“Good Master Harvey, the owld cabin is so lonely wid the form of Miss Cora gone, that it’s meself that couldn’t very well stay here till morning.  So, wid yer leave jist, I’ll return to the Injins, so as to be ready to folly the trail bright and early in the mornin’.”

“And how do you suppose I feel, Teddy?”

“God save us!  It can be no worse than meself.”

“I am willing that you should go.”

The missionary had need, indeed, for the sustaining power which can come only from above.  The faithful Indian woman remained with his child through the night, while he, with bare head, and hands griped together, paced backward and forward until the morrow’s sun had risen.  How he prayed and agonized in spirit during those long, lonely hours, God and himself only know.  When the day had fairly dawned, he entered the house, lay down wearily, and slept a “long and troubled sleep.”

With a heavy heart Teddy made his way back through the woods to where the Indians were congregated.  They were seated around the camp-fire engaged in smoking, but did not exchange nor utter a syllable.  They all understood each other, and therefore there was no need of talk.  The Irishman seated himself beside them, and joined an hour or two in smoking, when they all lay down and slumbered.

All with the exception of Teddy, who could not sleep.  He rolled hither and thither, drew deep sighs, and took new positions, but it availed nothing.  The events of the past day had driven sleep far from his eyelids, and he soon gave over the effort altogether.  Rising to a sitting position, he scratched his head (which was significant only of abstraction of thought), and gazed meditatively into the smoldering embers.

While seated thus, an idea suddenly came to him which brought him instantly to his feet.  The fact that it had not occurred to the Indians he attributed to their inferior shrewdness and sagacity.  He recalled that the abduction of the young wife took place quite late in the afternoon; and, as she must be an unwilling captive of course, she would know enough to hinder the progress of the man so as to afford her friends a chance to overtake them.  Such being the case, the hunter would find himself compelled to encamp for the night, and therefore he could be but a short distance away.  The more the Irishman reflected, the more he became convinced that his view was right; and, we may state, that for once, at least, his supposition had a foundation to stand upon.

The matter, as has been evident from the first to the reader, rested entirely upon the impossibility of following the trail at night.  Thus far it had maintained its direction parallel with the river, and he deduced that it must continue to do so.  Such being the case, the man could be reached as well during the darkness as daylight.