rest of the descent they found comparatively easy, and they were
once more where birds sang and flowers bloomed, game roamed, and
savages prowled. Making easy journeys, in a few days they hailed with
joy a clearing which they saw was inhabited. The owner proved to be a
Creole missionary from a Spanish settlement below, who had been
stationed there to look after the spiritual welfare of the Indians, and
who received our wanderers with great kindness. When they told him who
and what they were, the benevolent curate, like a good christian,
insisted they should make his domicil their home until they heard from
their friends. This offer they gladly accepted; and in exchange for
their gold which fascinated the pious man's eyes in a wonderful degree,
they obtained some clothing, and when once more dressed in the garb of
civilization, they began to think their wanderings were indeed over.

Chapter Twenty-Second.

Return to the family of Mr. Duncan. Lewis and his father succeed in
getting back to camp. The effect the capture of the children produced
on the health of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. Cole and the chief reach the camp
of the Arapahoes. Their surprise. They continue their course to Mr.
Duncan's camp. Joy at the news they bring. They start again for the
west. Thirty Arapahoes accompany them. They arrive at the Sierra
Nevada.

Having followed our wanderers through many exceedingly trying and
difficult scenes, since they became separated from the rest of the
family and were lost in the deep and dreary desert, to the hospitable
fireside of the curate beyond the Sierra Nevada where they again met
with the comforts of civilized life, we will leave them for the present
and return to the family of Mr. Duncan. The last we saw of Mr. Duncan
and Lewis was in the battle with the Crows; but they succeeded in
making their escape, and finally returned to their camp, only, however,
to convey the sorrowful intelligence of the sad fate of all who had
gone out to the rescue except himself and Lewis. This sad event
confined him to a bed of sickness from which he arose after many weeks
of suffering, with feeble and tottering steps, and locks whitened by
suffering. Grief had done what time had not--it had made him old and
grey.

Mrs. Duncan submitted meekly to the terrible blow; but the elasticity
of her step was gone, the light from her eye, and the usual glad smile
from her lips had disappeared. Had her children sickened and died, she