“No help for it!” cried Ella in alarm, who, having greeted the old hunter, with tearful eyes, now stood weeping by his side.  “No help for it!  Heaven have mercy!—­say not so!  They must—­they must be rescued!” Then turning wildly to Boone, she grasped his hand in both of hers, and exclaimed:  “Oh! sir, speak! tell me they can be saved—­and on my knees will I bless you!”

A few words now rapidly uttered by Isaac, put the old hunter in possession of the facts, concerning the forced march of Younker and Reynolds, of which he had previously heard nothing; and musing on the information a few moments, he shook his head sadly, and said, with a sigh: 

“I’m sorry for you, Ella—­I’m sorry for all o’ ye—­I’m sorry on my own account—­but I’m o’ the opinion o’ Isaac, that thar’s no help for it now.  They’re too far beyond us—­we’re in the Indian country—­our numbers are few—­two or three o’ the red varmints have escaped to give ’em information o’ what’s been done—­they’ll be thirsty for revenge—­and nothing but a special Providence can now alter that prisoners’ doom.  I had hoped it war to be otherwise; but we must submit to God’s decrees;” and raising his hand to his eyes, the old woodsman hastily brushed away a tear, and turned aside to conceal his emotion; while Ella, overcome by her feelings, at the thought of having parted, perhaps for the last time, from Algernon and her uncle, staggered forward and sunk powerless into the arms of Mrs. Younker, whose tears now mingled with her own.

By this time the whole party had gathered silently around their noble leader, and were observing the sad scene as much as the feeble light of the scattered brands would permit, their faces exhibiting a mournfulness of expression in striking contrast to that they had so lately displayed, previous to the death of their comrade.  To them Boone now turned, and running his eye slowly over the whole, said, in a sad voice: 

“Well, lads, one o’ our party’s gone to his last account, I perceive,” and he pointed mournfully to the still body of Beecher, some three or four paces distant; “another I see is wounded, and a third’s missing.  I hope no harm’s befallen him, the noble Master Harry Millbanks!”

“Alas! he’s dead, Colonel!” answered Isaac, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Dead?” echoed Boone.

“Dead?” cried the others, simultaneously.

“Yes,” rejoined Isaac, with a sigh; “He and I war chasing that thar infernal renegade Girty, who war running away with Ella thar; and he’d jest got up to him, and got him by the arm, when Girty shuk him off like it warn’t nothing at all, and then shot him dead on the spot.  Ef he hadn’t a bin quite so quick about it, I think as how it wouldn’t a happened; for the next moment I hit him a rap on the head with the butt-end o’ my rifle, that sent him a staggering off, and would ha’ fetched him to the ground, ef it hadn’t first struck a limb.  Howsomever, it made him let go o’ Ella, and start up a new trail—­jest leaving his compliments for me in the shape of a bullet, which, ef it didn’t do me no harm, it warn’t ’cause he didn’t intend it to.  I jest stopped to look at poor Harry; and finding he war dead, I took Ella by the hand and come straight down here.”