Earth, hearing this, pushed open the door, and entered. Rolfe and Oloompa followed. They were silent a moment, and fear and anxiety settled over their countenances. They looked at each other,—and then Earth and Rolfe gazed fixedly in the face of Oloompa. Oloompa stood firm,—he quailed not beneath their glance; but observed, “the white man doubts Oloompa;—Oloompa never speaks false. The pale face maiden rested here,—so did Netnokwa and her daughter. They are gone,—Oloompa is in the dark, and his heart is sorry:—he grieves at what he sees.”
“Oh, God!” exclaimed Rolfe, “am I again disappointed!”
“See,” said Earth, “how these things are scattered about;—they left here in a great hurry, and without any idea of returning.”
“Where have they gone?” exclaimed Rolfe.
There was no reply, for none could tell; and Rolfe turned upon Oloompa;—“Tell me where she is, villain! you have deceived,—tell me or you shall die!” He was wild with rage, and his eyes gleamed as do those of a maniac. Yet Oloompa was calm,—no piece of statuary was ever more unmoved,—and he would not deign to reply when threatened. Rolfe, exasperated, raised his arm as if to strike. The lightning's flash is not more bright nor quick, than was the change which came over Oloompa's face. There was light,—it was the gleaming of a tomahawk as it shone on high:—his left foot was advanced,—his body thrown back, rested on his right, and he stood in the act to strike. At the same time, there was heard the springing of a trigger, and Earth's rifle was brought to his face.—None spoke, and thus for a time they stood. Returning consciousness came to the mind of Rolfe,—his arm fell by his side,—Oloompa returned his tomahawk to his belt, and Earth, uncocking his rifle, rested it on the floor. “Oloompa has journeyed two moons, to serve the white man, and he seeks to kill him;—he is thirsty, and wants blood:—let him take it,—Oloompa will go to the long home of the red men,—he is weary of his path. Can the white man make rivers flow or mountains rise in the prairie? No. How can Oloompa make women be present, when they have gone away?—Oloompa tells what he knows. He left them here. He expected to find them here.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “you are wrong about that,—you can see, from these signs, that they have been here, and that they went away at a mighty short notice.”
“Oh! Earth,” answered Rolfe, “I am perfectly crazy,—I don't know what I say or do.” Then, turning to Oloompa, he said:—“Oloompa, I ask your pardon,—I know not what I am doing.”
“Oloompa wants no pardons,” was the reply.—“The white man has stuck in another thorn,—let it stay there. Why should Oloompa wear out his moccasins in bringing the white man to Netnokwa's lodge? Was it to harm him? Who is here to do it? The white man's heart is sorry for the pale maiden. Does not Oloompa's bleed for the red? She is gone! She steps like the fawn,—her feet leave no print upon the grass.” And leaving the wigwam, he began to examine the earth near and around the cabin, to see if any signs would tell him whither the inmates had gone, or why they had left so precipitately. Rolfe and Earth soon came out, and were engaged in the same duty.
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “this business of yours is a curious sort of thing, and there seems to be no eend to it at all. Now, it aint no use to tell me not to swear, for if I can find out who is at the bottom of this, man or woman, I don't care;—if I don't chaw 'em up, I wish I may be damned.”
“Yes, you may eat them all, Earth, for what I care,” replied Rolfe, for he was still angered, and proceeded on towards Oloompa.