"Yes," he exclaimed at length, "I see that you are right. Although some white men have set us a bad example, it is no reason that all should do so. The truths about which you speak are independent of man. There must be bad white men as well as bad red men; but I am sure that those who follow the example of Him of whom you tell me, the Son of the Great Spirit, must be good men. I will try to follow him, and when we get back, you must tell me more about him." I gladly promised to do so, and was thankful for this opportunity of speaking to Piomingo. Before starting next morning we sent a message to the sergeant, begging him to keep as close to the foot of the mountain as possible, as we were sure the enemy could not have gone far up; indeed, their trail led along the lower part of the side. They had taken this direction, probably, in order that they might obtain a view over the plain, and thus the more easily escape from those who by this time, they must have known through their scouts, were in pursuit of them, although they could not be aware that our small party was so close at their heels. In a few hours more, we believed, we should probably be up with them; and we hoped that while they were in camp we might find some means or other of releasing Bartle. Though generally keeping our eyes ahead, or down on the plain, I happened on one occasion to look up the mountain. On the height above me was the figure of a human being. I pointed it out to my companions. "There is no doubt about it," exclaimed Gideon; "what you see is a cross, with a man, well-nigh stripped, bound to it." The spot was one difficult of access, but it had been reached shortly before, and, Piomingo declared, by Indians, whose trail he discovered on the hard rock, where Gideon and I could not perceive the slightest marks. "That is Bartle," cried Gideon as we were climbing on. "Little chance, however, of the poor fellow being alive. The cruel varmints! I'll punish them one of these days for what they have done." The expressions which his indignation drew forth were very natural, but they were not in accordance with the precepts I had been endeavouring to inculcate on Piomingo. As we hastened on Gideon cried, "I think I saw his head move; if so, he must be alive. We are coming! cheer up, cheer up, Bartle; we are coming to your help!" he shouted. The faint sound of a human voice was heard in return. "He is alive," I exclaimed; "he is alive!" and I waved my cap as we rushed to our friend's assistance.