“Manitowoc calls Tecumseh,” was the reply. “The great chief and Alaska are at the Lone Man’s hole in the ground.”
The reply sent an indescribable feeling to the prisoners’ hearts, and no wonder.
All—with, perhaps, a single exception—felt that they had marched from the cave to doom.
CHAPTER VII.
ALASKA IN HER FRENZY.
The shrill whoop was answered by the glare of a multitude of torches, and the rushing sound of many feet.
All the prisoners, save Oonalooska, were unbound, but closely guarded. The swarthy Shawnee stood proudly erect, with his hands tied upon his back, and his nether limbs bound by tried deer-thongs. He looked defiance at his captors, in whose faces he read the terrible doom. Tecumseh would speak for him when he arrived.
Suddenly the great chief halted before the circle, and a shout of triumph parted his red lips as his eyes fell upon Oonalooska. The captive calmly returned that vengeful look, and something like a sarcastic smile, played with his lips.
A step behind Tecumseh towered Alaska, the Wolf-Queen, and a wild cry rose from her throat, as she discovered Eudora, standing beside the hermit, who seemed her mighty protector.
The next moment she flung her torch to the earth, and caught up one of her mad black wolves. Her eyes flashed their fire upon the maiden, as she executed a forward step, with the snarling animal poised above her head. Her mad intention could not be mistaken. She had long been in the habit of hurling her animals upon the objects of her vengeance, and the white, glistening teeth were instantly buried in that with which they came in contact.
Now for Eudora’s delicate flesh were these dread fangs intended, and before the maid could shrink, the wolf went hissing through the air. A shriek parted the girl’s pale lips, as the giant hermit threw himself before her, and his great hand shot forward, to close on the animal’s throat.