Morning dawn found me still wandering over the prairie, in search of my children, for I was confident that they still lived, unless they had perished from cold or hunger. I looked around, and strained my eyes in the vain hope of seeing some known object by which to learn where I was: but no, I was lost upon the trackless prairie. My fear of savages was too great to allow me to travel by day-light, so I hid myself all day in a bunch of tall weeds. The rain continued to fall till about 9 a. m., when it ceased, and, soon after, the sun cheered me with his warm rays. About ten o’clock, I heard the report of guns, not far distant, and heard the cries of children again. This proved to me that I was not far from the place where my husband and friends and children were murdered. I heard the agonizing cries of the children, during most of the day. They cried constantly, and sometimes would scream and shriek, as if in great pain. This led me to the conviction that the fiends were torturing them. I believed my own surviving boys to be among them, with poor Lily and Charles, and I expected they would all at last be killed, when the Indians were tired with their hellish sports: for I believe that it was rare sport to them, to torture such little innocents. But about four o’clock, I heard the report of three guns in succession: the wail of the infants instantly ceased. “Alas!” I cried out in despair, “what have I to live for now? My husband and five darling children are all murdered: my home is plundered and desolate; and I myself am left upon the prairie, alone among enemies, with many a wound, and scarcely able to walk!” This was, indeed, a sad picture; but how true it is that while there is a spark of life, there still is hope, in the heart. Poor human nature soon found for me another excuse for not giving up, and for trying to prolong my miserable existence. I wished to live long enough to tell to some white persons, and, through them to the world, the story of our sad fate. I then began to look around, to ascertain in what direction to go, to reach the house of “Dutch Charley,” a German living sixteen miles from Lake Shetak. I could just barely see, in the horizon, some timber, which I thought must be close to Buffalo Lake, and on the road to “Dutch Charley’s,” and I determined, that, as soon as it was dark, I would try to reach it. I had now passed two days without anything to eat or drink: I felt no hunger, but was almost ready to perish with thirst, as it seemed.