The White Squaw

The Lost Sister

For more than an hour Crookleg was compelled to use the oars, until they had reached the other side of the lagoon.

Nelatu, silent and wrapped in his own gloomy thoughts, watched his every motion.

It was twilight when they made a landing within a sheltered bay upon that side of the swamp nearest the settlement.

Beyond this lay the woods of which the negro had spoken.

Compelling the black to precede him, Nelatu urged him forward until they had reached a mound covered with bushes.

“Hush! Massa Injun, we are near de place.”

“I see no signs of habitation!”

“We is near it, for all dat. It ain’t a easy ting to find a place like dis ’ere whare dere are nuffin to show but de ground and dese ere bushes!”

“Quick! lead me to the place!”

“By-am-by, massa; for a mercy’s sake hab jist a little patience. ’Twont do no good to be in a hurry, ’twont, indeed.”

Suspecting treachery, Nelatu would hear of no delay.

“Remember, slave! what I threatened you with. Conduct me at once to their hiding-place!”

“Well, den, Massa Injun, if you must go, step light, or we’ll gib Massa Warren de alarm. He’s as quick eared as a rabbit; dat he am. And he may shoot us both afore we know; dat is, if he ’spects you am coming after de gal.”

With this caution, to which his companion silently agreed, they skirted the mound to its extreme end, where it seemed to terminate abruptly in a deep chasm.

Once there, Crookleg threw himself upon the ground, motioning the Indian to do the same.

Nelatu complied, still watching for any movement of betrayal on the part of his guide.

With a stealthy hand the negro parted the bushes, and signed to the young man to look through the opening.

He did so.

Before his eyes was the entrance of a cave or grotto.

Inside the entrance a pine-torch, stuck in the ground, illumined a portion of the interior.

The light was obscured by the bushes, and it was only when these were parted that it became visible.

Inside the grotto was Sansuta. She was reposing upon a bed of moss.

Behind her, on a large boulder of rock, sat Warren Rody!

Nelatu was on the point of rushing forward, when he was stayed by the negro’s hand clutching his arm.

“Not yet, massa,” he whispered, “you’d be shot afore you get two steps in dar, and dis poor ole nigga would nebba get away ’gain. Let me go speak first, and gib Massa Rody de signal; and den I’ll find a way to bring him out to you. Don’t you see that’ll be de best plan to fix him?”

“I cannot trust you from my sight. Take your hand off my arm! let me go!”

“Oh, massa, I shall be ruined, and murdered complete. Don’t you see dat afore you reach him he’d see you and fire? De ole nigga’s plan am de best. Let me bring de fox out ob his hole!”

Crookleg spoke reasonably.

Nelatu might, it is true, have easily killed Warren from where he lay, but his sister’s presence, Wacora’s command, and a certain reluctance to shed blood, stayed his hand.

“Well, then, do it, but on conditions.”

“What conditions, Massa Injun? Name ’em, and I’se obey.”

“That you bring him away from my sister’s side out here into the open ground; that every word you speak shall be loud enough for me to hear. Go!”

“I’ll go, massa.”

“See!”

As Nelatu uttered this monosyllable he tapped his rifle.

Crookleg took the hint.

“I’se swear, massa, do dis ting right! Dis ole nigga don’t want no bullet through him karkiss. I’se swear to do as you say!”

With this asseveration he rose erect and entered boldly among the bushes, while Nelatu concealed himself behind them.

Warren started to his feet, calling out —

“Who’s there?”

“Hush, Massa Warren! It’s only me – ole Crookleg.”

“Come in, Crookleg.”

“No, Massa Warren, you come out here. I’se want to show you somethin’.”

With a hasty glance at the slumbering maiden Warren Rody emerged from the cave.

At the entrance he was suddenly confronted by Nelatu.

“Nelatu!”

A yell of fiendish laughter from Crookleg answered the exclamation.

“He, he, he, he! ho, ho, ho! Oh, dat am de best ting dis ole nigga eber done! Ah, de time am comin’ now! Ho, ho! Massa Warren, who kicked de ole dog of a nigga wot fetch and carry for de white man to de Injun gal? Ha, ha, ha! I ’clare to mercy it am splendid! Now I’ll leave you two friends togedder; but don’t quarrel – don’t! Only remember, Massa Warren, remember Crookleg to your dyin’ day!”

With these words the negro darted off, and was soon lost to sight behind the bushes.