"About five days' march, with our cousin Lagrenay, the squatter of the Wind River. His wife has been ill, he is alone; having no one to take care of her, he came here and asked for Angela to stay a few days." "My dear father, our cousin Lagrenay's settlement is a long way off, in the heart of the Indian country." "You are right," said his father; "I fear I have acted with too great haste. I will fetch her home tomorrow." "I will go with you, father." "It is unnecessary. Your health, sir," addressing Oliver; "is it long since you left France?" "Many thanks. I have been in America two months." "Though so far off news is welcome. How is the king?" "There is no longer any king," said Oliver, gravely; "France is now a republic like America." While the stupefaction which this news caused was still at its height Numank-Charake entered. "Welcome; be seated and eat," said the old man. "I came neither to eat nor to drink," replied the young Indian, sadly. "I came to tell you that your child, Evening Dew, has been carried off by Tom Mitchell, the outlaw, and that we must at once save her." CHAPTER XII. HOW THE THREE TRAVELLERS WENT TO GEORGE CLINTON'S. This terrible revelation fell like a thunderclap upon the four personages who sat at table. There was for some minutes a silence caused by perfect stupor. "You are indeed a sinister messenger, chief," said the old man, bitterly; "whence do you get this news?" "Perhaps you are mistaken," gasped the father. "Listen," said the chief, sadly, "and you shall hear what has passed in a few words." "First sit down and break bread," cried the old man; "we are friends and relatives, and this awful catastrophe affects you as well as us." "You say truly," responded the young chief, seating himself. "Eat and drink," said the old man; "then we will talk." The meal continued, to the great astonishment of Oliver. He could not understand the calm and sang-froid of these four men in presence of such an awful event. He was half inclined to accuse them even of coldness of heart. He knew nothing of that Indian etiquette, more severe than that of any other country, which requires this apparent coldness. He soon, however, discovered how much he was mistaken, and how deeply all these brave and loyal hearts were wounded by the fatal incident. The repast was sad and gloomy. Nobody spoke. They ate as if it were a duty which must be done. After the hasty repast was over there was silence. "You have come, sir," said the old man, addressing Oliver, "at an unfortunate moment; pardon us if we seem rude and inhospitable. But evil has fallen on us." "You told me, sir," replied the young man, "that I was to become a member of your family. Let me, then, share your sorrows as well as your joys. I feel more on the subject than you think, being Bright-eye's brother." "Thank you; you are one of us," said the old man. "You are my second son," cried the father. "I thank you, and hope to prove myself deserving."