“Well, well, it’s all right—­I’d have done exactly so myself,” answered Boone, grasping the young man’s hand with a cordiality that showed no offence had been taken.  “And now—­a—­how do you call yourself?”

“Henry Millbanks.”

“Now, Master Millbanks, pray be speedy; for while we talk, our friends may die, and it goes agin nater to think on’t,” said Boone, anxiously.

As he spoke, he led forward the lady’s horse past the other carcass; while Henry, springing upon his own beast, followed after.  Having seen them safely out of the ravine, the noble hunter turned back to wait the arrival of the expected assistance.  He had just gained the center of the thicket, when he was slightly startled again by the growl of his dog, and the tramp of what appeared to be another horse, coming from the direction of Younker’s.  Hastily secreting himself, he awaited in silence the approach of the new comer, whom he soon discovered to be an old acquaintance, who was riding at a fast gallop, bearing some heavy weight in his arms.  As he came up to the carcass of Ella’s horse, he slackened his speed, looked at it earnestly, then gazed cautiously around, and was about to spur his boast onward again, when the sound of Boone’s voice reached, his ear; requesting him to pause; and at the same time, to his astonishment, Boone himself emerged into the path before him.

“Ha!  Colonel Boone,” said the horsemen, quickly; “I’m glad to meet ye; for now is a time when every true man’s wanted.”

“What’s the news, David Billings?” inquired Boone, anxiously, as he noticed a troubled, earnest expression on the countenance of the other.

“Bad!” answered Billings, emphatically.  “The Injens have been down upon us agin in a shocking manner.”

“Heaven forbid thar be many victims!” ejaculated Boone, unconsciously tightening the grasp on his rifle.

“Too many—­too many!” rejoined Billings, shaking his head sadly.  “Thar’s my neighbor Millbanks’ family—­”

“Well? well?” cried Boone, impatiently, as the other seemed to hesitate.

“Have all been murdered, and his house burnt to ashes.”

“All?” echoed Boone.

“All but young Harry, who’s fortunately away to a wedding at Wilson’s.”

“Why, the one you speak of war just now here,” said Boone, with a start; “and I sent him back to raise a party to trail the red varmints, who’ve been operating as you see yonder:  Good heavens! what awful news for poor Harry, who seems so likely a lad.”

“Yes, likely you may well say,” returned the other; “and so war the whole family—­God ha’ mercy on ’em!  But what’s been done here?”

“Why, I suppose Ella Barnwell—­Younker’s niece, you know—­and a likely young stranger who war along with her, called Reynolds, have been captured.”

“Ha! well it’s supposed Younker and his wife are captives too, or else that thar bones lie white among the ashes of thar own ruins.”