CHAPTER XVIII.

THE WHITE LILY.

The Prophet welcomed the boys in that stately manner which was as impressive as it was characteristic with him, and Oneotah placed her soft hand in Percy Vere’s with a gentle pressure; but when Cute extended his chubby hand toward her, she declined it expressively.

“Beg to be excused, eh?” said that roguish youngster. “Don’t want a repetition of the grip? If I was somebody else now—a certain good-looking young chief—Mister Multuomah.”

“Multuomah!” exclaimed Oneotah, tremulously.

The Prophet turned sharply upon Cute.

“What do you know of Multuomah?” he demanded.

Behind the Prophet’s back Percy Vere held up his finger, warningly, to his cousin.

“Oh! I don’t know much about him,” replied Cute, leisurely—“I’ve seen him, that’s all. He’s a chief of the Nez Perces—and a splendid looking fellow. He don’t daub his face up as you do yours. You put me in mind of the clown in the circus.”

The Prophet was not to be put aside in his inquiry. His suspicion had been aroused, and he was determined to satisfy it.

“You have seen Multuomah lately?” he continued, fixing his keen eyes upon Cute’s face. “You found him in your camp on your return?”

“Did your spirits tell you that?” rejoined Cute, bewildered by Smoholler’s shrewd guess, and endeavoring to dodge the question.

The Prophet shrugged his shoulders.

“Your face tells me so,” he answered; “and I have no need to call upon my spirits to corroborate it.” He turned to Percy Vere. “Your party has been joined by the young chief of the Nez Perces, Multuomah?” he inquired.

Percy Vere, seeing that Cute had said enough to render any concealment of the truth impolitic, answered:

“Yes.”

“You found him there on your return?”

“I did.”

“He has come in search of me!” exclaimed Oneotah, joyfully.

This glad cry satisfied Percy Vere that the Antelope Boy was, indeed, a girl, and the promised bride of Multuomah, and, with the inherent chivalry of his nature, he resolved to reunite the lovers.

The Prophet held up his finger warningly to Oneotah.

“No matter how much he seeks for you,” he said, “he can never gain possession of you against my will. You know my power—do not provoke it.”

Oneotah shuddered and bowed her head submissively.

“Oh! but you will give me to him?” she pleaded.

“When the time comes,” he replied, impressively.

She was satisfied with this assurance; and so was Percy Vere.

“That is what I told them!” he cried, impulsively.

The Prophet displayed an eager interest as he resumed his inquiries:

“They spoke of Oneotah? Multuomah seeks her?”

“He does.”

“How many warriors has he with him?”

“A hundred.”

The Prophet started.

“So many? Did you see them?”

“No; they were upon the other bank of the river. The chief was alone in our camp, in consultation with the lieutenant, the surveyors, and the hunter, Glyndon. They proposed to hem you in, and prevent your retreat. They do not seek to injure you, however; all they wish is to have you give up Oneotah, and allow the survey to proceed.”

The Prophet laughed contemptuously.

“And if I should refuse to do either?” he returned.

“They will attack you.”

“Fools! The Nez Perces will not fight against Smoholler. When I appear before them, they will scatter like a flock of sheep before the wolf. Multuomah can not take Oneotah from me by force—he had best not attempt it.”

Percy, remembering Multuomah’s misgivings, was inclined to think that this was no idle boast of the Prophet’s.

“I returned to you to arrange matters peaceably, as much as to gain some intelligence of my father, if you can give it to me,” he said.

“I can give it to you,” replied Smoholler; “but it will try your nerves to receive it, I warn you in advance. You must penetrate with me into the Mystic Cavern beneath yonder cliff—the abode of evil spirits and malignant demons.”

“I will do so,” rejoined Percy, promptly.

“And so will I,” added Cute.

“Good! The sun is already down—let us advance.”

The Prophet led the way from the little glen in which they had held this conference, and struck a broad trail leading to the right.

Percy Vere followed the Prophet, Oneotah came next to him, and Cute brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded, the dim light growing dimmer as they advanced.

They had proceeded but a short distance when Percy felt a pressure upon his right arm, and found that Oneotah had come to his side.

“Do not fear the perils of the Mystic Cavern,” she said. “The White Spirit will protect you.”

These words were uttered cautiously, close to his ear.

“I have no fear,” he returned. “I do not think the Prophet will allow his spirits to injure me. I think him a man of his word, and I am in hopes to persuade him to allow you to go to our camp with me on my return.”

The grasp upon his arm tightened.

“Oh! if you only can!” she murmured, tremulously.

“You would be glad to see Multuomah again?”

“Yes.”

“Oneotah loves Multuomah?”

“Better than her life!”

“Ah! then the Antelope Boy is the White Lily of the Nez Perces?”

“Hush! Oneotah is only the slave of Smoholler—she is only what he pleases until he sets her free,” she answered, with a sad resignation.

“And would you remain with him if you had a chance to escape?”

“I must.”

“Even if I could restore you to Multuomah?”

“Alas! yes.”

The boy could not understand this.

“What tie is it then that binds you so strongly to Smoholler?” he asked, curiously.

“One of gratitude—and still a stronger one.”

“What?”

“Hush! don’t let him hear us—he is fearful when angered. He is my—”

“Husband?” supplied Percy, remembering the fear that Multuomah had expressed to Glyndon.

“No, no, no!” she answered, quickly. “Why, he is quite an old man. You can not see his features from the war-paint—but I have been permitted to gaze upon his face—I, of all his followers, because I am his _daughter_!”

Percy Vere was thoroughly amazed by this revelation.

“His daughter?” he repeated vaguely.

“Yes. He will give me to Multuomah, in good time, I know he will, for he has always treated me kindly. He saved me from becoming the bride of the fierce chief of the Yakimas. I am not a Nez Perce, nor yet a Yakima, though I have lived with both tribes. I was stolen from my father by the Yakimas when I was a child, and taken from them by a Nez Perce chief named Owaydotah, who reared me as his own daughter. I was very happy in the Nez Perce village, and it was a dreadful blow to me to fall again into the hands of the Yakimas. Smoholler rescued me, and revealed my true history to me, for his Spirit told him where I was. He saved me for Multuomah—can you wonder that I love him for it?”