“Minneoba can bear any thing now, the breaking of her people, the loss of home, for her sister is safe. Good-by, and do not forget the poor Indian girl who loves you.” “Come with us,” said Samuel Wescott. “I will give you a shelter in my house until the war is at an end.” But Minneoba shook her head sadly. “No,” she said. “The Indian girl must not leave her father, who loves her. Go in peace.” They parted from her sadly, and as the flat receded from the shore, they saw her standing in a dejected attitude, leaning on her bow. It was many a day before they saw her again. The battle was at its hight. Black-Hawk had risked all upon a cast of the die, and had found it a losing game. Melton, Cooney Joe and Tom Bantry were there, fighting gallantly, and as the Indians began to break up, they charged a resolute knot of warriors who stood their ground stubbornly, dealing death on every side. There was a moment of wild confusion, and Charles Melton found himself face to face with a desperate man, in his war-paint, who assailed him with demoniac fury. Just then Melton’s horse fell, shot through the heart, and his adversary sprung at him with a wild cry of joy, raising a hatchet above his devoted head. “Death to you, Melton,” he screamed. “I am Will Jackwood, and you die by my hand. If I lost her, at least you shall never possess her.” Melton, pinned to the earth by his fallen horse, lifted his hand to ward off the blow, but hampered as he was he could offer but slight resistance, and the knife, his only defense, was forced from his hand, and the hatchet gleamed above him. He had just time to catch the gleam of ferocious joy in the eyes of his enemy, and had given up hope, when a rifle cracked, and Jackwood, throwing up his arms, clutched at the bloody cloth upon his breast, tried once more to lift his weapon, and then, with a snarl of demoniac malice, dropped dead in his tracks, while Cooney Joe, with a rifle smoking in his hand, ran to aid his fallen leader, who was quickly placed upon his feet. “Who is he?” cried Joe, angrily. “Ha! Black Will, by the mortal. Rubbed out at last.” This was his epitaph. He died as he had lived, boldly and defiantly, and found a soldier’s grave. The power of Black-Hawk was broken, and the old chief a fugitive, soon to be a prisoner in the hands of the whites. Then it was that Samuel Wescott kept his promise to Minneoba, and gave her a shelter under his roof. The teachings of Sadie soon changed the forest maiden so much, that she loved a domestic life, and when Sadie was married, soon after Black-Hawk’s visit to the east, Minneoba was there, and witnessed the ceremony. When it was finished, Cooney Joe stopped the clergyman: “Stop a little, stranger,” he said, sheepishly. “Got another little job for you, I have.” And to the surprise of all, Minneoba took his hand, and they were married.