“Amasqua and her women must be wary,” said the renegade, “Alaska’s children bite.”
“We will first transfix them with arrows.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Girty, “then Amasqua can take the white lout’s heart.”
Thus was the plot for the violent death of our three male friends concocted, and it is not to be wondered that the renegade returned to his lodge with heart elate.
During the short interval that elapsed between his return and dawn, he slept but little, and when the first streak of day penetrated the village he sprung from his couch.
After glancing into Eudora’s apartment, and finding her still asleep, he set to work cleaning his rifle.
“I may need the gun,” he said in an undertone, “and now above all times it should be cleaned. Tecumseh says that weak lout is Alaska’s child. Who’d have thought that crazy hag would take such an outlandish notion? Her boy! So am I, then, and I know that I am old enough to be her father. Curse the weakling! If he hadn’t come into these parts, I’d ’a’ been enjoying myself with the girl—after the Indian fashion she would have been my wife. And then that crazy hag would not be against me. Oh! curse that boy!”
As he uttered the imprecation, he dashed a fierce look toward Alaska’s lodge, plainly visible from his own.
“If the lout would show himself now, I’d shoot him,” hissed Girty, “ay, and none could tell whence the shot came, for all save my guards still sleep. Why don’t he take an airing? I wish—Ha! have I no more than to wish?”
As if intent upon the gratification of the renegade’s desires, Mayne Fairfax parted the curtains of Alaska’s lodge, and stepped beyond the threshold, where he paused to enjoy the beauties of the morning.