“Ah! my bird!” said old Nokomis, raising her withered hands. “It is no use—it is too late.”
“What do you mean, Nokomis?” demanded Winona.
“White Eagle has answered the call of the Great Spirit,” replied the old woman, with a sob.
“Dead! My father!”
The girl gave one quick, heart-breaking cry, and would have fallen had not Warren caught her in his arms. Gently he raised her, and followed Judah into another room, and laid her on a bed.
“Ah,” said the lad, “how will she bear it if it is true, when she gets back her senses? How shall we both bear it?”
“Come, let us see if nothing can be done for your father. Nokomis may be mistaken.”
“Yes, true;” replied the boy in a hopeless tone.
Back in the kitchen where Mr. Maybee was already applying restoratives. Warren began an examination of the inanimate form before them. It was the figure of a fine, handsome man of sixty years, and well-preserved. They stripped back the hunting shirt and Warren deftly felt for the wound. As he leaned over him, he gave a startled exclamation, and rising erect ejaculated:
“This is no accident. It is murder!”