The hunter knew his brother was not a man to waste vulgar consolations upon him; he raised his tear-bathed face towards him. As soon as it was free, the dog fled away with incredible velocity, baying with the dull, short yelps of a bloodhound following the scent. Belhumeur, who had foreseen this flight, had hastened to tie his cravat round the animal's neck. "No one knows what it may lead to," murmured the hunter, on seeing the dog disappear. And after this philosophical reflection he went to join his friend. "What is the matter?" Loyal Heart asked. "Read!" Belhumeur quietly replied. The hunter seized the paper, which he read eagerly. It contained only these few words:-- "We are prisoners of the redskins. Courage! Nothing of any significance has happened to your mother." "God be praised!" said Loyal Heart with great emotion, kissing the paper, which he concealed in his breast. "My mother still lives! Oh, I shall find her again!" "Pardieu! that you will," said Belhumeur in a tone of conviction. A complete change, as if by enchantment, had taken place in the mind of the hunter; he drew himself up to his full height, his brow became expanded and clear. "Let us commence our researches," he said; "perhaps one of the unfortunate inhabitants has escaped death, and we may learn from him what has taken place." "That's well," said Belhumeur joyfully; "that's the way. Let us search." The dogs were scratching with fury among the ruins of the fort. "Let us commence there," said Loyal Heart. Both set to work to clear away the rubbish. They worked with an ardour incomprehensible to themselves. At the end of twenty minutes they discovered a sort of trapdoor, and heard weak and inarticulate cries arise from beneath it. "They are here," said Belhumeur. "God grant we may be in time to save them." It was not till after a length of time, and with infinite trouble, that they succeeded in raising the trap, and then a horrid spectacle presented itself. In a cellar exhaling a fetid odour, a score of individuals were literally piled up one upon another. The hunters could not repress a movement of terror, and drew back in spite of themselves; but they immediately--returned to the edge of the cellar, to endeavour, if there were yet time, to save some of those unhappy victims. Of all these men, one alone showed signs of life; all the rest were dead. They dragged him out, laid him gently on a heap of dry leaves, and gave him every assistance in their power. The dogs licked the hands and face of the wounded man. At the end of a few minutes the man made a slight movement, opened his eyes several times, and then breathed a profound sigh. Belhumeur introduced between his clenched teeth the mouth of a leathern bottle filled with rum, and obliged him to swallow a few drops of the liquor. "He is very bad," said the hunter. "He is past recovery," Loyal Heart replied, shaking his head. Nevertheless the wounded man revived a little.