“So be it,” answered Tecumseh, and in a loud tone he commanded his warriors to heap fagots against the door of the cave. The command was obeyed with alacrity, and Tecumseh and several of his favorite chiefs drew back to witness the work of burning out the besieged whites. Near him stood the Wolf-Queen, amid her wolfish guard, and the terrible light of anticipated vengeance danced in her eyes. The work went on without interruption for many minutes, during which period the golden god of day lazily scaled the oriental horizon, and threw his warm beams upon the swarthy band. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rent the gentle breeze that flitted through the woods, and the stalwart chief, whose shoulder touched Tecumseh, staggered back with a bloody, crushed temple. Instantly the braves left their work, and gathered around the stricken chief. Whence came the deadly missile? An examination showed that the ball had been fired from an elevated position, and the leafless top of every tree was scanned with vengeful eyes. But the mysterious slayer remained undiscovered. “Back!” shouted Tecumseh, after a prolonged search, and the warriors returned to the cave. “Haste with the work! Tecumseh yearns to see the traitor, and the Lone Man die.” At length the last gathered bough was thrust into the mouth of the cave, and Tecumseh turned to Nethoto, a chief not below his august self in prowess, when a second rifle report smote his ears; and Nethoto staggered back--dead! Horror-stricken, Tecumseh shrunk aghast from the work of death, and for the first time in all his life displayed a frightened face to his braves. He felt that his turn would come next, and instantly, as if in confirmation of that mental conclusion, a voice rung throughout the forest. “Let Tecumseh hasten to his lodge, else he never steps upon another war-trail!” The savages gazed wildly around as the tones fell upon their ears, and then looked at their chief, who seemed to have grown into a statue--so motionless and pale he stood. Alaska was the first to break the silence. “Ha! ha! ha!” she laughed, as she caught one of her wolves, and threw him upon the dead body of Nethoto. “The Great Spirit slays Nethoto, who once struck Alaska with a whip. Let Tecumseh return to the village; but Alaska and her wolves will stay. They will enter the Lone Man’s cave and devour him. The Great Spirit loves Alaska and her wolves. Ha! ha! ha!” and she clapped her hands with glee to see the wolves tear Nethoto to pieces. Tecumseh knew not how to act. He feared the Wolf-Queen, in awe of whom his warriors stood, and at his bidding they would remain. If he stayed, death would soon enter his heart. The Wolf-Queen did not notice his indecision. With fiendish delight she was throwing wolf after wolf upon the dead chief. All at once her brutal actions came to an abrupt termination. A third shot echoed throughout the wood, and Leperto, the king of the wolves, sprung back from the corpse--a corpse himself.