Then the band ascended to the forest again, Omaha, the giant, bearing the still unconscious girl in his arms, as though she were a babe.
In single file, through the ghostly forest, the Indians advanced, and by and by the body of Hawkeye was added to the train.
“Tell me where I am!” suddenly cried the captive, startling every Indian with her voice. “I recollect the boat, the red-skin on the cliff, then— Oh, heavens, am I really in the clutches of the fiends?”
“Silver Rifle in Omaha’s arms,” said the jailer, with a faint smile. “Indian shoot when girl go to get in boat.”
“And the ring! Where is that ring, chief?”
Omaha looked up and encountered Oagla’s eye.
“Ring in Gitche Gumee,” he answered. “It lost forever now.”
“Omaha lies!” boldly cried the Girl Trailer. “I saw the look your chief shot at you. He has the ring, and unless he gives it back to me he shall fall as Hawkeye fell.”
“Pale girl shoot Injuns no more,” was the response. “She die when she git to Chippewa’s lodge.”
“We’ll talk more of dying when we get there,” said Silver Rifle. “Fortune—”