“We heard your shots, and guessed that those Pawnee rascals were upon you,” said their leader, as he dismounted.
He came up to where my father was lying by the side of the waggon.
“I am sorry to see that you are hurt, friend,” he said. “Any of the rest of your people wounded? If there are, and your party will come on to our camp, we will render you all the assistance in our power.”
“Only two of our men have been hit, and that but slightly; and my wound is nothing,” answered my father. “We are much obliged to you, however.”
“Well, at all events I would advise you to harness your beasts and move on, or these fellows will be coming back again,” said the stranger. “We too must not stay here long, for if they think that our camp is left unguarded they may pay it a visit.” His eye, as he was speaking, fell on Clarice. “Why! my little maiden, were you not frightened at seeing those fierce horsemen galloping up to your camp?” he asked.
“No,” she answered simply; “I trusted in God, for I knew that he would take care of us.”
The stranger gazed at her with surprise, and said something which made her look up.
“Why! don’t you always trust in God?” she asked.
“I don’t think much about him; and I don’t suppose he thinks much about such a wild fellow as I am,” he said in a careless tone.
“I wish you would, then,” she said; “nobody can be happy if they do not trust in God and accept his offer of salvation, because they cannot feel secure for a moment without his love and protection; and they will not know where they are to go to when they die.”