The White Squaw

“Ha! wretch! I understand. You found him, but he escaped.”

“Not that – ”

“What is it then? Speak, did he defy you? Was he too powerful? Then summon our warriors, and if it cost the life of every Indian in Florida I swear he shall be captured. Answer me or I shall do you mischief.”

“Maracota deserves punishment.”

The young chief, now fully aroused to anger, cast a significant look at his subordinate; he could scarce refrain from striking him to the ground, and it was with an effort that he resumed speech —

“No more mystery. Speak! where is he?”

“Dead.”

Wacora made a bound towards the speaker, as he cried, “Did you kill him?”

“I did.”

Maracota fearlessly stood to await the stroke of the upraised tomahawk.

It fell, but not on the Indian’s skull.

Wacora flung his weapon on the grass.

“Wretch!” he cried, “you have robbed me of my revenge. May the arm that took that man’s life hang palsied by your side for ever! May – oh, curse you – curse you!”

Maracota’s head fell upon his breast. He dared not meet his chief’s angry glance – more dreaded than the blow of his hatchet.

For some moments there was silence; whilst Wacora paced to and fro like a tiger in its cage.

Chapter Thirty One.

A Sad Spectacle

After a time the enraged chief, pausing in his steps, stood by the side of the silent warrior.

“Tell me how it happened,” he said, apparently becoming calmer. “Tell me all.”

Maracota related the circumstances as they had happened.

“It was to save Nelatu’s life that you fired upon the monster?”

“It was.”

“And he – where is Nelatu?”

“He is close by. See, they come this way.”

As Wacora looked in the direction indicated, he perceived his two cousins approaching.

The beautiful maiden, now wan and sad, seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some wild flowers which she held in her hand. There were others wreathed in her hair.

In this manner had she been conducted to the camp.

Nelatu turned to his sister, put his arm in hers, and was about to lead her off, when a man rushed into the presence of the chief, crying out as he approached —

“Good news! The body of the white chief, Rody, has been found, and – ”

The warning gesture had been lost upon the impatient speaker.

It was too late now, Sansuta had heard the fated name.

Casting from her the flowers she had been trifling with, she uttered shriek upon shriek, running wildly and beseechingly, backwards and forwards, from her brother to her cousin, who both stood spell-bound with surprise and grief.

“Where have you hid him? Give him to me. You shall not kill him; no – no – no! I say you shall not hurt him! Warren! Warren! ’tis Sansuta calls. Murderers! He never injured you. Take nay life – not his! Warren! Warren! Oh, do not keep him from me. See, that is his blood upon your hands – his eyes are closed in death! It is you, wretches, that have murdered him. No, no – stand back – I would not have you touch me whilst your hands are red with his blood. Back! back! I will find him! – No, you shall kill me first! – I will find Warren Rody! Help, help! save me from his murderers!”

With renewed screams of agony that struck horror into the listeners’ hearts, the girl, eluding their grasp, darted away into the forest.

At a signal from Wacora, Nelatu started in pursuit.

“May the lightnings blast all who have brought about this! Fool that I was just now to feel pity for the pale-faces; nothing that revenge can accomplish will make up for this. Here I swear to take vengeance far more terrible – vengeance to which that of last night shall be but a mockery!”

With these words the young chief hastened away from the spot, followed by Maracota and the messenger.

Chapter Thirty Two.

“Spare Her! Spare Her!”

The opportunity of this vengeance was already close at hand.

Within the space enclosed by the Indian tents, under guard of some warriors, stood a group of pale-face prisoners.

It consisted of several men, and among them a young girl.

Wacora stopped on perceiving the group.

His features were illumined with a savage joy.

One of the chiefs, advancing, reported their having been captured while attempting to escape through the adjoining forest.

“What’s to be done with them?” he asked.

“They shall die by torture!”

“The girl?”

“She, too, shall die. Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”