A minute later, the twain glided from the cave, now tenanted by the three corpses that formed a ghastly group in the center.
CHAPTER XII.
THE BRITISH MAJOR’S PLOT.
A short time after gaining the bottom of the cliffs with his captives, Wacomet the Ottawa paused before what seemed to be a dense net-work of creepers attached to the gray rocks. It was near midnight now, and an ominous silence brooded everywhere. When first the traitor left the cave, he heard Leather-lips and Speckled Snake signaling the other braves; but now the signals were no longer heard, and, fearing that the two wings had come together, the Ottawa hurried his prisoners over the stones faster than ever, taking good care to keep in the shade of the cliffs, for the moon was scaling the eastern horizon, and would soon make objects in the deep ravine easily distinguishable.
The two captives drew long breaths of relief when at last the Indian halted, and Effie found herself wondering if his home was not near, for she was much fatigued, and her feet were sore. She was about to question Wacomet regarding the location of the hidden spot, when he suddenly strode forward toward the tangled vines, and his captives were surprised to see him part the long hangers with his right hand, and display an opening leading straight into the rock.
“The hidden spot,” ejaculated Effie St. Pierre, looking up into the major’s face. “The sharpest spy in the world would pass and repass this place a thousand times and never discover it.”
The sharp ear of Wacomet caught the girl’s words, uttered scarce above a whisper, and he said, as he pushed his captives into the gloom, springing after them himself:
“Yes, the serpent has crawled by Wacomet’s hole in the ground, and never entered, for his sharp eyes saw it not. Wacomet tracked the she-grizzly here once, entered boldly, slew her with his knife, and brought thither his red mistress.”
The corridor leading to the main cave proved a tortuous way; but at last the party reached the termination. A light burned in the center of the apartment, and before it, arranging gaudy feathers in her long black hair, sat Wacomet’s red queen. She arose to greet her master, but when her dark, lustrous eyes fell upon the beauteous Effie St. Pierre, her hands clenched involuntarily, and her lips quivered with passion.
“Who does Wacomet bring to his cave home?” she demanded, a flush of anger mounting to her temples.