“Here, Letheto,” he called to the fiercest of the wolves, extending a hunk of the poisoned venison to the monster creature. “Newaska—”
There was a sudden parting of the curtains, and the wolves mistress appeared!
“Why tarries Newaska in Alaska’s lodge?” she demanded, gazing upon the savage’s fearful face, revealed by the light thrown out from the dying fire in the center of the lodge. “Ha! he fears Alaska’s wolves. Does he not know that no hand save Alaska’s shall give them meat?”
Before an answer could be framed, a terrible light shot from the mad queen’s distended eyes, and her bony hand closed on the prisoner’s throat.
A cry, half-shriek, half-groan, welled from Newaska’s heart, as the fingers tightened on his throat, and he felt himself hurled back.
The next moment several heavy weights fell upon him; he felt dreadful fangs pulling at his throat; then sense left him; he gasped once or twice, a tremor crept over his frame, and life was ended for Newaska.
Alaska tried to save the young chief when it was too late—when Letheto’s sharp teeth had severed his jugulars, for it seemed that not until then did she recognize his danger.
“See!” she cried, as she tore the wolves from the inanimate but still warm body, “he killed two of Alaska’s children! He killed them with his meat! Oh, why did the Great Spirit permit this? Alaska never harmed Newaska! When he became one of White Chief’s braves, she did not say no. White Chief! Oh, he did this—he, the child of Watchemenetoc.”
As she finished, she caught the two dead wolves in her arms, and darted from the lodge.
Beyond its portals she paused, and a minute later was about to dart toward the renegade’s lodge, when voices came to her ears from the hills to her right.