As the savage finished, he stooped and placed his ear to the ground. In this position he remained for some time, when, satisfied with his vigil, he stepped to a gigantic oak and thrust his arm into a dark aperture in its side.
Kate Blount watched him eagerly.
When Swamp Oak withdrew his arm, a portion of the tree swung open like a door, which unexpected action drew a cry of astonishment from the girl’s lips.
“So Swamp Oak and his squaw live in a tree?” she said, smiling at the novelty of the thought.
“No,” murmured the Indian, “they dwell below the tree. Come!”
He caught Kate’s arm and led her beyond the living threshold of his strange home; and she stood against the inner wall of the tree, while he closed the door and made it secure again.
Then he gently assisted her down a ladder formed of poles and sinews, and at last Kate found herself upon firm, stony ground, thirty feet below the roots of the tree.
In the gloom the Peoria paused, and a loud bird-call pealed from his lips.
It received no answer. He called again, and in the suspense that followed the cry, Kate felt a shudder flit over the red-skin’s tawny frame.
“Ulalah must sleep,” said Swamp Oak, in a tone full of uncertainty and fears. “Swamp Oak has not kissed her for ten sleeps, and she has grown weary waiting for him. We will awake her, Lone Dove. Come!”