“Then let Tecumseh take them!” was the defiant reply, at which a second war-cry smote the air, and the Shawnee drew back from the portals.
“Tecumseh will take them!” he cried, “and beside Oonalooska shall burn the Lone Man of the woods.”
“No, no!” shrieked mad Alaska. “The Lone Man shot Lupino. He shall die by the teeth of Alaska’s wolves.”
“So be it,” answered Tecumseh, and in a loud tone he commanded his warriors to heap fagots against the door of the cave.
The command was obeyed with alacrity, and Tecumseh and several of his favorite chiefs drew back to witness the work of burning out the besieged whites. Near him stood the Wolf-Queen, amid her wolfish guard, and the terrible light of anticipated vengeance danced in her eyes.
The work went on without interruption for many minutes, during which period the golden god of day lazily scaled the oriental horizon, and threw his warm beams upon the swarthy band.
Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rent the gentle breeze that flitted through the woods, and the stalwart chief, whose shoulder touched Tecumseh, staggered back with a bloody, crushed temple.
Instantly the braves left their work, and gathered around the stricken chief. Whence came the deadly missile? An examination showed that the ball had been fired from an elevated position, and the leafless top of every tree was scanned with vengeful eyes. But the mysterious slayer remained undiscovered.
“Back!” shouted Tecumseh, after a prolonged search, and the warriors returned to the cave. “Haste with the work! Tecumseh yearns to see the traitor, and the Lone Man die.”
At length the last gathered bough was thrust into the mouth of the cave, and Tecumseh turned to Nethoto, a chief not below his august self in prowess, when a second rifle report smote his ears; and Nethoto staggered back—dead!