“Who sent him thither?”
“Either Silver Rifle or the White Tiger!”
In the terrible suspense of calm that followed, Oagla turned upon our heroine.
“Who shot Hondurah?”
“Silver Rifle.”
A cry of rage burst from the red band, and the next moment a lithe young warrior leaped to Oagla’s side.
“There is the dog that stole the little talker!” he cried, pointing to Ahdeek. “He has given it to Silver Rifle. Oagla has sworn to make it talk to him. Make it talk now!”
Impulsively the chief stepped toward the girl, and in the light of a fire which several braves had kindled upon the forest meeting, the maiden shrunk back with blanched cheek and flashing eyes.
“Girl, give Oagla little talker!” demanded the chief.
“Unbind my hands, that I may do it,” was the reply. “What is it to Silver Rifle now? ’Tis near a spot which the Indian’s hand must not touch; but Silver Rifle will give it to him when she is free.”