Soon all are similarly prepared, each with gun, pistol, and knife borne upon his person.
After hearing the tale of horror brought from the Mission-building, they hold hasty council as to what they should do.
Fear for their own firesides restrains them from starting off; and some time elapse before they feel assured that the rancheria will not be attacked, and need defending.
Meanwhile, they despatch messengers to the Mission; who, approaching it cautiously, find no change there.
Colonel Armstrong is still roaming distractedly around, searching for his daughters, Dupré by his side, Hawkins and Tucker assisting in the search.
The girls not found, and the frantic father settling down to the conviction that they are gone—lost to him forever!
Oh! the cruel torture of the truth thus forced upon him! His children carried off captive, that were enough. But to such captivity! To be the associates of savages, their slaves, their worse than slaves—ah! a destiny compared with which death were desirable.
So reasons the paternal heart in this supreme moment of its affliction.
Alike, distressed is he, bereaved of his all but bride. The young Creole is well-nigh beside himself. Never has he known such bitter thoughts; the bitterest of all—a remembrance of something said to him by his betrothed that very day. A word slight but significant, relating to the half-blood, Fernand; a hint of some familiarity in the man’s behaviour towards her, not absolute boldness, but presumption: for Jessie did not tell all. Still enough to be now vividly recalled to Dupré’s memory, with all that exaggeration the circumstances are calculated to suggest to his fancy and fears. Yes; his trusted servant has betrayed him, and never did master more repent a trust, or suffer greater pain by its betrayal.
The serpent he warmed has turned and stung him, with sting so venomous as to leave little of life.