“He was hunted by Chopah, who heard his flying feet in the forest.”
“Then,” said Hondurah, “he lives!”
“The young braves have lied,” hissed Chopah, gritting his teeth, as he gazed upon the mark.
Hondurah folded his arms, drew himself to his full hight, and fastened his eye upon the terrible double cross.
His warriors watched him narrowly, and saw the sinews of anger, black and terrible, that swept across his face.
“Hondurah,” he said at length, “is father to a snake. That snake may live, for he would hardly bear a corpse away. Warriors, Hondurah is a father no more; he is an avenger. Throw yourselves upon the trails of the pale-faces; but do not touch Clearwater. When you find her hiding-place, speed swiftly to Hondurah, for he, and he alone, shall punish the traitress.”
“Will he slay his own child?” asked an old warrior, meekly.
“Question not Hondurah,” was the stern reply. “Seek the white-faces. He will hunt the traitress, whose fate shall be more terrible than the wolf’s when the brave has trapped him. Watch now the caves of Gitche Gumee. Throw your selves at once upon the trail, and if Yucata crosses it, strike him dead and bring his scalp to me.”
With the last word the chief turned toward the village.
“What would Hondurah do?” questioned Chopah.