Chapter Ninety Four.
The End of Arens Ringgold.
I had not the slightest idea of the chief’s intention, or what was the nature of the spectacle I had been promised. Somewhat impatient, I questioned him.
“A new way of winning a mistress,” said he, with a smile.
“But who is the lover?—who to be the mistress?” I inquired.
“Patience, Randolph, and you shall see. Oh! it is a rare experiment—a most cunning plot, and would be laughable were it not for the tragedy mixed up with it. You shall see. But for a faithful friend, I should not have known of it, and would not have been here to witness it. For my presence and your life, as it now appears—more still, perhaps, the safety of your sister—you are indebted to Haj-Ewa.”
“Noble woman!”
“Hist! they are near—I hear the tread of hoofs. One—two—three. It must be they—yes—yonder. See!”