Directly above his couch was a narrow aperture, which had been constructed for a loop-hole, but which had thus far been used only for the purpose of ventilation. He rose quickly, and applied his eye to the opening, but a fierce current of heat and smoke caused him to recoil instantly. Leaping from his couch he found that the room was filled with smoke. The mystery was then solved. The house was on fire! Springing quickly to the cot of his father, the startled young man aroused him, and briefly communicating his discovery, hastened to awake his sister. Then he turned to a window and endeavoured to gaze out. Vain effort! The smoke whirled past it in dark masses, while alternate jets of flame mingled with the dusky clouds. By this time both Emily and her father had thrown on their garments, and before George could unbar the door they were at his back, white with alarm and anxiety. The father had seized his rifle, but the young man did not pause for weapons. He threw open the door, and the entire party stepped quickly forth. For a moment they were blinded by the whirling smoke, but, passing beyond it, they turned to view the extent of the conflagration. Simultaneously, the yells of a hundred savage throats burst upon their horrified ears—the rapid reports of a score of rifles followed—and father and son sunk to the earth, pierced by many bullets. Although Emily felt the garments she wore cut and torn by the whistling shots, she was uninjured by the deadly shower. She saw her father and brother fall, knew that they were killed, and, with a terrible heart-sickness of horror, she sunk upon the ground, almost unconscious of the dread scene around her. Emily was barely conscious that a yelling warrior rushed upon her—that a gleaming hatchet was raised above her head. She hoped and expected that her last moment had come, but it was not to be so. A rough voice interposed, and the blow was stayed. Then all became blank unconsciousness. Despite her terrible surroundings, it was but a brief time that Emily remained insensible. The faint light of the moon, in concert with the glare of flames, rendered objects quite distinct, and the poor girl at once saw that she was a close prisoner. She looked up at her captors. Nothing could she gather from those grim, exultant guards. To her entreaties they gave not even the slightest heed, scarce removing their gaze from the wild scene of the burning cabin. A dull pain at her ankles caused her to look down. A deeper pang went to her sensitive heart as she saw that her limbs were securely bound with thongs of dried deerskin. This, indeed, seemed to unloose the fountain of her tears, and, bowing her head upon her hands, she gave way to violent and heart-breaking sobs.