All that they could gather from Bessie's confused account of the surprise by the Indians, and her own escape, served to make the party feel that further effort was almost hopeless—still they would not despair. It was decided that one of their number should take the rescued girl back to her mother, while the rest should proceed in their search.
The fury of the storm had passed by this time, though the rain fell in great splashing drops, and the wind muttered angrily among the trees in answer to the distant rumbling of the thunder. Drenched to her skin, and shivering with excitement, Bessie begged that she might go with her father.
"We will find them soon," she pleaded; "I'm sure we will, and then we can all go home together. It will frighten mother so dreadfully to see me coming alone, without Rudolph and Kittie, and Bouncer!"
The man whose lantern had gleamed upon her shaded the light with his great rough hand from the spot where Bouncer lay, and in a voice as tender as a woman's, urged her to go with him at once,
"Go, Bessie," said her father hurriedly, on seeing that she still resisted, "we are losing time."
This was enough. "Good-night, dear father!" she sobbed, as she was led away; "don't tell Rudolph about Bouncer until he gets home, father—it will almost break his heart."
A voice that even Bessie could scarcely recognize called back through the darkness: "Good-night, my child. Go easy, Joe, and keep a sharp look-out."
"Ay! Ay!" answered the man in a suppressed voice, as he grasped more firmly the little hand in his, and hurried on.
After a wearisome tramp, they at last reached the edge of the forest. Bessie started to see a tall, white figure rushing with outstretched arms toward them.
"It's the mother," said Joe, pityingly, raising the lantern as he spoke.