[Illustration: A girl, fifteen or sixteen years of age, seated upon the
ground, beside a squaw.]
As Hans Vanderbum gazed curiously at her, his big heart filled with
pity. She was attired in the plain, homespun dress common among the
settlers at that period, her head totally uncovered, and her long, dark
hair falling in luxuriant masses around her shoulders. Her hands were
clasped and her head bowed with a meek, resigned air that reached more
than one Shawnee heart. Her complexion was rather light, her features
not dazzlingly beautiful, but prepossessing, the expression which
instantly struck the beholder being that of refinement; speaking a
nature elevated and holy, as much above that of the beings who
surrounded her, as would have been that of an angel had he alighted
amid a group of mortals.
The great exertion made by Hans Vanderbum in reaching the wigwam,
caused him to breathe so heavily as to attract the attention of the
captive. Catching sight of a white man, she arose quickly, and
approaching him, said, eagerly:
"Oh! I'm so glad to meet one of my own color and race, for I am sure
you must be a friend."
"Yaw, I's your friend," replied Hans Vanderbum, hardly knowing what he
said; "and I's sorry as nobody to see you here. How did you got here?"
"They brought me, the Shawnee warriors did. They attacked the house in
the night, when I was alone with the servants. They murdered them all
except me.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36