"I will come back—"
"And bring him I love?"
"Yes, as soon as I can. But have no fear; she will do you no harm. She is old and ugly but not dangerous in the least. I must go to see that no one has found our trail."
"And if the black-hearted white man should do so?"
"This!" said the Indian, touching his knife in a manner that could not be misunderstood.
"And the one in the cave? Oh! release him quickly and I will never cease to love you."
"Your lover shall come!"
His reply was peculiarly accented, and could she have read his face, her heart would have sunk within her as deeply as it had ever done before. But it was expressionless to her eyes, and after informing her that he would give the red squaw still stronger directions to keep watch over and be kind to her, he disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Soon after she saw him mount and ride down the mountain side, and feeling worn out and in a measure at least safe, she closed the curtains of the wigwam, and nestling among the soft robes, fell asleep.
But what awoke her she could never have told. It was the mysterious influence that often gives warning of coming danger. But awake she did, and that suddenly, and a scream burst from her lips as she saw the old squaw kneeling by her side, with her face bent closely down to her own.