“We hunt him when three captives safe,” he said. “We cut his heart out, an’ make him eat it—the base white dog. Now, braves—”
He paused abruptly, for a cry, similar to the one which he had just repeated, floated through the forest, and after a brief interval the chief replied in a like noise.
Then, for several moments, a conversation was carried on by means of bird-calls, and at last footsteps came from a certain quarter of the black wood.
Mossuit turned to his warriors, with an announcement that Oagla and his trail-hunters were approaching.
The meeting of the bands was unexpected, but quite cordial, and when Oagla recognized the captives, he started forward, with a cry of joy, and grasped Mossuit’s hand again.
“They escape no more!” he said. “Now Hondurah can rid the Chippewas of a traitress.”
Mossuit shook his head.
“Hondurah is on his last trail,” he said.
“On the trail which leads to the happy hunting-grounds?”
Mossuit nodded.