“Stay! stay! Oloompa!” cried Rolfe;—“oh! name some way in which I can pay thee for all that thou hast done for me.”
“Oloompa wants nothing of the hunters,” was the answer.
“And what becomes of the red maiden?” inquired Rolfe.
“Oloompa knows not,” he replied. “Dark clouds hang over the land. He cannot see through them. Oloompa has no time; the white maiden will tell all.”
“Oh!” cried Gay, “should they escape, bring her,—Oloompa! do bring her, with her mother, and dwell with me.—I owe them gratitude and love, and even life.”
Oloompa made no reply, and Rolfe continued:—“Oloompa! do come. You know where our wigwam is; my home will be that of the maiden, and we shall ever be happy to see those who have loved and served us. The time may come, when Oloompa will not think as he now does. Then, should it please heaven to deliver from the Prophet's hands Netnokwa and her daughter, oh! come with them to our lodge, and we will give you a wigwam, supply all your wants, and love you as friends.”
Oloompa was still silent, and seeing that he would not reply, Gay continued:—“Oloompa! will you leave us in anger, after having done so much that we can never repay? Miskwa would not do so.”
“Maiden,” replied he, “could a pale face make Oloompa change, it would be the one before me; and had Oloompa never known other whites than those he now sees, he would never have hated their race as he does. As a people, they have wronged him, and he has sworn in the bitterness of his soul to be avenged. The white man knows Oloompa will keep his promise. Oloompa's bosom is open; he does not wrap himself up when he talks to the white man. Go, hunters, Oloompa hates the whites, but he has given you his hand in friendship, and he would not harm you. Bear the maiden away with the speed of an arrow, for, ere to-morrow's sun goes down, death will be abroad in the land.”
“Oloompa,” said Rolfe, “once more let me entreat you to give up your schemes of vengeance, and go and dwell with me.”
“Seek not vengeance!” answered Oloompa;—“when the fires of the whites are kindled on the lands of the red men! Sooner bid a mother not seek for the child she has lost. The hunter loves the white maiden; he has travelled far to find her.—Does he now ask Oloompa to leave the red maiden a prisoner in the Prophet's camp? Far sooner would Oloompa be torn limb from limb, and thrown in fragments as food for dogs. Oloompa has spoken,—we must now part,”—and saying so, he extended his hand to Gay.