She had been told it was Wacora.
The young chief had been unremitting in his attentions, and showed great solicitude for her recovery. He found time, amidst the warlike preparations constantly going on, to make frequent calls at her dwelling, and make anxious inquiry about her progress.
The nurses who attended upon her did not fail to note his anxiety.
Nelatu had been absent and did not return to the town until she was convalescent.
He was grieved to the heart on hearing what had happened.
Wacora, suspecting that Maracota was the guilty one, sought him in every direction, but the vengeful warrior was nowhere to be found.
He had fled from the presence of his indignant chief.
It was not until long after that his fate became known.
He had been captured in his flight by some of the settlers, and shot; thus dying by the hands of the enemies he so hated.
Several weeks elapsed, and no active movement had, as yet, been made by the government troops. Wacora’s tribe still continued to reside in their town undisturbed.