“But I hate to part from La Violette. She’s a sweet, lovable, trusting child. I have learned to like her very much. And—poor little girl!—she likes me only too well, I fear. But I’m in nowise to blame. I haven’t sought to win her heart. I have tried to hold her at arm’s length. But, simple child of nature that she is, she can’t disguise her feelings. I pity her. I hate to leave her here—to such a fate. But I can’t take her with me—it’s out of the question. How lonely she will be! May God keep and comfort my little wild violet, when I am gone!”
With this fervent utterance, he resolutely closed his eyes and fell asleep.
An hour passed. Ross was awakened by the voice of the bloodhound. The animal stood by his master’s bedside, growling fiercely. His bristles were erect; his eyes, fixed upon the open door, through which the mellow moonlight was streaming. Douglas raised himself upon his elbow and looked toward the opening in the wall. A dusky form for one brief moment darkened the doorway. Then, outlined in the bright moonlight, a stalwart Indian stepped into the room. Instantly Ross was upon his feet.
“What do you want here?” he demanded angrily, in the Shawnee tongue.
The brave made no reply; but, gliding forward, secured Douglas’s gun that stood in the corner of the room near the bed. Then he nimbly leaped through the doorway—and was gone.
Beside himself with rage and disappointment, the young man shouted:
“Take him, Duke!”
Impatiently the bloodhound had been awaiting the word of command. With a bound he cleared the doorway. Another leap, and he fell upon the retreating savage, like an avalanche. The warrior dropped the rifle and drew his knife to defend himself, uttering a blood-curdling yell as he did so.
Ross hastened to the dog’s assistance. Dark forms slipped from the shadow of the building, and silently surrounded the combatants. The hound seized the hand that held the glittering knife, and gave it a wrench that caused the weapon to fall to the ground. Douglas caught up his rifle, and watched for a chance to deal the savage a stunning blow. But, at the favorable moment, a number of warriors threw themselves upon him and bore him to the earth. Realizing that further resistance would be suicidal, he ceased to struggle and called off the bloodhound.