He told me of his efforts to obtain my release, and that he, with his men, had searched the Indian village for me, but found no warriors there, as they had already taken me to the fort. The Indian women had made him understand by signs that the “White Woman” had gone with the chiefs. He said the Indians were so enraged about giving me up, that they killed three of his men and scalped them, by orders from the chief, Ottawa, who was unable to do any service himself, being a cripple. He bade them bring him the scalps of the white men. An Indian, who killed one of the men, fell dead in his lodge the same day, which frightened his people not a little; for, in their superstition, they deemed it a visitation of the Great Spirit for a wrong done. Colonel Diamond did not forget me, neither did he cease in his efforts in my behalf. During all this time no tidings had been received by me of my husband. But one day, great commotion was occasioned in the fort by the announcement that the mail ambulance was on the way to the fort, and would reach it in a few moments. An instant after, a soldier approached me, saying: “Mrs. Kelly, I have news for you. Your husband is in the ambulance.” No person can have even a faint idea of the uncontrollable emotions which swept over me like an avalanche at that important and startling news. But it was not outwardly displayed. The heart-strings were stirred to their utmost depths, but gave no sound. Trembling, quivering in their strong feeling, they told not of the deep grief and joy intermingled there. Mechanically, I moved around, awaiting the presence of the beloved, and was soon folded to his breast, where he held me with a grasp as if fearful of my being torn from him again. Not an eye present but was suffused with tears. Soldiers and men, the ladies who had been friends to me, all mingled their tears and prayers. Language fails to describe our meeting. For seven long months we had not beheld each other, and the last time was on the terrible field of slaughter and death. His personal appearance, oh! how changed! His face was very pale, and his brown hair was sprinkled with gray. His voice was alone unchanged. He called me by name, and it never sounded so sweet before. His very soul seemed imbued with sadness at our separation, and the terrible events which caused it. My first question was concerning my little Mary; for her fate had been veiled in mystery. He gave me the account of her burial—a sad and heart-rending story, sufficient to chill the lightest heart—which account comprises the succeeding chapter. CHAPTER XXIII. SAD FATE OF LITTLE MARY. The reader will please go back with me to that fearful first night of my captivity, and to the moment when I put into execution the plan for dear little Mary’s escape, which I prayed might result in her restoration to our friends.