All that autumn, winter and spring Rule labored among the pioneers of La Terrepeur.  It was not true, as had been reported, that he was a missionary and schoolmaster to the Indians; for no one of the savages who occasionally came into the settlement could be induced to approach the “school.”

It was in June that old Scythia became restless and anxious to find her tribe—­the wandering Nez Percees.

Rothsay gave his school a vacation and set out with Scythia to find the valley where they were reported to be in camp.

“This valley below, Cora, dear,” said Rothsay, interrupting the course of the narrative.  “But when we reached it, the Nez Percees had disappeared.  A lonely old hunter, who had built this hut, was the only human being in the place, and he was slowly dying, and he would have died alone but for the opportune arrival of old Scythia and myself.  He told us that the Nez Percees had crossed the river about two weeks before, and were far on their migration west.”

“Old Scythia sat down flat on the floor, drew up her knees, folded her hands upon them, dropped her head, and died as quietly as a tired child falls to sleep.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Corona, “how sad it was.”

“Yes; it was sad; age, fatigue and disappointment did their work.  I buried her body under that pine tree where your Uncle Clarence sat down.  The old hunter’s struggle with dissolution was longer.  He lingered five days.  I waited on him until death relieved him, and then laid his body to rest beside old Scythia’s.  I was then preparing to return to La Terrepeur, when a wandering scout brought me the news of the massacre of the inhabitants and the destruction of the settlement.  Since that time, dear Corona, I have lived alone on this mountain.  That is all.  Come, shall we go down and see your uncle?”

“Yes,” said Corona.

And they arose and walked down into the valley.

They soon found the wagon camp of Clarence Rockharrt and his followers.

The horses and mules, which had been unharnessed, watered and fed, were now tethered to the scattered tree trunks, and were nosing about under the dried leaves in search of the tender herbage that was still springing in that genial soil beneath the shelter of the fallen foliage.  The wagons had been drawn up under cover of the thicket and prepared as sleeping berths.

On the grass was spread a large white damask table cloth, and on that was arranged a neat tea service for three.

Martha was busy at a gypsy fire boiling coffee and broiling venison steaks.

“You are just in time, Rule.  How do you do?” exclaimed Mr. Clarence, emerging from among the horses, and coming forward to shake hands with Rothsay as if they had been in the daily habit of meeting for the last four years.

The two men clasped hands cordially.

“I always had a secret conviction that you were living, Rule, and always secretly hoped to meet you again, ‘somehow, somewhere;’ and now my prescience is justified in our meeting to-day.”