THE LAST NIGHT AT DEARBORN It was evident that preparations were even then well under way for retreat the following morning.

Trunks and boxes, together with various military stores and arms, strewed the sides of the parade-ground; farther back, a number of wagons, partially filled, stood waiting the remainder of their loads.

Men and women were hastening back and forth, and children were darting through the shadows, their little arms piled high with bundles, and making play, as children ever will, of what was to prove an awful tragedy.

A large fire, burning brightly before the deserted guard-house, cast its ruddy glow over the animated scene, checkering the rude walls with every passing shadow.
I noticed, as I slowly pushed my way along, that the soldiers worked seriously, with few jests on their lips, as if they realized the peril that menaced them; while many among the women, especially those of the humbler sort, were rejoicing over the early release from garrison monotony, and careless of what the morrow might bring of danger and suffering.
A few steps from the gate, I paused for a moment that I might watch their flitting figures, the incessant bustle being a positive relief after the dull and ghostly silence without.

My mind,--though I strove to cast the thought aside,--was still occupied with the mystery of Elsa Matherson; but the more I dwelt upon it, the less I was able to penetrate the secret of her strange presence in the Indian camp, or devise any scheme for reaching her.