Step by step Alaska retreated, with seven gaunt wolves covering her track, and, as she and the hunter glided into the double lodge, a chorus of baffled cries smote the air of night, and fell faintly upon listening ears far up the moonlit Scioto.
CHAPTER XV.
A LEAF FROM THE HERMIT’S LIFE.
The hermit and his red companion guided their steps toward the river, whose banks they were not long reaching; and, at last, somewhat fatigued, they ensconced themselves under a shelving ledge, secure from the observation of foes on land and water.
The hour of their greatest peril approached—that both men knew, and as they lay there waiting, Hewitt told the Indian the story of his past—a story which the brave and devoted savage was entitled to hear, that the white might be justified in his eyes.
“The Lone Man will tell Oonalooska all,” said Hewitt, answering to the expectant look in his companion’s eyes, as an expression of pain flitted across his face. He brushed something, very much like a translucent pearl, from his bronzed cheek, and began:
“Many years ago the Lone Man dwelt beyond the Kiskepila Sepe, in the great State, called by the whites Virginia. He was young then; though white his hair now, he is not old. When he grew to manhood he took a beautiful white maiden to his heart, and, in time, she gave the Lone Man a laughing little boy.”
Here emotion overcame the strong man, and, for many moments, his face was buried in his great hands.
“The Lone Man sighs for his boy,” he said at length. “Often the Lone Man left his wife and little one, and journeyed to the great city of Richmond. He never thought that a snake was creeping into his wigwam.
“One night the Lone Man returned to his lodge, and saw two shadows beyond the window. A great storm passed over his heart, his head burned with a strong fire, and he crept forward. From behind a giant oak that spread its branches over his cabin, the Lone Man saw another seated beside his wife, who rocked the cradle where slept his little boy. The strange white man was a hunter, and one arm he had thrown around the neck of Agnes.
“Hotter and hotter grew the Lone Man’s head, and when the hunter’s lips—unbearded, for he seemed no more than a beautiful boy—touched the rosy cheeks of Agnes, his rifle flew to his shoulder, and the young hunter fell across the cradle, with a bullet in his brain.