It was DeNortier most probably; like a sleuth hound after his quarry he would run them to earth before he slackened pace. But the lady would be in as bad conditions in his hands as in Dunraven's.
"Winona," I said, bending over nearer to her, "wilt tell me something?"
"Yes," she answered, looking up at me with her soft black eyes perilously close to mine, a deep red color in her cheeks. "What is it that the Eagle wishes?"
I drew back hurriedly and sat down, for I liked not those soft looks.
"Where is the white squaw?" I asked.
She hesitated and drew back. "It would mean my death," she whispered, "should they find it out, and yet I will tell thee. They are four days' journey above us, near the banks of the great river."
Four days' journey from me—and yet I sat here with folded arms, while she, a captive in the hands of Dunraven, wrung her white hands and endured I knew not what. No, I would make one attempt to break loose from the Cherokees to rescue her, though I lost my life in the effort.
The Indian maid had finished the moccasins, and with them in her hands had risen to go.
"I must go," she said demurely, as though she had not sat with me for two hours alone. "Occoma will be searching for me if I stay longer. Let the Eagle take the moccasins," she continued shyly, as she extended them to me, "for of a truth he needs them," with a ringing laugh. And evading my outstretched hands, she ran from the hut.
I looked down at my worn-out boots. She had spoken the truth, for I needed them if ever mortal did. Stooping, I took off my ragged footgear and replaced them with the soft new moccasins, and then, like a little child with a new toy, I paraded down the streets.