“Who fired at Alaska’s boy?” asked the Wolf-Queen, when Mayne Fairfax sought her lodge, after Girty’s shot.
His face indicated that his young life had been attempted.
“I know not,” he answered. “The ball almost touched my cheek.”
“Who would shoot Co Hago, but the White Chief?” cried Alaska, springing to his side. “Whence came the ball?”
Fairfax stepped to the opening, and indicated the path of the renegade’s bullet.
“Yes, yes; the White Chief fired the lead at Co Hago,” she said, “but why did he not hit him? White Chief never misses. He has the eye of an eagle.”
“Providence turned the ball aside,” said Fairfax.
Alaska stared at the young hunter, unable to comprehend his words.
“The Great Spirit saved Co Hago,” he said, that she might understand him.
“The Great Spirit?” she said, in a low tone, drawing him back into the lodge. “A long time ago, when Alaska’s head and heart were not sore, she sung songs to the Great Spirit, beside a little stream where the birds warbled their happy hymns.”