“Boy,” suddenly said the giant, leading a tall and athletic young Indian into the mellow light of the fire, “here is the only visitor I have. The Bible says that it is not good for man to be alone always, so I picked up a companion. This is Oonalooska, the bravest young warrior of his tribe.”
Mayne Fairfax stretched forth his hand, and the young brave pressed it with no small degree of feeling.
“So the madwoman struck the white hunter?” said Oonalooska, half interrogatively, still retaining Fairfax’s hand.
“Yes; her shaft pierced my breast, and her wolf tore my throat.”
“She will be like a great storm now,” returned the Shawnee, “because one of her wolves is dead. Oonalooska fears for the Pale Flower in the Shawnee village.”
“Then she is there!” cried the young hunter, with eagerness.
“Yes,” answered Oonalooska, “she is under the fiery eyes of the White Wolf, and unless he guards her well, Alaska will tear her from him, and put her to the torture.”
“No, no!” cried Mayne Fairfax. “Hewitt, I feel strong enough to go and rescue her.”
“You’re as weak as a kitten,” said the giant, with a smile for the young hunter’s futile effort to rise. “We will send Oonalooska back to the village, and he shall report affairs for us. It will be a terrible conflict if affairs reach such a climax between Girty and Alaska, the Wolf-Queen; but Girty may still possess the strange influence he has held over her in days gone by. I am certain that a crisis will not be reached in the Shawnee village for some time.”
“But send Oonalooska thither at once,” cried Fairfax, “and tell him to tell Eudora that a friend seeks her rescue. And, Shawnee,” here he addressed Oonalooska, “if you can save the Pale Flower at once, do so, and convey her hither.”