“Ay!  Ay!” answered the man in a suppressed voice, as he grasped more firmly the little hand in his, and hurried on.

After a wearisome tramp, they at last reached the edge of the forest.  Bessie started to see a tall, white figure rushing with outstretched arms toward them.

“It’s the mother,” said Joe, pityingly, raising the lantern as he spoke.

“Oh, Joe!” screamed the poor woman, “have you found them?—­tell me, quick!”

“Well—­no, Mrs. Hedden,” he shouted in reply, “not exactly that—­but we’ve got the gal safe an’ sound—­not a scratch on her.”

In another moment Bessie was in her mother’s arms.

“Only me, mother!” she sobbed; “only me; but father’s looking for them and, oh! mother, Bouncer is dead!”

The next day brought no better tidings.  At noon the men returned from their search, jaded and dispirited.  After the first explanations were over, Mr. Hedden called one of the party aside and whispered, huskily—­

“Give her this, Dennis—­I can’t; and tell her it was the only trace we could find.”

The mother’s quick eye caught sight of the object before her husband had fairly drawn it from beneath his hunting-jacket.  “It’s Kitty’s hood,” she cried, stretching forth her hand as she fell senseless to the floor.

That evening, and for many a day afterward, the search was continued but without success; no trace could be found of either Tom Hennessy, Rudolph, or little Kitty.

V.

The captives.

And what had befallen Tom and the children, on the fearful day of their sail up the beautiful stream?  Bessie’s eyes had not deceived her when, in one agonized glance, she had seen Tom dash into the forest bearing Rudolph and Kitty in his arms, followed by yelling savages.  The chase, however, was a short one; before Tom had advanced many steps his pursuers closed upon him, and tearing the children from his embrace, bound his arms close to his body with deerskin thongs.  The children, screaming with terror, struggled in the arms of the Indians and called frantically upon Tom for help; but he, poor fellow, could only turn his pitying eyes upon them and beg them to remain quiet.

“It’ll save you from worse things,” he groaned.  By this time several savages, darting from near hiding-places, had surrounded them and Tom abandoned all hope of escape.  Bessie’s screams had died away, and he felt sure that she had been killed by the Indian who had first rushed upon her.

After holding a moment’s council the Indians began a rapid march, hurrying Tom along with them, and almost dragging the terrified children—­who, each with a tiny hand in the grip of a painted warrior, ran panting by their sides.  Hurrying on, faster and faster, until even Tom was nearly out of breath, the savages, without exchanging a word among themselves, continued their flight (for such it seemed), carefully avoiding even the breaking of a twig, or anything that could furnish a clue to those who might come in pursuit.