“Hear rifles in the dark woods?” he said, half interrogatively, and while he finished the sentence, the shots were repeated.
“The pale-faces are in the forest,” he cried. “We catch ’em ’fore day,” and after issuing a few necessary orders, he and ten warriors hastened to the scene of conflict; and a moment after the denunciation which, at the close of our last chapter, rung from Chopah’s lips, they reached the scene of danger and death.
“What means this?” demanded Hondurah, striding into the midst of the baffled party. “Did Chopah allow the pale worms to crawl away? Where are they now? Where is Hondurah’s child?”
His glance fell upon the recumbent forms, and a moment later he sprung to the motionless body of the tomahawked trader.
“Ha!” he cried; “the trader never trade by Gitche Gumee any more. He kill last Chippewa: there, take that, white dog!”
With the last word, he bestowed a brutal kick on the body and turned to his braves again.
“Chopah, tell Hondurah all,” he commanded; and turning from the young braves whom he had called liars, Chopah, with folded arms, faced his sachem.
Intently Hondurah listened to the narrative until Chopah mentioned the name of his child.
Then he started forward and touched the speaker’s arm.
“Clearwater help whites?”