For some minutes the mad queen busied herself with the fire, when all at once she turned, and, grasping Fairfax’s arm hurried him into the inner apartment.
“Let the young pale-face recline upon the wild skins,” said Alaska, pointing to a couch, deep with finely tanned skins, and as soft as down. “Let him rest his limbs until Alaska brings him the meat of the deer, and puts good herbs on his wounds.”
Without a word Fairfax obeyed, and the Wolf-Queen glided from the chamber.
Beyond the partition the young hunter heard her bustling about, now and then speaking a command to the wolves, that seemed inclined to be obstreperous.
At length she returned, and placed some smoking venison before the hunter upon a strip of bark. In a wooden vessel she bore some steaming gruel, which seemed to infuse strength in the hunter’s frame. Mayne Fairfax sat up on the edge of the couch as he discussed the repast, and from him the eyes of the queen were never drawn.
“Now,” said Alaska, as the hungry hunter drained the wooden bowl, “Alaska will dress the white-face’s wounds.”
That his wounds needed attention Fairfax well knew, for they pained him exceedingly, and falling back upon the couch he motioned to the queen to proceed.
Instantly she rose and left the apartment, but soon returned, bearing a cup, containing many kinds of bruised herbs. Kneeling over the hunter she drew aside his hunting-shirt, and displayed the bandages the hermit had placed over the wound made by her barbed shaft.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the queen. “Alaska’s shaft struck deep! and the young hunter was very near Kajai Manitou, when the Lone Man shot Lupino.”
As she spoke she continued to display the white flesh of the hunter, and suddenly, as the hunting garments crept over his right shoulder, she sprung to her feet with a guttural cry, and stared at the member just exposed to view.