Presently the door of the prophet’s lodge was thrust aside, and the great prophet made his appearance. He was a _white man_, and no other than Dick Sherwood, the handsome, villainous renegade. From his lodge the prophet turned to the one at the right, which he entered without ceremony. The interior of the little lodge was furnished with all the comfort and taste of savage wealth and ingenuity. The floor was covered with soft skins, the walls were hung with tapestry of ornamented buck-skin, while strands of wampum, strands of beads and shells, and curious figures carved from bone and wood adorned the walls and ceiling. At one side, on a couch of furs, sat a beautiful white woman, from all appearances a captive, though her face wore no look of sadness nor grief. This woman was Madge, the daughter of Talbott Taft, the Indian trader. “My pretty captive looks none the worse of her night’s exposure in the storm,” said Sherwood, as he entered her tent, with an air of mock politeness. Madge looked up at the renegade and smiled scornfully. “I am feeling quite well, and none the worse of my exposure,” she replied, in a defiant tone. “I am glad to hear it, Miss Taft,” the villain replied; “perhaps we can come to some definite terms, as to the future. I think I will have no trouble in bringing that modest little violet, Clara Bryant, to a _pleasant_ reconciliation.” “Just so,” mockingly returned Madge. The villain continued: “However, Miss Taft, it is likely that you have great influence with Miss Bryant, and if you will go to her, and induce her--make her _believe_ that her only salvation lies in her becoming my lawful wife, you will be set at liberty. If she will consent to marry me to-morrow, I will send for the missionary, Father Jules, and have him perform the ceremony. Then, with his certificate of our marriage in my pocket, my mission will be ended, and I will bid farewell to this heathen country and return to the East, the heir to a vast fortune. What say you?” Madge smiled scornfully, yet strangely, as she replied: “I will do any thing to get rid of your odious presence. I will lay your proposition before Clara, and then she can do as she sees fit. But were it me, I’d see you burning before I would submit to wed you.” The renegade laughed long and loudly, then said: “Remember, _Miss_ Taft,”--laying a marked emphasis upon the “Miss”--“as I told you last night, as soon as Clara is my wife, and I have Father Jules’ certificate of our marriage in my pocket, she shall be set at liberty. As her husband, I will press no further claims upon her. All I want is something to show my right to--well, you know what--the Golden Horn estate.” Madge arose to leave the lodge. “I will go at once and see Clara,” she said. “Then I will wait your return,” said Sherwood. Madge went out into the little tent where Clara Bryant was a prisoner. She found the maiden weeping, with face pale and sorrowful.