Her father—the fond, doting parent, to whom she had been the bright sunshine of existence, and whom she had loved with all the devotion of her filial heart, was dead—inhumanly butchered by the ferocious foes, who had thus remorselessly destroyed the peaceful home-circle of hearts. The fiery George, whom she had loved and guided with the fond sister’s care, had met an untimely fate in the morning of his bright life. And she thought of another, for whom her fondest, holiest love had gone forth; and oh! what an agony of suspense was there. What was his fate? What a fierce enemy upon his track—a man so far below the savage that the very brute might shun his company—she could only picture to herself a fate so fearful that the very thought of it seemed to check the life-current in her veins. Oh! that she could fly to him—could warn and save him. Could it be that she should ever again hear his voice? It was a fearful thought, yet she could only faintly hope against it. No word escaped the lips of the stern warrior guard who surrounded her, and Emily felt glad that it was so, for she was in no mood to talk. As one devoid of life, she sat upon her horse—the bitterest anguish surging over her soul like a destroying flood. How long they had journeyed thus she could not have determined; indeed, she made no effort to recall the distance or time. She was only sensible that the party had stopped, and a muscular brave had lifted her from the horse to the ground. Not till this done was she really aware of what was passing about her. The Indian relaxed his hold, and she sunk to the earth, feeling too exhausted to stand. The brave then produced a thong of deerskin, and stooped as if to find her ankles. With a gesture so appealing that even the heart of the fierce savage was touched, she besought him not to bind her. The Indian, a tall, muscular brave, raised his eyes and gazed for a moment upon the pain-marked features of the maiden. He looked irresolute, and a touch of kindness seemed overspreading his tawny features. “White squaw run away,” he remarked, with tolerable pronunciation. “Why should I attempt that?” she asked. “Where would my feeble limbs serve to carry me?” “Suppose Injin brave no tie White Bird?” he asked, in a still more kindly manner. “I will thank him,” was the brief reply. “Red Wing will leave White Bird free,” he remarked, looking hastily round to see if his movements were observed. The others were all busily employed in collecting wood, preparing meat for roasting, and the various duties of a bivouac. The Indian noticed this, and leaned idly against a tree, while Emily again relapsed into a sorrowful reverie. The savages soon had a large fire, and were seated around it, employed according to their fancies or appetites. One of them approached the prisoner, and offered her a liberal slice of well-roasted venison. She refused it, for she could not eat, and the brave, with a scowl of anger, returned to his seat beside the fire.