“Good! The sun is already down—let us advance.”
The Prophet led the way from the little glen in which they had held this conference, and struck a broad trail leading to the right.
Percy Vere followed the Prophet, Oneotah came next to him, and Cute brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded, the dim light growing dimmer as they advanced.
They had proceeded but a short distance when Percy felt a pressure upon his right arm, and found that Oneotah had come to his side.
“Do not fear the perils of the Mystic Cavern,” she said. “The White Spirit will protect you.”
These words were uttered cautiously, close to his ear.
“I have no fear,” he returned. “I do not think the Prophet will allow his spirits to injure me. I think him a man of his word, and I am in hopes to persuade him to allow you to go to our camp with me on my return.”
The grasp upon his arm tightened.
“Oh! if you only can!” she murmured, tremulously.
“You would be glad to see Multuomah again?”