The White Squaw

One thought occupied his mind nobler than that of revenge – the regeneration of the Indian race.

A chimera it may have been, but still his great ambition.

He thus spoke to the assembled chiefs —

“I do not urge upon you to withhold vengeance for injuries done to our race by the white enemy. I only desire to make it more full and terrible. This is but the beginning of a long list of retributions, the overflowing of accumulated wrongs, the first step towards freedom and redemption! To take that step we must be patient until certain of success. Then begins a warfare that will only end with the annihilation of our hated enemies and in a new existence for the red men! Have I spoken well?”

Loud approbation greeted him from the assembled warriors; but such is the inconsistency of human character that individually they devised means for immediate retaliation on the settlers.

Hence the several encounters which had already taken place.

Nelatu, mortified at his own weakness, was among the warriors addressed by Wacora.

On returning from the council, the young chief approached his cousin.

“Nelatu, you would do something to make up for your blind infatuation, that has led to such misfortunes?”

“I would, Wacora, I would. My father’s face seems always before me, reproaching me as my sister’s destroyer.”

“Then action is the only way by which to shake off the remorseful feeling. Our efforts have till now been fruitless in tracing the spot to which your sister has been carried. She must be found, and the punishment of the guilty made sure.”

“Not Sansuta. You would not injure her?”

Wacora smiled sadly, as he pressed his hand upon his heart.

“No, Nelatu, I would not injure your sister. Alas! I had already learned to love her. I would not hurt her for worlds. It is the wretch who has carried her away. I would have him suffer a thousand deaths, and every death more terrible than the other!”

“Tell me, what can I do? If I remain idle, I shall die!”

“Take three or four of my own people, follow every trail that promises to lead to where they are concealed, and having found the monster, bring him to me alive.”

Wacora’s eyes, as he uttered these words, blazed with passion.

“I would rather go alone,” said Nelatu.

“As you please; but remember, that there is one man you dare not trust, and yet he may be the means of finding Sansuta.”

“His name?”

“Crookleg, the negro.”

“But he, too, is missing.”

“I know it, and therefore he can lead you to their hiding-place, if he can be found. With Crookleg to assist you, you may succeed; without him your search will be fruitless.”

“How am I to find him?”

“By diligent search. He is not near the spot, but yet not so distant as to be ignorant of what is passing. He has the cunning of the wild cat; remember that.”

“I’ll be a match for him, never fear, cousin.”

Wacora glanced pityingly at the simple youth.

He thought of his confiding nature, and felt that if the only chance of finding Sansuta lay in cunning, they would never be discovered.

“Well, Nelatu, I have given you the best advice I can. Will you undertake the search?”

“I will!”

“When?”

“At once, Wacora.”

With these words the cousins separated.

Chapter Twenty Three.

The Strayed Canoe

That night Nelatu left the Indian camp.

Wacora had given him a few hints by which he thought his search for Crookleg might be facilitated.

He had suggested that the negro lay hid within the neighbouring swamp.

This wilderness, difficult to traverse, was of great extent. It was only by a knowledge of its intricate paths that it could be successfully explored.

Nelatu, fully appreciating the difficulty of his undertaking, was more than usually depressed.

This journey through the track of dry timber was easy enough.

On emerging from it he found himself on a broad savanna.

On the other side of which lay the swamp to which Wacora had directed him.

Its gloomy appearance struck a chill to the young chief’s heart.

Could it by any possibility be the place selected by Warren for Sansuta’s concealment?

He almost hoped his search for her in its sombre fastnesses might prove futile.

Its aspect was especially forbidding at the time Nelatu reached it, which was in the early morning.

A heavy fog rose from its dark waters, clinging around the rank vegetation, and veiling the mosses and spectral limbs of the decayed trees.

A foetid breath exhaled from the thick undergrowth, and the air seemed charged with poison.

No note of bird was heard; no bloom of flower seen. Death in life was everywhere apparent!