One evening a week or more after the disappearance of Jim and the girls, George Young and David Edwards, the missionaries, sat on the cabin steps, gazing disconsolately upon the forest scenery.

Hard as had been the ten years of their labor among the Indians, nothing had shaken them as the loss of their young friends.
"Dave, I tell you your theory about seeing them again is absurd," asserted George.

"I'll never forget that wretch, Girty, as he spoke to Nell.

Why, she just wilted like a flower blasted by fire.

I can't understand why he let me go, and kept Jim, unless the Shawnee had something to do with it.