“An’ maybe we ain’t glad to see you, Ross! We not only thought you was dead—we _knowed_ you was. We seen you dyin’—we left you fer dead. An’ dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Hang-it-up-an’-take-it-down-an’-cook-it! I can’t hardly believe my senses. Where’ve you been—how did you come to life? Tell me all about it right now—don’t wait a minute. By King Solerman’s six hundred wives! I never was as happy in my born days!” “Come, my friends,” Ross said softly, sadly, “let’s find a quiet place, and sit down and talk.” He led them to a distant corner of the fortification. There, seated upon a log, they entered into explanations. Douglas told the two of his miraculous escape from death in the woods, of his multifarious adventures and experiences among the Indians at the village upon the Mississinewa, and of the bitter disappointment he had met on his return to Franklinton. Last of all, he showed them the Prophet’s ring. Farley gingerly examined the talisman, but said nothing. Bright Wing would not touch the uncanny thing, but shudderingly remarked: “Tenskwatawa big medicine man—bad Shawnee. Ring very much strong—make redmen sleep. Ugh!” And he drew away from it. When Douglas had finished, Farley began his narrative. In conclusion he said: “Yes, Ross Douglas, me an’ the Injin’s been pris’ners ’mong the Winnebagoes, ever sence we left you—up to a few days ago. A dozen times they was goin’ to kill us, but somethin’ alluz happened jest in the nick o’ time to save us. But look at me! Where’s the beauty that once was mine? Gone—sacrificed by the dang redskins! It’s a sin an’ a shame—it is, by my gran’mother’s shoestrings! An’ we’d ’ave been in the clutches o’ the red devils yit, but the most of ’em took it into the’r heads to jine Tecumseh on his rampage ’g’inst Fort Meigs. That give us a chance to git away. But holy incense! Talk ’bout sufferin’! Hain’t I ’xperienced it? Yit you’ve had a right smart taste y’rself, Ross. Yes, things has come out jest as I told you they would. I said if you left ol’ Sam Larkin’s gal an’ went off to war, she’d marry that scalawag of a Hilliard. An’ she’s done it. But—gol-fer-socks! That’s the way o’ the whole feminine gender. Don’t I know ’em—say? Still I don’t fancy you’re so much disap’inted over the turn things has took, Ross. Eh?” And Farley smiled quizzically. “What do you mean, Joe?” Douglas asked quickly. “Oh! you know well enough what I mean,” the other chuckled. “I think if you could find the little red-haired gal that set you free, you wouldn’t hunt overmuch fer Amy Larkin. That’s my ’pinion, at least.” “You’re wrong, my old friend,” Douglas hastened to say. “I have been true to Amy Larkin; I trust and believe she has been true to me. I shall continue my search for her—and never rest till I find her; although I have no knowledge of her whereabouts. But I must leave you now, to assist in the preparations for departure.”