“I am leaving upon a mission to the neutral tribes. During my absence, La Violette is to remain here. Do you understand?” Tenskwatawa nodded stiffly. “Heed my words, then,” Bradford continued savagely. “If you drag her away from here in my absence—and thus defeat my plans—I will choke the life out of you, the first time I meet you. Beware!” The cowering Prophet looked the impotent rage he felt, but did not open his lips. As he left the cabin Bradford chuckled huskily: “I have cowed him. The miserable coward—he is afraid to say his life is his own!” Then gravely: “But he’s cunning—treacherous. What a wonderful, uncanny power he exerts over his ignorant people! I must not be long absent. What a sweet revenge it would be to him, to frustrate my designs. The only thing that will restrain him is his abject cowardice. How he hates me! And for what? Because I have made him bow the knee to me—the craven! Because my wishes have run counter to his selfish purpose—because I have done as I please concerning the welfare of that dear girl.” Just outside of the door he met La Violette. “I’m going away for a few weeks, La Violette,” he remarked. “In my absence improve your opportunity to the utmost.” “What do you mean?” she asked softly, dropping her long lashes over her tell-tale eyes. “You know what I mean, my little coquette,” he laughed lightly. “You have ensnared Ross Douglas’s heart. Throw a few more cords of love around it, to hold it secure.” “Snared his heart!” she cried, petulantly stamping her moccasined foot. “He _has_ no heart—it is in another’s keeping.” “Not so, little one,” he answered positively. “He’s _betrothed_ to another—he muttered her name in his delirium—but he’s learning to love _you_. Already he loves you better than you know—than he suspects. Yours is the name that falls from his lips during sleep. Be patient—but persistent. Devote yourself to his comfort—make yourself necessary to his very existence. Above all, see to it that he doesn’t escape during my absence. Good-by.” Ere she could make reply, Bradford had turned the corner of the cabin and disappeared. A half hour later he had set out upon his journey, accompanied by a half score of picked warriors. CHAPTER XII. The night of Bradford’s departure was quite warm for the time of year. Ross Douglas sat in front of the cabin he had occupied since coming to the village. The balmy air was laden with the scent of wild flowers—sweet with the breath of the damp woodland. La Violette timidly stole to his side and whispered: “You are lonely. May I talk to you?” “Certainly—I’m always glad to have your company,” he replied,—sincerity in his voice and manner.