“Boy,” she said, breaking the silence that reigned in the cave, “I know all that you would say, and, for your sake, I promise this one thing--that when _you_ sheathe the knife of vengeance in your girdle, I will say, ‘enough!’” He turned his eyes upon her with a flash of joy, gently drew her to his heart, and rained warm kisses on her dimpled cheek. “Have no fears that you shall not have your fill of vengeance, girl,” he said; “for not until the Death League is exterminated--not until the Indians have made bloody reparation for the loss you have sustained to-night, will I sheathe the blade of vengeance. Only I wanted some one to love me, girl--some bright future to look ahead to, beyond these dark days. I have it, I am happy!” After awhile she said to him: “Were you to the British fort?” “No. In the dark wood, something told me that all was not right here. The further I went, the stronger that something’s voice grew, and my mind knew no peace until I turned my face toward you. I gave our signal, which did not reach you in your hiding-place, I suppose.” “I heard it not, boy,” she answered, and her lips moved to speak on, when the cry of the heron--twice repeated, came from beyond the cave to their ears. Undoubtedly it was a signal. “Come,” said Nanette; “we might as well commence our hunt for the white Rose to-night as any other time. Wacomet will not return to his people without visiting his prisoners. He is playing a double game, and unless yon words were read by the White Ottawa during the fight--which I think improbable--the secret of captivity remains with Wacomet and ourselves. Ha! the white heron again. Come! The red demons can have this cave now; thank God, ’tis the only hiding-place on earth.” A minute later, the twain glided from the cave, now tenanted by the three corpses that formed a ghastly group in the center. CHAPTER XII. THE BRITISH MAJOR’S PLOT. A short time after gaining the bottom of the cliffs with his captives, Wacomet the Ottawa paused before what seemed to be a dense net-work of creepers attached to the gray rocks. It was near midnight now, and an ominous silence brooded everywhere. When first the traitor left the cave, he heard Leather-lips and Speckled Snake signaling the other braves; but now the signals were no longer heard, and, fearing that the two wings had come together, the Ottawa hurried his prisoners over the stones faster than ever, taking good care to keep in the shade of the cliffs, for the moon was scaling the eastern horizon, and would soon make objects in the deep ravine easily distinguishable.