THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH-SHOTS.
Let us witness the return of Tecumseh, and follow the great chief and
the Wolf-Queen to the hermit’s cave.
Jim Girty did not desert his post, when he found the wigwam
tenantless. On the contrary, he told his band to increase their
vigilance, and remained immobile in the doorway of the lodge. He knew
when Oonalooska disappeared with his prisoner, and he breathed freer
than he had done for long hours. A run of three hours would bring the
young brave to the homes of the exiled Mingoes, across the threshold
of which, even Tecumseh, with all his greatness, dared not step, upon
other than a friendly mission.
He felt that he could conciliate Tecumseh, and that, when the spasm
of frenzy, that now ruled Alaska’s heart, passed away, he could
command Oonalooska to return with the captive.
The storm, which proved of brief duration, did no damage to the
village, and midnight brought Tecumseh.
Several braves deserted Alaska to greet the returning band, and
presently the mighty Shawnee, with angry countenance, faced the
white-faced renegade.
Jim Girty had learned to read his chieftain’s face, and in the
ghostly glare of the torches, he read thereon an unsuccessful
expedition. Tecumseh was in a fit mood to wreak vengeance on any man
who owned a white skin.
With drawn tomahawk he paused before the renegade, and shouted, as
his eyes drank in the whole scene:
“White Wolf, deliver the Pale Flower to Alaska!”
“The White Wolf will obey his chief,” answered Girty, shooting the
mad-woman a singular look. “Let Tecumseh enter the lodge, and lead
the captive to the Wolf-Queen.”
As he finished, he stepped aside, and Tecumseh sprung into the lodge.
One loud yell parted the chief’s lips as his eyes fell upon the
untenanted couch, and a moment later his brawny hand closed on
Girty’s throat.
“White Wolf’s tongue is forked!” he cried. “Let him tell Tecumseh
where the Pale Flower is, or die!”
“The White Wolf knows not,” gasped the white liar. “She has been
stolen while we watched.”
The chief’s grip relaxed, and, at his command, Girty was bound, and a
guard placed over him.
Alaska could scarcely be restrained from throwing her wolves upon the
prostrate renegade.
A brief examination revealed the gash in the bark, and instantly the
braves were called. One was missing--Oonalooska, the son of Okalona,
the aged Medicine of the Shawnees. _He_ was the traitor, and, if
captured, his doom would be a terrible one, and speedy.
Tecumseh’s blood boiled in his dark veins, and his angry passions
were stirred to their depths. All fatigue incurred by the recent
war-expedition, instantly left him, and he called around him a band
of picked warriors. Alaska panted to pursue the traitor, and his
companion, and throwing herself at the head of the party, she placed
her wolves upon Oonalooska’s trail, and away they went, through the
forest, toward the hermit’s cave.
The renegade was not permitted to accompany the pursuing party;
instead, he found himself under the vigilant eyes of five braves, who
bore him to his lodge, and threw themselves around it.
He knew that his captivity would not last beyond the return of
Tecumseh, over whom, when calm, he held some influence.
The war-whoop of Tecumseh and the dismal howl of Leperto, that
ushered in the clear, frosty autumn morning, was answered by a savage
growl from the hermit’s canine companion, who yearned to encounter
the mad-woman’s wolves.
No human answer following the blow delivered by Tecumseh’s tomahawk,
the chief bestowed a second upon the door, and shouted:
“Tecumseh, the war-chief of the Shawnees, demands the person of
Oonalooska, the red traitor, and the Pale Flower. Let the Lone Man
speak!”
The hermit’s answer was not long delayed.
“Is Tecumseh an empty fool, that he should seek the blood of the Pale
Flower, snatched from her home by the lying White Wolf? If he is
not, let him return to his lodge, the greatest chief of the Shawnee
nation.”
“The Wolf-Queen seeks the Pale Flower. Tecumseh wants the traitor
Oonalooska,” was the reply.
“Then let Tecumseh take them!” was the defiant reply, at which a
second war-cry smote the air, and the Shawnee drew back from the
portals.
“Tecumseh will take them!” he cried, “and beside Oonalooska shall
burn the Lone Man of the woods.”
“No, no!” shrieked mad Alaska. “The Lone Man shot Lupino. _He_ shall
die by the teeth of Alaska’s wolves.”
“So be it,” answered Tecumseh, and in a loud tone he commanded his
warriors to heap fagots against the door of the cave.
The command was obeyed with alacrity, and Tecumseh and several of
his favorite chiefs drew back to witness the work of burning out the
besieged whites. Near him stood the Wolf-Queen, amid her wolfish
guard, and the terrible light of anticipated vengeance danced in her
eyes.
The work went on without interruption for many minutes, during which
period the golden god of day lazily scaled the oriental horizon, and
threw his warm beams upon the swarthy band.
Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rent the gentle breeze that
flitted through the woods, and the stalwart chief, whose shoulder
touched Tecumseh, staggered back with a bloody, crushed temple.
Instantly the braves left their work, and gathered around the
stricken chief. Whence came the deadly missile? An examination showed
that the ball had been fired from an elevated position, and the
leafless top of every tree was scanned with vengeful eyes. But the
mysterious slayer remained undiscovered.
“Back!” shouted Tecumseh, after a prolonged search, and the warriors
returned to the cave. “Haste with the work! Tecumseh yearns to see
the traitor, and the Lone Man die.”
At length the last gathered bough was thrust into the mouth of the
cave, and Tecumseh turned to Nethoto, a chief not below his august
self in prowess, when a second rifle report smote his ears; and
Nethoto staggered back--dead!
Horror-stricken, Tecumseh shrunk aghast from the work of death, and
for the first time in all his life displayed a frightened face to his
braves.
He felt that his turn would come next, and instantly, as if in
confirmation of that mental conclusion, a voice rung throughout the
forest.
“Let Tecumseh hasten to his lodge, else he never steps upon another
war-trail!”
The savages gazed wildly around as the tones fell upon their ears,
and then looked at their chief, who seemed to have grown into a
statue--so motionless and pale he stood.
Alaska was the first to break the silence.
“Ha! ha! ha!” she laughed, as she caught one of her wolves, and
threw him upon the dead body of Nethoto. “The Great Spirit slays
Nethoto, who once struck Alaska with a whip. Let Tecumseh return to
the village; but Alaska and her wolves will stay. They will enter the
Lone Man’s cave and devour him. The Great Spirit loves Alaska and her
wolves. Ha! ha! ha!” and she clapped her hands with glee to see the
wolves tear Nethoto to pieces.
Tecumseh knew not how to act. He feared the Wolf-Queen, in awe of
whom his warriors stood, and at his bidding they would remain. If he
stayed, death would soon enter his heart.
The Wolf-Queen did not notice his indecision. With fiendish delight
she was throwing wolf after wolf upon the dead chief.
All at once her brutal actions came to an abrupt termination.
A third shot echoed throughout the wood, and Leperto, the king of the
wolves, sprung back from the corpse--a corpse himself.
A heart-chilling shriek welled from Alaska’s throat, as she sprung
forward and pressed the dead wolf to her bosom. A moment she gazed
wildly around, as if searching for the mysterious slayer, and then,
with an indescribable horror of countenance, she darted from the
tragic spot, followed by her wolves, Tecumseh and his braves.
It was the first time that Tecumseh ever turned his back upon the foe.
Convulsively to her heart the crazy queen pressed Leperto. She tried
to stanch his crimson tide with her long tresses, but it seemed to
flow the faster, and her trail was one of gore.
“Not long will Tecumseh remain in his beaded lodge,” hissed the great
chief to a plumed Indian, at whose side he ran. “He will return, and
hunger shall drive the pale ones, with the red traitor, from the hole
in the ground, and the blood of Sagasto and Nethoto shall be poured
upon their heads.”
The mad-woman thought of nothing but her dead wolf; but very soon
other and more terrible thoughts would rule her shattered brain.