SLOWLY the party wended its way back to the mill. Just at nightfall it came in sight of the lowly hut which covered the treasure so dear to the heart of the rescued maiden. How her eager arms longed to clasp her brother’s form to her bosom—how her ears longed for the sound of his voice! The wings of the swallow would have been slow for her pining soul; but the moment of reunion came at last—the dead was made alive, the lost restored. Miss Hayward, gallanted by Wells, pressed on ahead of the troop, and their panting steeds at length stood riderless before the cabin-door, for the riders had disappeared within. The meeting of brother and sister was one of mingled pleasure and pain. Both had suffered so much that to think of it was pain. Captain Hayward was greatly emaciated. Loss of blood, fever, hunger and exposure would have ended a life less tenacious than his; but, despite his suffering, the presence of friends, the rescue of his sister, the anticipated happiness of her union with the man who had proven himself so well worthy of her—all conspired to give an elasticity to his spirits more potent than the infusions of herbs prepared by the not unskilled hands of old Madge, who, from an enemy, had, “by the force of couldn’t help herself,” as Nettleton declared, become a useful instrument at a critical moment. And what about Nettleton? All day long after the morning’s experience at the cave, he had plodded on soberly, somewhat absorbed in his own reflections. Behind him sat Fall-leaf, who, from his weak state, was well content to ride. The Indian, though perfectly silent and apparently indifferent to all things, now that his work was done, still was inwardly pleased at the rescue and the thought of the pleasure in store for the captain, of whose safety he had been informed by Nettleton; and he was quite willing to go into camp for a few days before putting out again on his endless scouts. “Nettle be sick?” he at length asked of his companion. “Not by a darn sight, Ingen?” “Nettle _be_ sick—Fall-leaf knows it!” “You be danged to darnation, you red onion-head of a Delaware!” was the somewhat excited answer, as he turned in the saddle and stared the Indian in the face. Fall-leaf smiled. “Nettle want physic—Miss Long give Nettle physic,” he obstinately persisted. “Now look here, Mr. Ingen, ef you wants to fight, jest you say so, and I’ll be catawampussed ef I don’t lick you wuss’n a nigger what’s got a mad woman arter him!” “Fall-leaf no want to fight Nettle. Maybe whip Nettle—den what Miss Long say?” “Yoh—yoh! you mean, sneakin’ son of a brick-kiln! Ef you don’t stop that clapper in your head, I’ll be switched ef I don’t put a peg through it!” And he set his face firmly to the front, roweled the horse severely with his spurs, and dashed ahead at a speed quite uncomfortable to the provoking Delaware.