“The White Wolf will obey his chief,” answered Girty, shooting the mad-woman a singular look. “Let Tecumseh enter the lodge, and lead the captive to the Wolf-Queen.” As he finished, he stepped aside, and Tecumseh sprung into the lodge. One loud yell parted the chief’s lips as his eyes fell upon the untenanted couch, and a moment later his brawny hand closed on Girty’s throat. “White Wolf’s tongue is forked!” he cried. “Let him tell Tecumseh where the Pale Flower is, or die!” “The White Wolf knows not,” gasped the white liar. “She has been stolen while we watched.” The chief’s grip relaxed, and, at his command, Girty was bound, and a guard placed over him. Alaska could scarcely be restrained from throwing her wolves upon the prostrate renegade. A brief examination revealed the gash in the bark, and instantly the braves were called. One was missing--Oonalooska, the son of Okalona, the aged Medicine of the Shawnees. _He_ was the traitor, and, if captured, his doom would be a terrible one, and speedy. Tecumseh’s blood boiled in his dark veins, and his angry passions were stirred to their depths. All fatigue incurred by the recent war-expedition, instantly left him, and he called around him a band of picked warriors. Alaska panted to pursue the traitor, and his companion, and throwing herself at the head of the party, she placed her wolves upon Oonalooska’s trail, and away they went, through the forest, toward the hermit’s cave. The renegade was not permitted to accompany the pursuing party; instead, he found himself under the vigilant eyes of five braves, who bore him to his lodge, and threw themselves around it. He knew that his captivity would not last beyond the return of Tecumseh, over whom, when calm, he held some influence. The war-whoop of Tecumseh and the dismal howl of Leperto, that ushered in the clear, frosty autumn morning, was answered by a savage growl from the hermit’s canine companion, who yearned to encounter the mad-woman’s wolves. No human answer following the blow delivered by Tecumseh’s tomahawk, the chief bestowed a second upon the door, and shouted: “Tecumseh, the war-chief of the Shawnees, demands the person of Oonalooska, the red traitor, and the Pale Flower. Let the Lone Man speak!” The hermit’s answer was not long delayed. “Is Tecumseh an empty fool, that he should seek the blood of the Pale Flower, snatched from her home by the lying White Wolf? If he is not, let him return to his lodge, the greatest chief of the Shawnee nation.” “The Wolf-Queen seeks the Pale Flower. Tecumseh wants the traitor Oonalooska,” was the reply. “Then let Tecumseh take them!” was the defiant reply, at which a second war-cry smote the air, and the Shawnee drew back from the portals. “Tecumseh will take them!” he cried, “and beside Oonalooska shall burn the Lone Man of the woods.” “No, no!” shrieked mad Alaska. “The Lone Man shot Lupino. _He_ shall die by the teeth of Alaska’s wolves.”