Not one of us slept
a wink. Mother sat weeping over the loss of father, while I was
heart-broken, too.
Chitto, like the Indian she was, kept on the move continually. Here and
there she stole as noiselessly through the wood as a shadow, while
playing the part of sentinel.
At daylight we all fell into a feverish slumber, which lasted several
hours. When we awoke, we were hungry and miserable.
Seeing a settler's house in the distance, Chitto offered to go to it for
food. We were afraid she would get into trouble, but she was sure there
was no danger and went.
In less than an hour she was back again with an abundance of bread. She
said there was no one in the house, and we supposed the people had
become alarmed and escaped.
We staid where we were for three days, during which time we saw a party
of Sioux warriors burn the house where Chitto had obtained the food for
us.
It seemed to mother that the Indians would not remain at Lac Qui Parle
long, and that we would be likely to find safety there. Accordingly, she
induced Chitto to start on the return.
When we reached our house nothing was to be seen of father's body; but
we soon, discovered a newly-made grave, where we had reason to believe
he was buried.
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