A little while after supper, a large covered-wagon drew up before the door; the night was clear starlight; and Phineas jumped briskly down from his seat to arrange his passengers.  George walked out of the door, with his child on one arm and his wife on the other.  His step was firm, his face settled and resolute.  Rachel and Simeon came out after them.

“You get out, a moment,” said Phineas to those inside, “and let me fix the back of the wagon, there, for the women-folks and the boy.”

“Here are the two buffaloes,” said Rachel.  “Make the seats as comfortable as may be; it’s hard riding all night.”

Jim came out first, and carefully assisted out his old mother, who clung to his arm, and looked anxiously about, as if she expected the pursuer every moment.

“Jim, are your pistols all in order?” said George, in a low, firm voice.

“Yes, indeed,” said Jim.

“And you’ve no doubt what you shall do, if they come?”

“I rather think I haven’t,” said Jim, throwing open his broad chest, and taking a deep breath.  “Do you think I’ll let them get mother again?”

During this brief colloquy, Eliza had been taking her leave of her kind friend, Rachel, and was handed into the carriage by Simeon, and, creeping into the back part with her boy, sat down among the buffalo-skins.  The old woman was next handed in and seated and George and Jim placed on a rough board seat front of them, and Phineas mounted in front.

“Farewell, my friends,” said Simeon, from without.

“God bless you!” answered all from within.

And the wagon drove off, rattling and jolting over the frozen road.

There was no opportunity for conversation, on account of the roughness of the way and the noise of the wheels.  The vehicle, therefore, rumbled on, through long, dark stretches of woodland,—­over wide dreary plains,—­up hills, and down valleys,—­and on, on, on they jogged, hour after hour.  The child soon fell asleep, and lay heavily in his mother’s lap.  The poor, frightened old woman at last forgot her fears; and, even Eliza, as the night waned, found all her anxieties insufficient to keep her eyes from closing.  Phineas seemed, on the whole, the briskest of the company, and beguiled his long drive with whistling certain very unquaker-like songs, as he went on.

But about three o’clock George’s ear caught the hasty and decided click of a horse’s hoof coming behind them at some distance and jogged Phineas by the elbow.  Phineas pulled up his horses, and listened.

“That must be Michael,” he said; “I think I know the sound of his gallop;” and he rose up and stretched his head anxiously back over the road.

A man riding in hot haste was now dimly descried at the top of a distant hill.

“There he is, I do believe!” said Phineas.  George and Jim both sprang out of the wagon before they knew what they were doing.  All stood intensely silent, with their faces turned towards the expected messenger.  On he came.  Now he went down into a valley, where they could not see him; but they heard the sharp, hasty tramp, rising nearer and nearer; at last they saw him emerge on the top of an eminence, within hail.