THE CONFERENCE ON THE KNOLL.
For many minutes silence reigned between the two watchers upon the
knoll, when the hermit suddenly laid his cold hand on Oonalooska’s
bare arm.
“What sees the Lone Man?” questioned the Shawnee.
“An Indian; look yonder!” and Hewitt directed Oonalooska’s gaze to
the right of the spot they occupied.
The full-orbed goddess of the night was slowly scaling the eastern
horizon, and against her disk, in striking bas-relief, appeared the
form of a man. He stood in a listening attitude, but not alone, for
beside him stood a huge animal, resembling in the mellow light, a
wolf. The twain were scarce twenty feet from the white man and his
red companion!
“It must be Okalona,” whispered Oonalooska, after surveying the man
before them, “for he came at Oonalooska’s owl hoot.”
A second note rose from Oonalooska’s throat and he whispered:
“_White hunter._”
The person addressed turned abruptly upon the chief.
“Who calls?” he cried.
“Oonalooska,” was the response, and the eyes of the King of the
Wolves fell upon the Shawnee.
“Back Letheto!” he cried, striking the wolf at his side, slowly
advancing upon Oonalooska, who awaited him, with a ready knife.
“White hunter is welcome,” said Oonalooska with a smile. “Let the
chief lead him to the Lone Man.”
The Shawnee guided Fairfax forward, and they soon stood before the
hermit.
“Boy!” cried Hewitt, springing to his feet, and griped the young
man’s hand. “Have you turned Shawnee, too?”
“Yes,” answered Fairfax, glancing at the animal crouched at his
feet. “I am the son of Alaska, a Shawnee, and the King of the Wolves.”
“Adopted, with the freedom to go and come?” said Hewitt.
“Yes, in every sense, a Shawnee.”
Then, in brief mention, Fairfax related his adventures in the Shawnee
village, since his capture, and when he had finished the hermit spoke.
“It is strange that that mad-woman should recognize you as her son
by the mole on your shoulder,” he said; “but, we must not talk of
that now. You must be in her lodge before dawn, and day is not far
distant. We must talk fast. In the shape of Okalona, the Medicine-man
of the Shawnees, you will find a valuable assistant. He hates
Tecumseh and Girty, and they hate him. Go to him to-morrow. Tell him
that you were sent to his lodge by his son, and all will be well. He
deals in drugs that put men to sleep.”
“And in leaves that send men to the Manitou’s lodge,” said
Oonalooska, as he drew his necklace of bear-claws over his head.
“Take this to Okalona,” the chief continued, extending the necklace
to the young man, “and say that Oonalooska says: ‘Help the pale-face,
for Oonalooska’s heart.’”
“Work swiftly but surely, boy, and when darkness comes again meet
us here. If your plans promise success, Oonalooska and I will enter
the town, and, all together, we will do a work that will never be
forgotten by the Shawnee nation.”
Mayne Fairfax’s heart beat with joy.
“I will work surely,” he said. “With the freedom of the village,
nothing prevents success.”
Having listened to the sage advice, Mayne Fairfax turned to go, when
the hermit wrung the young man’s hands, and watched him disappear
beyond the brow of the knoll. He walked through the silent street of
the Shawnee town, and into the double lodge, untouched by Alaska’s
wolves. Already the animals knew their “_king_.” In their midst
reclined Alaska fast asleep, and Fairfax gained the inner apartment
without disturbing her.