“Oonalooska,” was the response, and the eyes of the King of the Wolves fell upon the Shawnee.
“Back Letheto!” he cried, striking the wolf at his side, slowly advancing upon Oonalooska, who awaited him, with a ready knife.
“White hunter is welcome,” said Oonalooska with a smile. “Let the chief lead him to the Lone Man.”
The Shawnee guided Fairfax forward, and they soon stood before the hermit.
“Boy!” cried Hewitt, springing to his feet, and griped the young man’s hand. “Have you turned Shawnee, too?”
“Yes,” answered Fairfax, glancing at the animal crouched at his feet. “I am the son of Alaska, a Shawnee, and the King of the Wolves.”
“Adopted, with the freedom to go and come?” said Hewitt.
“Yes, in every sense, a Shawnee.”
Then, in brief mention, Fairfax related his adventures in the Shawnee village, since his capture, and when he had finished the hermit spoke.
“It is strange that that mad-woman should recognize you as her son by the mole on your shoulder,” he said; “but, we must not talk of that now. You must be in her lodge before dawn, and day is not far distant. We must talk fast. In the shape of Okalona, the Medicine-man of the Shawnees, you will find a valuable assistant. He hates Tecumseh and Girty, and they hate him. Go to him to-morrow. Tell him that you were sent to his lodge by his son, and all will be well. He deals in drugs that put men to sleep.”