"What does this mean?" Loyal Heart exclaimed, turning pale as death, and casting round a terrified glance. "Look here!" replied Belhumeur, pointing with his finger to several dead bodies which the river was carrying away, and which glided along near the surface. "Oh!" cried Loyal Heart, "something terrible has taken place here. My mother! my mother!" "Do not alarm yourself so," said Belhumeur; "no doubt she is in safety." Without listening to the consolations his friend poured out, though he did not believe in them himself Loyal Heart drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, and sprang into the water. They soon gained the opposite bank, and there all was explained. They had before them the most awful scene that can possibly be imagined. The village and the fort were a heap of ruins. A black, thick, sickening smoke ascended in long wreaths towards the heavens. In the centre of what had been the village, arose a mast against which were nailed human fragments, for which _urubus_ were contending with loud cries. Here and there lay bodies half devoured by wild beasts. No living being appeared. Nothing remained intact--everything was either broken, displaced, or overthrown. It was evident, at the first glance, that the Indians had passed there, with their sanguinary rage and their inveterate hatred of the whites. Their steps were deeply imprinted in letters of fire and blood. "Oh!" the hunter cried shuddering, "my presentiments were a warning from Heaven;--my mother! my mother!" Loyal Heart fell upon the ground in utter despair; he concealed his face in his hands and wept. The grief of this high-spirited man, endowed with a courage proof against all trials, and whom no danger could surprise, was like that of the lion, it had something terrific in it. His sobs were like roarings, they rent his breast. Belhumeur respected the grief of his friend--indeed what consolation could he offer him? It was better to allow his tears to flow, and give the first paroxysm of despair time to calm itself; certain that his unyielding nature could not long be cast down, and that a reaction would soon come, which would permit him to act. Still, with that instinct innate to hunters, he began to look about on all sides, in the hope of finding some indication which might afterwards serve to direct their researches. After wandering for a long time about the ruins, he was suddenly attracted towards a large bush at a little distance from him by barkings which he thought he recognised. He advanced towards it precipitately; a bloodhound like their own jumped up joyfully upon him, and covered him with wild caresses. "Oh, oh!" said the hunter, "what does this mean? Who has tied poor Trim up in this fashion?" He cut the rope which fastened the animal, and, in doing so, perceived that a piece of carefully folded paper was tied to its neck. He seized it, and running to Loyal Heart, exclaimed: "Brother! brother! Hope! Hope!"