A brief examination revealed the gash in the bark, and instantly the braves were called. One was missing—Oonalooska, the son of Okalona, the aged Medicine of the Shawnees. He was the traitor, and, if captured, his doom would be a terrible one, and speedy.
Tecumseh’s blood boiled in his dark veins, and his angry passions were stirred to their depths. All fatigue incurred by the recent war-expedition, instantly left him, and he called around him a band of picked warriors. Alaska panted to pursue the traitor, and his companion, and throwing herself at the head of the party, she placed her wolves upon Oonalooska’s trail, and away they went, through the forest, toward the hermit’s cave.
The renegade was not permitted to accompany the pursuing party; instead, he found himself under the vigilant eyes of five braves, who bore him to his lodge, and threw themselves around it.
He knew that his captivity would not last beyond the return of Tecumseh, over whom, when calm, he held some influence.
The war-whoop of Tecumseh and the dismal howl of Leperto, that ushered in the clear, frosty autumn morning, was answered by a savage growl from the hermit’s canine companion, who yearned to encounter the mad-woman’s wolves.
No human answer following the blow delivered by Tecumseh’s tomahawk, the chief bestowed a second upon the door, and shouted:
“Tecumseh, the war-chief of the Shawnees, demands the person of Oonalooska, the red traitor, and the Pale Flower. Let the Lone Man speak!”
The hermit’s answer was not long delayed.
“Is Tecumseh an empty fool, that he should seek the blood of the Pale Flower, snatched from her home by the lying White Wolf? If he is not, let him return to his lodge, the greatest chief of the Shawnee nation.”
“The Wolf-Queen seeks the Pale Flower. Tecumseh wants the traitor Oonalooska,” was the reply.