The captive covered her face, and her frame shook like an aspen at the remembrance of the dreadful scenes through which she had so recently passed.  It was several minutes before she recovered her self-command.  When she did, Hans Vanderbum proceeded with his questions.

“Dey burnt de place, I shpose?”

“Yes, yes; they destroyed everything.”

“I shpose your folks will feel bad when dey finds dese Shawnees have got you, won’t dey?”

“Oh, yes, yes; do not speak of it.”

At this point Hans Vanderbum began to get a sort of dim, vague idea that his style of conversation was not exactly calculated to soothe the feelings of the unfortunate prisoner; so he determined, if possible, to make amends for it.  Patting her on the head, he said, gently: 

“Don’t feel bad, my darling; I ish shorry for you, but I wants to ax you anoder question.”

“What is it?” queried the maid, with a wondering look.

“Will you answer it?” asked Hans Vanderbum, endeavoring to put on an arch, quizzical expression.

“If it is in my power I instantly will.  Pray, do not hesitate to ask me anything you choose.”

“Well, den, gits ready for it.  I would shust like to know if dere ishn’t some feller dat is in love mit you, and you is in love mit, and dat both ish in love mit each oder, eh?”

The crimson that suffused the cheeks and mounted to the very forehead of the captive, answered the question of Hans Vanderbum more plainly than words.  Still, he insisted upon a verbal reply.

“There is no need of concealing the truth from you,” she answered.  “I have a dear young friend—­”

“Who ish he?”

“Lieutenant Canfield, who is in service with my father,” she replied.

“Oh, den he don’t know notting about it?”

“I am not sure of that.  Oonomoo has acted as a runner or bearer of messages between many of the men in the American army and their families, upon the frontier, and the last time I saw him he brought me word that Lieutenant Canfield intended shortly to visit me on furlough.  He may have arrived immediately after the Indians burnt our place.”

“A good t’ing; a good t’ing if he only has.”

“Why would it be a good thing?”

“Does he know Oonomoo?”

“Certainly; he has known him for several years.”

“Well, den, dey will come together, and dey’ll fix up fings so dat dey will got you out of dis place afore long.”

“I hope so; I hope so.  Death would not be more terrible than the suffering I undergo here, especially at night.  Oh! will you not stay by me?” asked the prisoner, the tears starting to her eyes.

Hans Vanderbum gouged his fists into his own visual organs, and muttered something about “de dunderin’ shmoke,” before he could reply.

“Yesh, yesh, I ’tends to you.  You needn’t be ’fraid.  Dey won’t hurt you, I doesn’t t’ink.  Dey jist keeps you.  May be dey burns you, but dat ain’t sartain.  I must go to Oonomoo now, for I’ve been away from him a good long while.”