At last the wigwam loomed up between him and the golden worlds that almost dazzled his eyes when he looked aloft. Instead of two figures before Eudora’s lodge, three greeted his vision. The third figure was gigantic in its proportions, and easily recognized as the renegade, Jim Girty!
Fearful of his intentions, the renegade had added himself to the guard of the prison lodge.
An expression of dismay enthroned itself upon the young Virginian’s face, as his eyes fell upon Girty, and he gazed at the man a long time, before he gave utterance to his thoughts.
“I am baffled for to-night,” he murmured. “Jim Girty fears me, and guards his prisoner the closer. I must bide my time. He will relax his vigilance some time, his guards will sleep some night, when I shall tear Eudora from them. Can I wait until they sleep? No, no, I will not wait, for the renegade nightly changes his sentries. I must seek subtle assistance; but where shall I look for that? I am a Shawnee now; will not a brother aid me? Shall a mean, white dog baffle the King of the Wolves?” and a smile played with the young man’s lips, as he mentioned his title. “No, I swear he shall not. I wonder if Hewitt and Oonalooska will return to assist me?”
With this muttered interrogation, Fairfax retraced his steps, attended by his solitary guard.
It was near midnight, for the beautiful constellation of Cygnus had gained the meridian, and, in all its magnificence, was slowly sinking toward the western horizon.
Suddenly the hoot of the great horned night-owl came dismally distinct from the densely-wooded knoll to the right of the village.
The Wolf-King paused, and his companion pricked up his long, ashen ears.
Thrice that doleful hoot was repeated, and, as the last echo died away in the recesses of the forest, Fairfax wheeled and walked rapidly toward the spot.
What to him was the hoot of an owl?