This page needs to be proofread.
676
ONCE A WEEK.
[Dec. 14, 1861.

more speedily overwhelm her. Without heeding her agony, O’Brien turned to the Young Panther, and spoke to her. She nodded in acquiescence, and he then came back to Coral.

“ You heard what I said Coral, so now decide, whether you will come with me quietly or whether I must use force.”

Coral did not answer. He waited for a minute, and then spoke again :

“ I have no time to lose ; either get up at once and come with us, or I must compel you to do so."

But Coral still remained speechless, and apparently insensible.

“ I think she has fainted,” said O’Brien, stooping over her; “so much the better; open the door, Panther, and let us be gone; and raising the light and motionless form of Coral in his arms, he left the shanty, followed by the Young Panther. They had not been long gone when Keefe and Denis, guided by the dog, came to the place. On entering the shanty they found it deserted; but the fire burning on the hearth was a certain sign that some one had been recently there; and as they looked eagerly round, Denis descried something glittering on the floor, which proved to be the gold chain and emerald cross Coral used to wear. It was clear she had been in the shanty, and their hopes that she was not far away grew strong. On leaving the shanty Frisk snuffed the ground eagerly, but missing her steps which had hitherto guided him, his instinct seemed at fault, and after having raced several times round the shanty, he came back to his master and whined mournfully, as if acknowledging that he had failed. Keefe and Denis, however, searched the wood round the shanty in every direction; but morning dawned without any further trace of Coral being found. They then thought it best to return to the village and get help before commencing a more thorough and systematic search. There was no difficulty in obtaining this ; everyone in the village was ready to aid in looking for the lost one, whose fate threatened now to be as strange and mysterious as her character and mode of life had been in their eyes : but first a consultation was held as to the best mode of conducting the search. The fire in Brady’s shanty seemed to prove that some one besides Coral had been there; for it seemed to have been burning a much longer time than Coral could have kindled it.

“I guess it was Indians made it,” said Con Doyle; “there was a sqnaw in the village last night a young one, six feet high, and the handsomest ever I saw.”

Some of the young men laughed at Con's description ; but Keefe said quickly:

“She could not have been alone in the neighbourhood; has anyone seen any more Indians about?”

“Indians camped at Snake Falls yesterday,” said Woodpecker, the Indian, who was always sure to be where any excitement was going on: guess she one of them.”

“Very likely,” said Keefe; “and perhaps some of her companions made the fire in the shanty-’

“ And perhaps Coral went with them to their camp,” cried Denis; “let us go there at once, Keefe.”

“Yes; but it is best for only two or three to go. Con must come to tell us if the squaw he saw is among them ; you and I, and Con, will go, and Woodpecker—he may be of use—that will be enough.”

Accordingly, after sending a message to Helen that he hoped they had at last found a clue to Coral, Keefe, with the party he had named, set out for the Indian encampment at Snake Falls.

CHAPTER XXX.

It was still early day, when Keefe and his party reached the Indian wigwams: they were pitched on the side of a high bank thinly scattered with trees, which skirted the shore, and through a deep cleft a narrow but full stream ran down to the lake. All the dogs in the camp (and their name in an Indian camp is Legion) came barking and yelling at the approach of the strangers, but they were called up and quieted by a score of young urchins who, some half naked, and others altogether so, were playing about the camp. From one of these the visitors learned that all the men were now asleep in the lodges, having been out all night fishing; but on being asked if there was a white woman in the camp, he shook his head, and ran off with his fellows to the wigwams. Most of the aged and infirm had been left at one of the more permanent settlements of the tribe; but two or three old crones had accompanied them, and were now sitting basking in the sun outside the lodges, watching the mothers and young girls who were busy around them; some dressing deerskins or sewing mocassins, some pounding Indian corn in a mortar ; but the greater part preparing the fish that had been caught the preceding night, and spreading them to dry in the sun. Several of the curious cradles in which the little Indians were confined were suspended from the branches of the trees, or resting against their trunks; some of the babies were asleep, and others looking about them, with large round eyes full of the most precocious stoicism. Approaching the group, Keefe and his companions quietly sat down among them, and after a few preliminary phrases of courtesy, Keefe, who knew their language well enough to make himself easily understood, addressed them in their own tongue and figurative style which best pleases the Indians.

“A white rose has strayed away from the village of the pale faces; has she found shelter in the lodges of her red sisters? ”

The squaws looked at each other and shook their heads in grave denial, and one of the old Women answered that no flower of the pale faces had come near their camp. Keefe turned to Con.

“ Is the squaw you saw in the village last night here ? " he asked.

Con looked at the dark countenances round him, some of which were gaunt, wrinkled, and surmounted by grizzled locks, and the youngest and best looking among them, with the exception of the half-grown girls, harsh and weather-beaten, with very evident disgust.