"A person dreaming is not rational, and yet may suffer so, and feel it too, as to shudder hours after waking up. There was John, running toward the house with our baby boy, and the savages yelling and whipping their ponies, trying to get between the open door and him. Alone, he could have saved himself. And our baby thought John was running for play, and was clapping his little hands and chirping at me as the savages closed around my husband. I had only time to pray five words, 'O God, save my husband!' and it did not seem an instant until I saw the poor body I loved so well lying on the ground, and they standing over, shooting their arrows into it. Baby was not killed, but thrown forward under one of the horses, and I had just taken a step or so toward him, when an Indian, who seemed to be the chief, lifted him by the dress to his saddle. I think his first intention was to carry him with them, but, seeing some of our neighbors hurrying toward us, they struck the baby with a hatchet, and hurled him to the ground. At the instant they struck him, he was looking back at me with his great blue eyes wide open and staring with fright." And then the poor woman, having finished her story, began sobbing piteously. The Solomon had numberless tales of these terrible massacres equally as harrowing as this, and I could fill pages of this volume with chapters of woe that terminated many a family's history. The result of these and other Indian atrocities is probably yet remembered throughout the entire country. Kansas well nigh rebelled against a government which left her unprotected. The War Department authorized vigorous measures, and the Governor of the State raised a regiment and at its head took the field. Through blows from Custar and Carr, the savages found out, at last, that the dogs of war which they let loose might return to bay at their own doors. Two women from the Saline were carried into captivity by the Indians, and taken as wives by two of their chiefs. One day Carr, at the head of his troops, looked down into the valley upon the encampment of a band especially noted for its hostility, now lying in fancied security below him. The two white captives were in the wigwams. Suddenly, to the ears of the savages, came a murmur from the hill-side like the first whisper of a torrent. Instantly, almost, it increased to a roar, and, as they sprung to their feet and rushed forth, the blue waves of vengeance dashed against the village, and broke in showers of leaden spray upon them. Mercy put no shield between them and that annihilating tempest. Every savage in the number was a fiend, and, as a band, they had long been the scourge of the border. Their hands were yet red with the blood of the massacres upon the Saline and Solomon, and white women toiled in the wigwams of their husbands' murderers. One of the captives, Mrs. Daley, was killed by the savages, to prevent rescue; the other was saved, and restored to her husband.