CHAPTER XI.

THE MOLES ON THE SHOULDER.

When Alaska rekindled the fire in her lodge, a horrible sight met Mayne Fairfax’s gaze.

Stiff and bloody, in one corner of the first apartment, lay Newaska, a terrible example of the vengeance of the wolf. His eyes, pregnant with the stare of death, were wide extended, and the lifeless balls seemed bursting from their sockets.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the mad-woman, pointing to the ghastly corpse. “Newaska was loved by Alaska: but he worked for the White Chief, and her children tore the great veins in his throat.”

Her own senses--if any that mad-woman possessed--disgusted at the horrible sight, Alaska covered the corpse with several robes, and threw more boughs on the fire.

It was now near the silent midnight hour, and not a sound telling of the recent turmoil, came to the Wolf-Queen’s lodge, which, while she replenished the fire, the young man took occasion to notice. It was large and commodious, that is, in the eye of the Indian. The birchen walls were covered with gaudy skins, fantastically arranged, and the natural floor was hidden by thick mats, formed by Alaska’s hands. In one corner of the first apartment lay the stiff form of Leperto, slain by the mysterious shot from Hewitt’s cave, and over it stood a wolf as sentry. The guard showed his teeth as Fairfax entered the lodge, and each one of Alaska’s children--strange progeny for a mad-woman!--seemed eager to bury their fangs in the young hunter’s flesh.

Mayne Fairfax realized the danger he was in.

Now the Wolf-Queen was calm and seemingly lucid; but he knew not how soon the spasm of lunacy would take possession of her injured brain, and the consequences of that spasm he knew would be dreadful, for he was completely in her power.

For some minutes the mad queen busied herself with the fire, when all at once she turned, and, grasping Fairfax’s arm hurried him into the inner apartment.

“Let the young pale-face recline upon the wild skins,” said Alaska, pointing to a couch, deep with finely tanned skins, and as soft as down. “Let him rest his limbs until Alaska brings him the meat of the deer, and puts good herbs on his wounds.”

Without a word Fairfax obeyed, and the Wolf-Queen glided from the chamber.

Beyond the partition the young hunter heard her bustling about, now and then speaking a command to the wolves, that seemed inclined to be obstreperous.

At length she returned, and placed some smoking venison before the hunter upon a strip of bark. In a wooden vessel she bore some steaming gruel, which seemed to infuse strength in the hunter’s frame. Mayne Fairfax sat up on the edge of the couch as he discussed the repast, and from him the eyes of the queen were never drawn.

“Now,” said Alaska, as the hungry hunter drained the wooden bowl, “Alaska will dress the white-face’s wounds.”

That his wounds needed attention Fairfax well knew, for they pained him exceedingly, and falling back upon the couch he motioned to the queen to proceed.

Instantly she rose and left the apartment, but soon returned, bearing a cup, containing many kinds of bruised herbs. Kneeling over the hunter she drew aside his hunting-shirt, and displayed the bandages the hermit had placed over the wound made by her barbed shaft.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the queen. “Alaska’s shaft struck deep! and the young hunter was very near Kajai Manitou, when the Lone Man shot Lupino.”

As she spoke she continued to display the white flesh of the hunter, and suddenly, as the hunting garments crept over his right shoulder, she sprung to her feet with a guttural cry, and stared at the member just exposed to view.

Mayne Fairfax looked up at her in amazement, and while he could not fathom her strange action and emotion--for her frame quivered like an aspen’s leaf--he divined the object at which she stared.

That object was nothing but three little moles upon the hunter’s shoulder!

Alaska gazed upon these spots for a moment, when she darted from the lodge, leaving Fairfax at the mercy of her wolves!

She directed her steps toward Tecumseh’s lodge, in which she found the mighty Shawnee partaking of some venison.

He started upon the sudden entrance of the queen, and, almost frightened at her wild look, sprung to his feet.

Without speaking, Alaska clutched his arms, and pointed toward her lodge.

“She has given the young white hunter to the wolves,” was Tecumseh’s mental ejaculation; and, a moment later, the red and white twain were flying toward Alaska’s lodge.

The appearance of their queen frightened the wolves from a meditated attack upon the wounded hunter, and, drawing Tecumseh into the inner room, Alaska pointed to the three moles on the shoulder.

The chief looked at it a moment, and then turned to Alaska with an inquiring look.

“Ha! ha! ha! Long ago Alaska had a little boy,” said the mad queen. “Oh, it was long, long ago; how long Alaska don’t know. Oh, what hurts poor Alaska’s head?” and she covered her temples with her bony, bloodless hands.

Memory would return to the poor woman, but, unaccompanied by reason, it seemed of little account.

“Yes, yes,” she cried, throwing herself before Fairfax, and fastening her dark eyes on the three spots. “Alaska had a little boy once, and he had three marks on his shoulder, just like these,” and her finger touched the birth marks. “Oh, it was many, many moons ago, when Alaska had no wolves. But the Great Spirit has given Alaska her little boy again, and he shall become a Shawnee--he shall not die. He shall be King of the Wolves!”

While she spoke, Tecumseh glided from the lodge, and resought his own.

“The white hunter may be Alaska’s boy,” he muttered, “for Puekeshinwa, Tecumseh’s father, spoke thus many snows ago. Then he will not die.”

Mayne Fairfax listened a long time to Alaska’s words, before he spoke.

He knew well his parentage--that he was the child of Ronald Fairfax. His first recollections were of Fairfax manor, and he, of course, believed himself to be a Fairfax. The moles on his shoulder he believed to be mere accidental counterparts of those on the person of a child loved by Alaska before her days of lunacy--and he resolved not to gainsay the mad queen, for the moles might prove the means of saving his life, and perhaps instrumental in the rescue of Eudora, and the prisoners of the strong lodge.

“The white hunter is Alaska’s little boy,” he said, smiling at the oddity of his own words, “and he will be King of the Wolves. Let Alaska haste to make him well, and he will tame all the wolves in the great forests, and become their White King.”

“And will Alaska’s child hate the White Chief?” she asked, with great eagerness.

“Yes,” answered Mayne, and he continued, inaudibly, “God knows my heart spoke then.”

His words brought a laugh to Alaska’s lips, and continually calling him her “little boy,” she applied bruised and emollient herbs to his wounds, and the young Virginian, assured of his safety, so far as the mad queen’s protection went, received new strength. With such a potent protector as she, white nor Indian would not dare seek his life.

But he was soon to be divested of that consoling thought.

After his wounds were dressed, young Fairfax fell back on the couch, and was soon enjoying the sweetest sleep he had known for many hours.

Once, between midnight and dawn, Alaska’s face looked down upon his, upon which a stray moonbeam fell, bathing its paleness in indescribable beauty.

“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.