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"The rifle be gone from the hangin's, and the tracks in the snow be hern. Yis, yis, I see it all. She went out in hope of gittin' the leetle uns here somethin' to eat, and that was her rifle we heerd, and her bullit made that hole in the ham of the buck. What a disapp'intment to the poor creetur when she seed she hadn't hit him! Her heart eena'most broke, I dare say.
"Didn't you hear it, Molly?" she demanded, parting the curtain and looking in. "Yes, I did. I wanted I almost wanted to join. Mother, I almost wanted to hope again. Am I to live? Where are we now?" "By a right pretty river, child, and eena'most to Oregon. Come, kiss your mother, Molly. Let's try."
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