Unconscious alike to the cries of the terror stricken children and of the moaning caresses of her dumb friend, that poor mother's eyes were only opened on the dreadful scene when day was far advanced. Through the cold rain, still pouring steadily down, the twilight seemed to her faint eyes to be creeping over the earth. Sweet sounds were ringing in her ears. These were but dreams that deluded her weakened mind and senses. She strove to rise, but fell back and again relapsed into insensibility. Once again her eyes opened. This time it was no illusion. The eldest of the little watchers was shouting, in her ear, "Mother, I see father's wagon!" There it was close at hand. All day it had been slowly moving across the blackened prairie. The turf had been softened by the rain and the last few miles had been inconceivably tedious. The charred surface of the plain had filled the heart of both father and son with terror, which increased as they advanced. When they were within a mile of the spot where the cabin stood and could see no house, they both abandoned the wagon, and leaving the animals to follow as they chose, they flew shouting loudly as they sped on till they stood over the perishing group. They could not for the moment comprehend the dreadful calamity, but stared at the wasted faces of the children, the infant corpse, the dying wife, the desolate home. Cursing the day that he had been lured by the festal beauty of those prairies, the father lifted the dying woman in his arms, gazed with an agonized face upon her glassy eyes, and felt the faint fluttering in her breast that foretold the last and worst that could befall him. Slowly, word by word, with weak sepulchral voice, she told the dreadful story. He slipped off his outer garments and wrapped them around her, and wiping off the rain-drops from her face drew her to his heart. But storm or shelter was all the same to her now, and the death-damp on her brow was colder than the pelting shower. He accused himself of her cruel murder and wildly prayed her forgiveness. From these accusations she vindicated him, besought him not to grieve for her, and with many prayers for her dear children and their father, she resigned her breath with the parting light of that sad autumnal day. After two days and nights of weeping and watching, he laid her remains deep down below the prairie sod, beside the home which she had loved and made bright by her presence. CHAPTER XII. THE HEROINES OF THE SOUTHWEST