The captain drew it forth, got down on his hands and knees, and peeped in, and saw Bub's bright eyes looking into his; and, taking hold of Bub's chubby hand, he said, soothingly,--for Bub now began to cry,-- "Don't be afraid, my little fellow; we are all your friends, and have come to take you to your mother." "Won't Injun kill me?" asked Bub, glancing apprehensively at Long Hair. "No," said the officer; "it's Long Hair; he came to keep the bad Indians from killing you." When Captain Manly appeared with Bub in his arms, the air was rent with the joyful shouts of the soldiers; and Bub suddenly found himself a hero, as he was borne about and caressed by them--a joy that was suddenly intensified to a wild pitch of excitement, as word was brought that dear, brave, romantic Charlie had revived. He was not dead. Aroused by the shouts of the soldiers over Bub's appearance, he had opened his eyes, and, imagining that the Indians were assailing the cabin, murmured, in a clear, distinct voice,-- "Pull the string, Bub!" CHAPTER XXII. TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. Mr. Cowles--farmer, grocer, postmaster, and money-lender--drew his chair to the fire. The large, old-fashioned stove had an open front, and it was pleasant, on such a piercing day, to see the flames leap, and hear the wood crackle, and sit in the genial warmth. The table was neatly set for supper. There was a platter of cold prairie chicken, a glass dish containing wild-plum sauce, and a plate of biscuit; while on the stove hearth stood a white tureen, holding a few slices of hot toast. Mrs. Cowles, having been informed by her liege lord that her presence was not desired at that particular hour, had gladly improved the opportunity to take a cup of tea with her friend Mrs. Barker, and learn the particulars concerning the accident that happened to Bill Walker and Maria Hobbs the night before, who, while returning from a log-house dance, six miles away, were upset from the wagon into Slough Creek. Mrs. Cowles dearly loved a dish of gossip, which, smoking hot and seasoned to one's taste, was always to be had at Mrs. Barker's. The Cowles were a money-loving and money-getting race, from the least of them to the greatest; and Mr. Charles Cowles was not a whit behind the shrewdest of them in this respect. It was a stormy afternoon in March, and the winds, which, like troops of wild horses, came careering across the prairies, and charged upon the money-lender's "framed" house, furiously whirled the snow, and made shrill, wintry music. Mr. Cowles added more fuel to the fire, reseated himself, put his feet into a chair, and fell into a deep study.