Just then a light flashed from the cliff above.

“Each man for himself,” was the cry, as the smugglers made their escape up the only path open to them.

She stood alone on the sand, with the seas roaring up to her feet. She heard footsteps approaching. “Oh! where—where is my husband?” she cried out.

“I don’t know, missus; but murder has been committed, and some one has done it.” It was one of the preventive men spoke.

Daylight at length broke. A tangled mass of tubs and rope, and a human form attached to them, was seen surging up and down in the foaming breakers. It was dragged on shore, and the poor young widow sank senseless on her husband’s body.

Chapter Ten.

The Indian Mother, a tale of the Rocky Mountains

The half-breed trapper La Touche—His wife Kamela—Their children—They are sent on an expedition—The encampment—Attacked by Blackfeet, and the men slain—The young widow flies—Almost captured—back to the fort—The refuge destroyed!—Wolves—Further flight—Refuge at last.