Maracota led the way, and only paused in his walk when he had got some distance from the dwelling.

"Has Wacora faith in Maracota?"

The young chief started at the question which his guide had put to him in a tone of strange earnestness.

"Yes. I have faith in you."

"And he would serve Oluski, our chief?"

"With my life!"

"Sansuta is dear to Oluski."

Again Wacora started. Maracota's words were enigmatical.

His guide continued--

"Sansuta is beautiful."

"We all know that. Was it to tell me this that you brought me here?"

"The pale-faces admire the beauty of our Indian maidens."

"What of that?"

"One pale-face has marked Sansuta's beauty."

"Ha!"

"His eyes gladden at sight of her. Her cheeks grow red at sight of him."

"His name?"

"Warren Rody."

"How do you know all this?"

"Maracota is Oluski's friend and watches over his chief's happiness.

To-night Warren's messenger was in town--the negro, Crookleg."

The young chief was silent. Maracota watched him without breaking in upon his thoughts.

Recovering himself, Wacora asked--

"Where did you see the negro?"

"In the old fort."

"The old fort! What was he doing there?"

"Maracota followed his trail--a lame foot and a stick--and saw him as he entered the ruin; some one was waiting for him inside."

"Who was with the negro," demanded Wacora.

"His master," repeated Maracota.

"Warren Rody?"

Maracota nodded.

"I heard their talk," he said.

"What did they say?" asked the young chief.

"At first, I could not hear--they spoke in whispers. After a time they grew angry. Warren abused Crookleg and struck him. The black man uttered a fierce oath and leaped over the wall of the fort at the side opposite to where I lay hid."

"Did you hear their conversation before they quarrelled?"

"I heard the pale-face say Crookleg had only half done his errand and must return to complete it. The black refused. It was then the other got angry and struck him."

"This is very strange, Maracota. It is some treachery I cannot understand. The negro must be found and questioned!"

"Well, Ma.s.sa Injun, dat ain't hard to do. He, he, he!"

Had the fiend of darkness himself risen between the two Indians, they could not have been more startled than when these words were uttered in their ears, for it was Crookleg who spoke.

The darkey appeared delighted at the effect his sudden appearance had created, and continued for some time to chuckle in great glee.

"Yas! here be de 'dentical n.i.g.g.e.r wot you was a-wishin' for. You hab found him 'ithout gwin far. He, he, he!"

Wacora turned sternly towards him.

"And having found you, wretch, I mean to keep you till I've made you speak the truth."

"De trufe, Ma.s.sa Injun, am what dis ole n.i.g.g.a always 'peak. He can't help it, kase it comes so na'tral to him. Trufe an' innocence is dis chile's on'y riches, tank heaven!"

The look which accompanied this impious speech was almost diabolical.

Wacora cut him short in an attempt to continue his speech, by a command instantly to make known what Warren Rody wanted, with what message he had been charged, and to whom.

Crookleg, however was not easily taken at a disadvantage.

"Well, Ma.s.sa Injun, I don't mind tellin' you somet'ing, but I don't like talkin' afore other folk. You send dis indiwiddle away," pointing to Maracota, "an' ole Crook'll tell you all about it. He meant to do so, when he comed here so sudden."

With a sign the chief dismissed Maracota, and telling the black to follow, led him a little distance further from the town.

A long, and apparently interesting conversation ensued, in which Crookleg's gesticulations were, as usual, violent, while the young chief, with arms folded, and brows knit, listened to his narration.