manner.
"Oh, Mistah Dane, find Missie Jean," she pleaded. "Bring back my sweet lamb. I'se 'fraid de Injuns or bears has toted her off. Oh! oh! oh! What will I do wifout my darlin' chile!"
"We will find her, Mammy, never fear," Dane comforted. "Get some food ready, and Pete and I will begin the search at once."
"I'll have it ready fo' yo' in a jiffy, Mistah Dane," and the old woman toddled to her feet. "I'se been cookin' all day fo' I knew de men would come back wif big ap'tites. I'll put up 'nuff to las' yo' fo' a week."
In another minute the faithful servant was busy filling a capacious basket with the good things she had stored away in the cupboard. Dane turned to Davidson, who had been talking with the Colonel.
"Where is Pete?" he asked. "I have not seen him since coming back."
"He is down on the shore," was the reply. "He went there as soon as he heard the news, and has been there ever since."
Dane walked to the door and looked out. Down among the trees he saw the Indian, moving slowly around, with eyes intent upon the ground. Leaving the house, Dane hurried across the open, and he had almost reached the native when the latter dropped upon his hands and knees, and examined something he had just discovered.
"Have you found anything?" Dane asked.
"A-ha-ha," Pete replied, lifting his head, and holding forth a tiny shred of cloth.