“What is the trouble, do you ask? Why, isn’t these awful times now, with these savage Indians murdering and hacking people. I expect, just as like as not, they’ll murder us all in our homes. There’s no telling what they won’t do in this heathen country. Lord of massy! I should think they had done enough now.” “Ah! my good sister, you must be more hopeful. The Lord will deliver us from our peril. Remember there are strong and willing hearts around you.” “Yes, that’s a slight consolation; but then them Injins will do almost anything. Only think how they run off with George Kingman.” “But that is not certain yet, by any means. Many others, including myself, have not given up our hopes of him yet.” “Oh, he’s gone, you may be sure of that. I’ve been up to see Mrs. Kingman. She felt a little propped up, I believe, by what the people had said; but I told her there was no use in hoping, for he’d got into the hands of them heathens, and they hacked him all to pieces.” “And what did she say to that, my good sister?” “Oh, she burst out a cryin’ like, and wrung her hands saying as how she feared so all the time. It’s always so; we women do suffer nearly everything for the unfeeling men. Yes, oh, yes!” A sort of hysterical sob and whimper followed this, but in a moment she revived again. “I have one consolation, at any rate—we won’t see any of them nasty Indians in heaven, when we get there.” “Don’t say that, sister, for I hope and expect to meet a great many there.” CHAPTER VIII. HOME AGAIN. The prolonged absence of Kingman and Moffat, to say the least, was certainly singular. Several days had now elapsed since the battle, and if they were in the woods, or had escaped the vengeance of the Shawnees, there could be no reason offered why they had not made their appearance. The most sanguine began to doubt—all despaired save the captain, who, when questioned, replied with more than his usual protervity. “He’ll come if you only wait. Umph! I don’t see anything to worry about.” The fifth day wore slowly away without any tidings of the missing ones, and darkness was again gathering over the quiet village. There was an air of subdued repose up on everything. The quiet tree-tops were not swayed by the slightest zephyr, and the broad Ohio glistened like a sheen of silver as it flowed without a ripple beneath the horizontal rays of the setting sun. The dark forms of the sentinels could be seen at the block-houses, and here and there a quiet settler wended his way through the ungainly streets. The few cattle and horses were gathered home, and all were ready for the slow approaching night to close around them.