"But alone! Alone in this horrible wilderness," she gasped, trembling in every limb at the bare thought of what dangers would surround her.
"No. In the other wigwam is an old squaw who will protect and provide for you. She is very old and crippled, and sometimes not in her right mind."
"A mad-woman my sole companion!"
"She is perfectly harmless."
"And him I love?" she questioned, with her entire soul going out to the physician in his living tomb.
"Is safe, and shall soon be relieved."
"How well you talk my language."
"Muck-a-kee has been often among them, and is their friend. He will save the pale-face."
"And give him back unharmed to me? Oh! joy, joy!"
The face of the Indian darkened for a moment, and his hand sought his knife, but he had too much self-command to permit her to fathom his designs, and after turning away as if to look out, he continued: