Mark edged his way through the throng, for a fancy had suddenly come to him, and he stood in the inner ring next the circle of dancers.
"Nellie! little Nellie! don't you remember Mark?" he said, in a piercing whisper, as she approached several paces in the van of her choir.
Ma-za-ri-ta slowed her pace, looking at him wonderingly with a flush of offended pride, for the little princess felt she was the queen of the Senecas, child as she was. Again as she neared his place she heard the words, "Nellie, can't you remember?" The beautiful child face was troubled, as though some dumb vague memory were stirring under the surface, but again she moved on, shaking her head. Bitterly did Mark bewail his failure to Buckskin, for, "I'm sure," he said, "she is our lost Nellie, and I can see our mother's look in her pretty eyes." Something worked like yeast in the old hunter's thoughts as he listened in silence to Mark's passionate rambling words that night, when all the camp was hushed to silence, and they lay tossing on their bear-skins.
"Why don't you answer?" the boy burst out, with petulance.
"Mark, I'm glad," the other said, deliberately, "that there seems to be no chance of takin' the little gal away by force or cheatin'. I rayther guess there's a doggone poor show of doin' anything that-a-way, and we might 'a' known it afore. But I'll swar she's her mother's darter, as ye said a minnit since, and when ye talk about the mother, thar's the key of the hull sityvashun, as the lawyer chaps ud say. Ye don't quite unnerstan' what I mean, hey? Waal, it's jes this, my young master. Your mammy must come down here to Cornplanter's village, and she'll do mor'n all the guns and bagnets of Gen'ral St. Clair's army to get the little gal back, ef so be she is the right one, and I genooinely believe it. The chief loves his adopted sister with every drop of his blood, and his people adore her as their little princess. They'd lay their lives down afore givin' her up, onless ye tech 'em jess right. But I know 'em well, blood-thirsty varmints and wild beasts as they are when you cross 'em, and a redskin's got a heart as beats big and strong as any white man's, ef ye can find it oncet. Then I've heerd uv Cornplanter fur the last fifteen year, and they all say he's one of the best as well as bravest critturs as ever wore a scalp-lock. Cheer up, laddie; we'll git her, but we can't do it yet. Trust ole Buckskin's idee."
Buckskin's solace scarcely calmed Mark's restlessness, and after the hunter's snores proved him in the realm of dreams, he arose with the idea of strolling through the moonlit village, and walking off the fancies that would not let him sleep. The lonely streets were wrapped in the pallid shine which silhouetted the log houses and the trees in ghostly shadows, and had it not been for the occasional howl of a distant wolf or the snarl of an Indian dog, he might have fancied himself the only waking creature. He wandered aimlessly, in a maze of fear and doubt what would be the outcome of it all. His careless footsteps finally carried him to the edge of the village, where, at the very shadow of the forest, stood a large double house apart from all the others. Then he saw he was not the only sleepless soul, for from its doorway glided a figure whose height and garb—for the moonlight glittered on the costly bead-work—showed it to be the one who filled his heart full to bursting. He forgot all prudence and doubt, and sprang forward swiftly.
"Nellie! Nellie!" he cried, in tones that cut the silent air like a knife. "I am your brother Mark—your playmate that loved you so dearly. Come home with me to mammy, who is dying for you, away from this dreadful place. A long time ago they carried you away from us, and now I've found you again, and will not let you go, my darling little sister." He forgot all the surroundings—all but need of giving voice to the feeling that shook him as the wind shakes the leaves in the trees.
Ma-za-ri-ta's face quivered in the starlight as she shrank from the hand that eagerly clutched her arm, as if he would have led her away at once; then something like half-awakened intelligence was quenched in a wave of blind terror, and she shrieked aloud.
A tall figure leaped like a tiger from the dark of the doorway, and Mark felt the grip of iron fingers on his throat which threatened to strangle him. As he lay helpless in that clutch, he saw an upraised tomahawk sparkling in the moonshine; but Cornplanter did not strike, though his words were edged with cutting disdain.
"Such is the honor of palefaces," said he; "from the cub to the full-grown wolf the same. The Senecas welcomed their guests and did them honor. Their hearts were warm and friendly, for it is now their festival of peace and goodwill. But what should they do to one who would steal in the dark, and rob them of their dearest?"