The interview was not prolonged, for so soon as he had felt the chief’s heart, he returned to his lodge.
“I have it at last!” and a minute later he darted from his wigwam, much to the surprise of the guards. “I will make mad the hearts of Nethoto and Sagasto’s squaws, and by heaven! they will tear the captives from Alaska. Tecumseh dare not interfere, then,” and with this new idea from his internal prompter, he hurried toward the lodges of the widowed squaws.
To the hermit and Oonalooska the night seemed a long while coming.
They sat in the demi-gloom of the prison cabin, and watched the rise and fall of the god of day. True to the Shawnee’s words, the savages relaxed their vigilance, and long ere the shades of night fell, a portion of the guard were withdrawn, which action left but three on duty.
“Now for freedom, Oona,” said Hewitt, feeling about in the gloom till his hand touched the savage, who was listening to the conversation of the guards without the hut. “The Indians are recounting their brave deeds, eh? Well, they’ll get to fighting over them after a while; but we’ll not stay to hear the thumps.”
The Shawnee turned from the door, and a minute later, standing upon the giant hermit’s shoulders, he was cutting a hole in the bark above their heads.
To the noisy guard the knife made no noise, and at length Oonalooska sprung to the ground.
Hewitt looked up, and saw the stars through the aperture.
“Now, Oona,” he said, clambering toward the perforated roof, “I’ll go first, and you may follow.”