“No, Nelatu, I would not injure your sister. Alas! I had already learned to love her. I would not hurt her for worlds. It is the wretch who has carried her away. I would have him suffer a thousand deaths, and every death more terrible than the other!”
“Tell me, what can I do? If I remain idle, I shall die!”
“Take three or four of my own people, follow every trail that promises to lead to where they are concealed, and having found the monster, bring him to me alive.”
Wacora’s eyes, as he uttered these words, blazed with passion.
“I would rather go alone,” said Nelatu.
“As you please; but remember, that there is one man you dare not trust, and yet he may be the means of finding Sansuta.”
“His name?”
“Crookleg, the negro.”
“But he, too, is missing.”
“I know it, and therefore he can lead you to their hiding-place, if he can be found. With Crookleg to assist you, you may succeed; without him your search will be fruitless.”