Oloompa having reached a point from which he could perceive where the deer had fallen, saw an Indian maiden already bending over its prostrate form, and rightly conjecturing that it was the daughter of Netnokwa, he determined to go thither for the purpose of assisting her, and also of making some inquiries relative to the captive maiden.—No sooner had he made the resolve, than, joyous and happy, he darted away, with the glee of a child, but quickly stopped, for he heard a rustling noise, and looking, saw the captive maiden retreating to a distance within the forest, before she would dare to look back. With Oloompa all exciting subjects were forgotten, and he gazed on her with gladness.—It was she whom he was to make happy,—it was she whom he sought, and forgetting his enmity to her race, he said, as she stood far within the forest, “She is like a snow-drift sleeping in the moonlight;” then bounding away, he was soon by the side of Miskwa.
Having approached, he was charmed by the beauty of her person.—Never had he seen so much symmetry, nor a form so delicately moulded. He hesitated for a moment, before he would speak to her; then seeing the nature of the occupation in which she was engaged, he offered his assistance. Miskwa started at the sound of his voice, for she knew not that any one was present, until he spoke, when she drew her figure up to its full height, and gazed fixedly upon him. Oloompa seemed not to regard her scrutiny,—his countenance was joyous and happy; then looking at the deer before him, he felt the joys of the chase, and before Miskwa had time to answer, added, “a good shot. The bow is strong, and the arrow went straight to its mark.”
Miskwa was pleased with the compliment, for she loved her bow and quiver, and with less formality in her manner than she had at first assumed, replied, “Those who depend on themselves for food, must needs shoot well.”
“Thou art pretty,” said Oloompa; “the Ottawa warriors are not men. They suffer a maiden to kill her own game.”
“Would you have me choose a warrior who can send an arrow less far than I can,” said the maiden.
“Surely not,” said Oloompa.
“The distance is an hundred yards;—will your arrow go more straight than that?” inquired the maiden, pointing to the one which still stood fixed in the deer before her.
“No,” said Oloompa.
“Then thou art not the warrior who shall draw my bow,” said the maiden.
Oloompa was slightly confused, and casting his eyes down, was for a moment silent.