“Yes, yes,” she murmured, turning reluctantly away, “Co Hago, the King of the Wolves, is Alaska’s little boy, and he who touches a hair of his head shall go to Watchemenetoc from the jaws of her wolves. How good the Great Spirit was to send Alaska her boy! For many moons poor Alaska thought that Newaska was her son, but now she knows that her pappoose had a skin as white as the water-flowers, and little brown spots on his arm. Guard him well, Letheto,” she said, bestowing a look upon the gaunt brute that lay at the entrance of the apartment, where the young hunter slept. “He is your king, now--_your king_, I say; and if the children of Watchemenetoc walk over you to his heart--if you sleep at his door--Alaska will throw you to your brethren, and they shall devour your heart.” The animal threw a glance upward, as though he understood her, and resumed his vigil. A kind spirit was ruling Alaska now, and, for once in many hours, Mayne Fairfax slumbered without fear of molestation, though in the jaws of death. CHAPTER XII. NOT YET! NOT YET! When the door of the strong lodge again closed on Oonalooska and the hermit, the former thrust something into the latter’s hands. The fingers clutched it with eagerness. It was the hilt of a long-bladed knife! “Where did you get this, chief?” asked the hermit, in a low tone, which, to the listening guards beyond the wall, was a confused murmur. “When Alaska took the young white hunter to her lodge, Okolona’s hand thrust the knife into his son’s fingers. Ah! big hunter, the old Medicine loves his boy!” “And I thank God for that love,” fervently responded Hewitt. “With this knife we can cut the thick bark above our heads, and the caged birds will be free again. Oonalooska, we must first get beyond the Shawnees’ lodge, before we can help the young hunter and the girl.” The Indian acknowledged the giant’s argument. “Then let us escape to-night, and before another moon we will return and rescue our friends. Alaska will not harm that chap till his wounds have healed, and they will not heal for two moons to come.” “Oonalooska and the Lone Man must lie in the strong lodge until another darkness,” replied the Indian. “Why?” disappointedly questioned Hewitt. “Tecumseh’s braves will not sleep to-night. They stand around this lodge, and when another darkness comes they will not guard so well. Oonalooska knows this, for he has been a guard himself.” Against his impatience, the hermit acquiesced in the Shawnee’s words, and, hiding the knife, they threw themselves upon the ground and went to sleep. To say that Jim Girty was chagrined over the unexpected drift of affairs, would not express the state of his mind.