The last words were couched in a determined tone, but the captive did not reply, he looked into Nehonesto’s eyes, as though he but half-credited the words regarding the fate of his master.
“Nogawa,” and as Nehonesto spoke, he drew his scalping-knife from his wampum girdle, “you must lead us to the Lone Dove. Nehonesto, like yourself, is an Ojibwa, but unless you do as he bids, the door of the lodge in the dark land will open to receive an Indian’s spirit. Speak, Nogawa—what will you do?”
For a moment the young Indian’s head dropped upon his breast, and when he raised it, his captors read the decision he had made in his dark eyes.
“Nogawa will obey his brother”—glancing at the knife; “what else should he do?”
“Then, quick upon the trail!” cried Somerville, who thought of the brave girl whose life, at that moment, might be in imminent danger.
The young Ojibwa obeyed by moving forward, his arm still encircled by the long fingers of Nehonesto.
“Where did the Yellow Bloodhound send Nogawa?” asked Nehonesto, as they walked cautiously down the bank of the Cahokia.
“He sent him with a band who hunted for the three pale-faces,” replied the Indian, “and Nogawa was to return and tell him if his eyes had fallen upon the dire Snake Queen.”
“And did Nogawa see Coleola?” asked our hero, a shudder creeping to his heart, as the dread woman appeared to his imagination, clothed in the hideousness of vengeance.
“He did!”