“I looked on all sides for my friend, the young Scotchman, but I could not distinguish his body from the rest. I looked around, too, for his wife—who was the only woman besides Mary that accompanied the caravan. Her body was not to be seen. ‘No doubt,’ said I to Cudjo, ‘the savages have carried her off alive.’ At this moment we heard the howls and hoarse worrying of dogs, with the fiercer snarling of wolves, as though the dogs were battling with these animals. The noises came from a thicket near the camp. We knew that the miner had brought with him two large dogs from Saint Louis. It must be they. We ran in the direction of the thicket, and dashed in among the bushes. Guided by the noises, we kept on, and soon came in sight of the objects that had attracted us. Two large dogs, foaming and torn and covered with blood, were battling against several wolves, and keeping them off from some dark object that lay among the leaves. We saw that the dark object was a woman, and clinging around her neck, and screaming with terror, was a beautiful child! At a glance we saw that the woman was dead, and—”
Here the narrative of our host was suddenly interrupted. McKnight, the miner, who was one of our party, and who had appeared labouring under some excitement during the whole of the recital, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming—
“O God! my wife—my poor wife! Oh! Rolfe—Rolfe—do you not know me?”
“McKnight!” cried Rolfe, springing up with an air of astonishment, “McKnight! it is he indeed!”
“My wife!—my poor wife!” continued the miner, in accents of sorrow. “I knew they had killed her. I saw her remains afterwards—but my child! Oh, Rolfe! what of my child?”
“She is there!” said our host, pointing to the darkest of the two girls, and the next moment the miner had lifted the little Luisa in his arms, and was covering her with his kisses. He was her father!