"Marcota must speak to Wacora alone, if Oluski will allow it." Oluski made a sign to his nephew, who rising, followed the man outside the door. "Wacora must follow me further," signified the Indian. "Go on, I will do so." 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, Massa 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 nigger 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."