Leaving the cave, they hurried toward the Indian village, and ensconced themselves in a thicket that commanded a tolerable view of Tecumseh’s home.
From that thicket soon arose the hoot of an owl, three times repeated; then all was still as the night.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE KING OF THE WOLVES.
Gradually the shades of night fell around the Indian town, and, unattended by human escort, a form emerged from Alaska’s lodge.
The step proclaimed the person a white, but the costume an Indian. A great blanket covered the body, the nether limbs were inclosed in close-fitting leggins, and a circlet of feathers surrounded the head. At the person’s feet trotted a large wolf, which ever and anon ran before its master, and gazed up into his face with a puzzled expression.
The solitary walker was Mayne Fairfax, now Co Hago, King of the Wolves!
He had left Alaska’s lodge, with her knowledge and consent, for a stroll—not an unpremeditated one—through the village. He had declined Tecumseh’s invitation to tread with him the war-trail, on the pretense that his wounds unfitted him for service, when his wounds had ceased from troubling.
He had cause for remaining in the Shawnee town.
The night was well advanced when he left his “mother’s” lodge, and his footsteps tended toward that portion of the “town” wherein was situated Eudora’s prison.
The night was not intensely dark, for the stars threw shadows, and Fairfax kept in the darkest spots as he approached the place well marked by him the preceding day. When quite near the lodge, he dropped upon all fours, and glided forward in that manner.