“The ground over which they are traveling is torn and trampled as if an army had lately traversed it, and—ah, yes, I see, away in the west, a herd of buffalo looking like a great black cloud against the sky, and showing distinctly against the red of the setting sun behind it. But, look, they have turned their course toward the south and are running their horses at full speed! They turn in their saddles and look northward. I see! There is another party coming from that direction.” The Professor looked fixedly a moment and continued: “They are Indians, also; a larger band, and hideously painted. The others are spurring their horses toward the river to escape this hostile band, who have seen them, and like the wind are rushing down upon them. Their horses are more fleet, they are gaining upon them—they lift their rifles and shoot! Good! Their shots do not reach them. The white man rises in his stirrups and returns the fire. The Indians of his party follow his example. Their rifles have longer range and their shots tell. Several saddles of the pursuing party are empty.” The man spoke eagerly now. His restless gray eyes kindled, and his face glowed with animation. His story had produced a like effect upon his listeners, all of whom showed more or less excitement. Lissa was pale, her large, dark eyes fixed intently upon the speaker, while her small hands gripped each other tightly in her lap. Squire Bartram peered over his spectacles and rubbed one palm upon the other, a habit he had when deeply moved. Donald looked from one to another quizzingly, but said nothing. “The fleeing party have reached the river and taken refuge behind the protecting bank—yes, their shots speak now. One, two, three of the painted devils reel from their ponies. More fall! Half of them are down! On come the rest, swinging their hatchets! They are at the bank! They fight hand to hand with their tomahawks. Great Scott! There he is struck, he is down!—the white man is hurt!—he topples over and falls backward down the bank!—he sinks into the river and disappears!” A shriek from Lissa interrupted the further description of the scene. Nathan sprang to her side, and in the confusion that followed the Professor seemed to lose sight of his vision, nor could he be persuaded to again enter the clairvoyant state. Poor Lissa was greatly excited. The man had so accurately described her brother-in-law, then living in Nebraska, and knowing as she did that he was in command of a party of Pawnee scouts she could not free herself from the idea that the scene depicted was a true one, notwithstanding her former scepticism. CHAPTER V THE LETTER “What would you give me for a letter from Nebraska,” said Donald a few days after the Professor’s visit, as he flung himself from his horse and sat down on the steps of the veranda where Lissa sat, with her lap full of flowers which she had been gathering.