Across spots where no shadows fell, the twain were forced to crawl on all-fours, and at length found themselves near the confines of the village. “Let’s rise now,” whispered Hewitt; “that long crawl has cramped me, and my legs feel as heavy as stones.” The brave whispered approvingly, and Hewitt sprung to his feet. “Free at last!” he uttered, in an audible tone, for they were fully thirty feet from the nearest lodge, and in the shade. The next instant the Indian grasped his arm, and pulled him to the earth. “What’s up, Oona? I--” The sight that greeted the hermit’s vision promptly terminated the sentence he was framing. In the starlight just upon the edge of the shade, as though they had suddenly risen from the earth, stood Alaska and a gigantic wolf. Her appearance, so sudden, so unexpected, and at such a time and place, startled the hermit, and he grasped the Indian’s hand, mutely appealing for a solution of the mystery. Oonalooska was calm. “Alaska has been to the forest,” he said. “See, her arms are full of plants. They are for the hunter’s wounds. She never gathers plants when the sun is in the sky. The sun dries their sap, and beneath the stars it runs like water.” “Has she seen us?” queried the hermit. “She stopped when the Lone Man said ‘Free at last!’” responded the Indian. “Oonalooska saw Letheto prick up his long ears. She sees us now!” “Then we are hers,” said Hewitt, with despair in his tones. “No, no,” returned the Indian. “When Oonalooska was a boy, his father taught him to throw the knife. He has not forgotten those lessons. He will throw the knife into Alaska’s heart; then we can frighten Letheto away.” When the Indian finished he caught the knife by the tip of the dagger-like blade, and drew back for the death-blow. The mad queen stood scarce twenty feet from them, with her eyes fixed upon their forms. But she could not note their actions, for the shade in which they crouched was too gloomy to be minutely penetrated by the naked eye. Strange emotions swayed the hermit’s form while he gazed upon Alaska, and listened to Oonalooska’s plan for their escape. One blow would insure their freedom, and rid them of the greatest foe they possessed; but Hewitt vowed that that blow should not be given. Therefore, when the Indian’s muscles flew to the work of speeding the knife to Alaska’s heart, Hewitt’s hand closed around his wrist. “What means the white man?” questioned Oonalooska, throwing a strange look into the giant’s eyes. “Is his head cracked?” “No, no,” he answered, calmly. “Long ago the Lone Man loved a woman who looked like poor Alaska; but she has long been absent from him. Oonalooska shall not throw the knife. If he would escape, let him glide away. I will become her prisoner. Perhaps--yes, yes, she may be--” He said no more, for the Wolf Queen was approaching them. “Oonalooska pities the Lone Man,” said the Indian. “He will remain with him, though his path leads from freedom to the stake.”