"Thanks, chief! I accept your offer," said the old man, warmly pressing the hand the Indian held out to him. And he hastily placed himself by a woman of middle age, with a noble countenance, whose features, though faded by grief, still preserved traces of great beauty. "God be praised!" she said, with great emotion, when the old man rejoined her. "God never abandons those who place their trust in Him," he replied. During this time the redskins were preparing the last scenes of the terrible drama which we have made the reader witness. When all the colonists were shut up in the fort, the fire was revived with all the materials the Indians could find; a barrier of flames for ever separated the unfortunate Americans from the world. The fort soon became one immense funeral pyre, from which escaped cries of pain, mingled at intervals with the report of firearms. The Comanches, motionless, watched at a distance the progress of the fire, and laughed like demons at the spectacle of their vengeance. The flames, which had seized upon the whole building, mounted with fearful rapidity, throwing their light over the desert, like a dismal beacon. On the top of the fort some individuals were seen rushing about in despair, while others, on their knees seemed to be imploring divine mercy. Suddenly a horrible crackling was heard, a cry of extreme agony rose towards heaven, and the fort crumbled down into the burning pile which consumed it, throwing up millions of sparks. All was over. The Americans had perished! The Comanches planted an enormous mast on the spot where the square had been. This mast, to which were nailed the hands of the colonists, was surmounted by a hatchet, the iron of which was stained with blood. Then, after setting fire to the few cabins that were left standing, Eagle Head gave orders for departure. The four women and the old man, the sole survivors of the population of this unfortunate settlement, followed the Comanches. And a melancholy silence hovered over these smoking ruins, which had just been the theatre of so many sorrowful scenes. CHAPTER IX. THE PHANTOM. It was about eight o'clock in the morning, a cheering autumn sun lit up the prairie splendidly. Birds flew hither and thither, uttering strange cries, whilst others, concealed under the thickest of the foliage, poured forth melodious concerts. Now and then a deer raised its timid head above the tall grass, and then disappeared with a bound. Two horsemen, clothed in the costume of wood rangers, mounted upon magnificent half wild horses, were following, at a brisk trot, the left bank of the great Canadian river, whilst several bloodhounds, with glossy black skins, and eyes and chests stained with red, ran and gambolled around them. These horsemen were Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur.