“My brave! Where goest thou?” was the demand of the Indian, in the dialect of the Winnebagoes. The question revealed to David two important facts! The person before him was a chief, unaware of the character of the scout. They were within two yards of each other at the moment, and David cared not to waste time. With a peculiar motion, he glided a pace nearer the waiting chief, and, with a movement like the rapid sweep of thought, whirled his rifle through the air, bringing its heavy breech full upon the painted scalp of the Indian. Without a sound, he fell to the earth, his skull cloven in twain. “One imp the less, to gloat over the poor women and children they will murder. I hate to spill blood, but that’s what _they’re_ here for, and they must reap what they sow. But it’s uncommon curious what keeps them so still.” Glancing around, to make sure he was not running into an ambuscade, a few rapid steps carried him forward to the point selected for his reconnaissance. Here it was soon apparent what had kept the savages so silent. Large piles of rubbish had been gathered about the principal cabin, to which fire had been applied in many places. The scout gazed silently upon the spectacle, while his clenched hands and fierce expression showed how terrible was the rage within that bosom. “Oh, my poor friends!” he mused. “I am to blame for all this—I who might have saved you. But, burn on! There shall be a fearful recompense.” At this moment the few savages who had remained standing, threw themselves prone upon the earth. CHAPTER II. THE HINTON FAMILY AND THEIR FATE. Eight years before the opening of our story, Elisha Hinton, removing from his New England home, with his wife and three children, had located in the western land of promise. Being frugal and industrious, a few years found the happy family comfortably settled, surrounded by all the abundant blessings conferred by the productive soil and the ancient forest. But to them, as all others, bitter was mixed with the sweet. The pet of the family—little Ella—the youngest daughter, sickened. All the medical skill of the region round about was resorted to, but in vain. Day by day she wasted away, becoming paler and thinner, until it was fully apparent to the sorrowing friends that she could not long survive. And, while they hung grief-stricken about her couch, she clasped those little transparent hands, murmured fondly of the bright home above, and passed away.