The flying moments seemed endless to Eudora Morriston, who sat in her lodge waiting for the coming of her rescuers.
Hour after hour flitted past, and the fearful captive listened in vain for her lover’s step. The two guards, tired of gambling, stood like statues before the birchen portals of the strong wigwam, their ears catching every sound, and their vigilant eyes noting every dark form that crossed their line of vision.
At last a footfall greeted her ear but it was not her lover’s.
His well-known tread she could not mistake for another’s, and, wondering who approached she moved to the door, and peered through a crevice upon the scenes beneath the stars.
She saw the form of an Indian nearing the guards. He made no pretensions to stealth, for he walked erect, and when near the lodge, one of the guards demanded his mission.
“I am Giangomah, the Black Whirlwind,” he answered, with much pomposity. “I have a message for the ear of Chabaro.”
Chabaro hastened eagerly forward, but Giangomah waved him back.
“Let Chabaro not desert his post,” he said, advancing, with his right hand hidden from sight, in an unsuspicious manner.
The guard resumed his post.
Eudora’s heart beat high, for she doubted not that Giangomah was Mayne’s red friend sent by him to deliver her.