as ploughed up and furrowed with deep scars. The chaos was
indescribable, and it is probable that centuries will not quite
obliterate the work of that single hour.

While it lasted, Joe and his comrades remained speechless and
awe-stricken. When it passed, no Indians were to be seen. So our
hunters remounted their steeds, and, with feelings of gratitude to God
for having delivered them alike from savage foes and from the
destructive power of the whirlwind, resumed their journey towards the
Mustang Valley.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

ANXIOUS FEARS FOLLOWED BY A JOYFUL SURPRISE--SAFE HOME AT LAST, AND
HAPPY HEARTS.

One fine afternoon, a few weeks after the storm of which we have given
an account in the last chapter, old Mrs Varley was seated beside her
own chimney corner in the little cottage by the lake, gazing at the
glowing logs with the earnest expression of one whose thoughts were far
away. Her kind face was paler than usual, and her hands rested idly on
her knee, grasping the knitting wires to which was attached a
half-finished stocking.

On a stool near to her sat young Marston, the lad to whom, on the day of
the shooting match, Dick Varley had given his old rifle. The boy had an
anxious look about him, as he lifted his eyes from time to time to the
widow's face.

"Did ye say, my boy, that they were _all_ killed?" inquired Mrs Varley,
awaking from her reverie with a deep sigh.

"Every one," replied Marston. "Jim Scraggs, who brought the news, said
they wos all lyin' dead with their scalps off. They wos a party o'
white men."

Mrs Varley sighed again, and her face assumed an expression of anxious
pain as she thought of her son Dick being exposed to a similar fate.
Mrs Varley was not given to nervous fears; but as she listened to the
boy's recital of the slaughter of a party of white men, news of which
had just reached the valley, her heart sank, and she prayed inwardly to
Him who is the husband of the widow that her dear one might be protected
from the ruthless hand of the savage.

After a short pause, during which young Marston fidgeted about and
looked concerned, as if he had something to say which he would fain
leave unsaid, Mrs Varley continued:--

"Was it far off where the bloody deed was done?"

"Yes; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs said that he found a
knife that looked like the one wot belonged to--to--" the lad hesitated.

"To whom, my boy? Why don't ye go on?"

"To you