"Mother! Mother!" he called, softly, for the Indian was too far away to hear. "Here," answered his mother's voice, not far off, and in a moment he had crept to her. Annie, crying softly, was beside her, and they were lying well hidden in a dense thicket of reeds close to the creek. "Where is your father?" whispered Mrs. Briscoe, the instant he reached her, gazing at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes. "Why, he--he--can't come now," Al faltered. "He is killed," said Mrs. Briscoe, simply, in a lifeless voice. Her son did not look at her. "Yes," he said, almost inaudibly. It seemed to him that the end of all things was closing down upon them. His mother did not weep; she was past tears. She did not even move, but her face was almost like chalk. "And Tommy?" she asked presently. "The Indians have carried him away," answered Al. Mrs. Briscoe bowed her head upon her knees. "Oh, my little boy, my baby boy!" she moaned. "Why should I live any longer with them gone?" Al, stunned by the tragedies of the past few minutes, had nearly reached the lowest depths of despair. He felt numb and helpless, but at his mother's heartbroken cry a sudden rush of vitality and determination reanimated him. He recalled his father's words: "Remember that your first care must be your mother and your little brother and sister." He leaned forward and put his arm around his mother's shoulders. "Mother," he said, "don't say that. You must live for Annie's sake and mine,--and Tommy's. We shall get him back; they will not hurt him, he is so young and bright. When we reach the fort the soldiers will send out after him." By a mighty effort Mrs. Briscoe controlled herself. Her son's words had aroused her. "You are right, Al," she said. "I must live for you and Annie and Tommy. But can we start for the fort now?" "I am afraid we shall have to stay here till dark," he replied. "The Indians are still around. I will crawl up where I can get a look."