His devotion to Oluski had been so blindly true that, in his narrow-minded memory of the old chief’s wrongs, he had become bloodthirsty and remorseless. Naturally of a revengeful disposition, he saw, in the leniency of both Wacora and Nelatu towards the pale-faced maiden, too much of forgiveness.
This stirred his evil passions to their depth, and he sought for an opportunity to do her an injury.
With a shrewd guess at the truth, he looked upon Cris Carrol’s escape as another evidence of that toleration which ill consorted with his sanguinary hatred of the white race.
He dared not take open measures, but insidiously strove to turn the people of the tribe against their white captive, as well as Wacora.
His success was not commensurate with his wishes. They admired their chief too much to believe anything to his prejudice, and Maracota became himself looked upon as a restless agitator—a subject more zealous than loyal.
He saw, accordingly, that any injury to the captive must be accomplished by his own agency; the more so, as he had already endeavoured to excite a feeling of jealousy in Nelatu’s mind, of which she and Wacora were the objects. The generous youth not only refused belief, but angrily reproved the slanderer, for daring to couple his cousin’s name with an act so unworthy!
When a person resolves upon mischief it is astonishing how many opportunities present themselves.
Alice, although unsuspicious of the enmity of which she was the object, avoided Maracota. She did so from a different motive. She knew that it was he who had fired the fatal shot at her brother, and could not help regarding the act with abhorrence. His sister, how could she?
And, as his sister, how could she look upon his executioner without repugnance—more than repugnance—with horror?
The exigencies of the war had kept Maracota away from the town, and for long periods; but the same causes that brought Wacora back, also controlled his return.