He questioned the Shawnee no further regarding the Wolf-Queen; but both lapsed into silence as they awaited the passing of the day. Their work was to be done by night alone. The afternoon was well spent, when the dip of oars assailed their ears. Oonalooska glided from the hermit’s side. More distinct grew the plash of oars, and presently six canoes, loaded to the water with painted braves, flitted past the Shawnee’s line of vision. In the prow of the foremost canoe stood Tecumseh. “Tecumseh is on the war-path,” said Oonalooska, returning to the hermit. “The White Wolf is not with him. The Lone Man and Oonalooska must tear the pale-faces from his people before the great chief returns.” The hermit saw the truth of the Indian’s words, and promptly acknowledged it. Tecumseh had never been outwitted by a white man. At length night came, and the twain left the ledge. They glided to the opening through which they had emerged from the cave, and reëntered the deserted home. It had been pillaged by the savages; but the couple discovered some jerked meat that satisfied their hunger, and from a secret cache Hewitt drew two rifles and a quantity of ammunition. Thus equipped they were leaving the deserted home, when from one of the subterranean passages an animal bounded. It was the hermit’s dog. “Wolf, old fellow, with us again,” cried Hewitt, patting the animal’s shaggy back. “You shall go with us. Mebbe we’ll need your nose and teeth.” Leaving the cave, they hurried toward the Indian village, and ensconced themselves in a thicket that commanded a tolerable view of Tecumseh’s home. From that thicket soon arose the hoot of an owl, three times repeated; then all was still as the night. CHAPTER XVI. THE KING OF THE WOLVES. Gradually the shades of night fell around the Indian town, and, unattended by human escort, a form emerged from Alaska’s lodge. The step proclaimed the person a white, but the costume an Indian. A great blanket covered the body, the nether limbs were inclosed in close-fitting leggins, and a circlet of feathers surrounded the head. At the person’s feet trotted a large wolf, which ever and anon ran before its master, and gazed up into his face with a puzzled expression. The solitary walker was Mayne Fairfax, now Co Hago, King of the Wolves! He had left Alaska’s lodge, with her knowledge and consent, for a stroll--not an unpremeditated one--through the village. He had declined Tecumseh’s invitation to tread with him the war-trail, on the pretense that his wounds unfitted him for service, when his wounds had ceased from troubling. He had cause for remaining in the Shawnee town. The night was well advanced when he left his “mother’s” lodge, and his footsteps tended toward that portion of the “town” wherein was situated Eudora’s prison.