“No,” said Roughgrove. “He had been playing on the margin of the river, and we were compelled to believe that he fell in the stream and was drowned—at a time when no eye was upon him. Mary was near at hand, but she did not see him fall, nor could she tell how he disappeared. His poor mother believed that an Indian stole him away. But the only Indians then in the neighbourhood were the Pawnees, and they were at that time friendly. He was surely drowned. If the Pawnees had taken him, they would soon have proposed a ransom. Yet his mother continually charged them with the deed. In her dreams she ever saw him among the savages. In all her thoughts it was the same. She pined away—she never knew a happy moment afterwards—and when she died, the same belief was uttered in her last words. I am now alone!” The old man covered his face with his hands, and sobbed audibly. “Bear with patience and resignation,” said Glenn, “the dispensations of an all-wise Providence. All may yet be well. The son, whom you thought lost forever, may be living, and possibly reclaimed, and Mary shall be restored, if human efforts can accomplish it. Cheer up. Many a happy day may still be reserved for you.” “Oh! my dear young friend! if you but knew _all_!” said Roughgrove. “Do I not now know all?” asked Glenn. “No,” replied the old man; “but the rest must remain a secret—it should, perhaps, be buried in my breast forever! I will now strive to sleep.” They ceased to speak, and silence reigned till morning. Joe was roused from his couch in the morning by a tremendous “Ya-hoy!” outside of the inclosure. “Run and open the gate,” said Glenn. “I’d rather not,” said Joe, rubbing his eyes. “Why?” asked Glenn. “Hang it, it’s the Indians again!” replied Joe, seizing his musket. “It is Sneak and his men,” observed Boone, when another shout was uttered. “Hang me, if I don’t have a peep at ’em first, anyhow,” said Joe, approaching the gate cautiously, and peering through a small crevice. “Ya-hoo!” repeated those without. “Who are you? why don’t you speak out?” said Joe, still unable to see their faces. “Dod—I mean—plague take it! Joe, is Mr. Boone standing there with you?” asked Sneak. “No,” replied Joe, opening the gate. “Then dod _rot_ your hide! why didn’t you let us in?” said Sneak, rushing through the gate, and followed by five of the neighbours. “Why, Sneak, how could I tell that you wern’t Indians?” said Joe. “You be dod—never mind!” continued Sneak, shaking his head, and passing to where Boone stood, near the house.