Then the strange man drew a repast from his store, and the victuals were discussed with a relish, and conversation in which they tried to forget their perilous situation.
Slowly the day waned, and, at length, a growl from the mastiff, who lay at the brush-burdened door, told the hunted that an Indian was near.
Then Oonalooska disappeared in the subterranean passage, already used during the progress of our romance; but presently returned with the information that several spies were in the wood, at the mouth of the cave.
The hour for escape had arrived.
“I’ve lived in this hole in the ground for eighteen years,” said the hermit, taking a mournful survey of the cave, whose walls were lined with the skins of all animals, “and you may think that it goes hard with me to leave it. But if I stay here now, Alaska’s wolves will drink Hewitt blood. I want to live till I can see my boy again, and—” here he turned away, and muttered in an undertone: “Yes, I’d like to see her, too. I could forgive her now; but, oh, God! will I ever meet my wife on earth more?”
A great tear dewed his tawny cheek, and a tremor crossed his giant frame, as he turned to the trio.
“Well, we’re ready now,” he said, calm again. “Here, girl, take the extra rifle. I’ve heard tell as how you can use it.”
“I can and will, if I must,” said Eudora, proudly, as she took the proffered firearm.
The hermit stepped to the further end of the cave, and revealed a gloomy passage, by throwing aside a wolf-skin that concealed it.
“Lead off, Oona,” he said, addressing the Indian. “Wolf and I’ll bring up the rear.”