It was a splendid but terrible sight.
"The end of all things is at hand," said the old Millerite. "The stars are beginning to fall."
But the rain of fire lost its force as it neared the earth, and it fell in cinders and ashes.
"An Indian! an Indian!" cried many voices.
The black horse came plunging into near view, and rushed for the trees and sank down with foaming sides and mouth. The people shouted. There rolled from his side the lithe and supple form of a young Indian, plumed, and dressed in yellow buckskin. What did it mean? The Indian lay on the ground like one dead. The people gathered around him, and Jasper came to him and bent over him, and parted the black hair from his face. Suddenly Jasper started back and uttered a cry.
"What is it?" asked the people.
"It is my old Indian guide—it is Waubeno. Bring him water, and we will revive him, and he will tell us what to do.—Waubeno! Waubeno!"
The Indian seemed to know that voice. He revived, and looked around him, and stared at the people.
"Give him water," said Jasper.
A boy brought a cup of water and offered it to the Indian. The latter started up, and cried: