As he lay stretched upon the ground, leaning on one elbow, his face upturned towards that of the old man, a striking contrast was presented.
Like Oluski, his dress was also half Indian, half hunter, but more richly ornamented with bead-work, whilst a certain careful disposition of the attire, seemed not inappropriate to his youth and bearing.
It was, however, in his features that the difference was chiefly apparent.
In the attitude he had assumed, a ray of sunshine piercing a break between the trees, illumined his countenance.
Instead of the coppery colour of the Indian, his skin was of a rich olive, an unmistakeable sign that white blood flowed in his veins.
He was remarkably handsome. His features were regular, well defined, and admirably chiselled. His eyes were large and lustrous, overarched by a forehead that denoted the possession of intellect.
Like the old man, he wore a plume of eagle’s feathers on his head, as also a wampum belt; but in lieu of a blanket, a robe made of skin of the spotted lynx was thrown over his shoulders.
Oluski was the first to speak.
“Must Wacora depart to-day?” he asked.
“At sunset I must leave you, uncle,” replied the youth, who was his nephew, already spoken of as Wacora.