She would understand everything,perhaps;at least she would know that the prisoner's release was to please her,but even if she did not,no harm would be done,a white man's life would be saved,and his real motive would not be suspected.He turned with feverish eagerness to the lodge.Wachita had disappeared--probably to join the other women.It was well;she would not suspect him.
The tree to which the doomed man was bound was,by custom,selected nearest the chief's lodge,within its sacred enclosure,with no other protection than that offered by its reserved seclusion and the outer semicircle of warriors'tents before it.To escape,the captive would therefore have to pass beside the chief's lodge to the rear and descend the hill toward the shore.Elijah would show him the way,and make it appear as if he had escaped unaided.As he glided into the shadow of a group of pines,he could dimly discern the outline of the destined victim,secured against one of the larger trees in a sitting posture,with his head fallen forward on his breast as if in sleep.But at the same moment another figure glided out from the shadow and approached the fatal tree.
It was Wachita!
He stopped in amazement.But in another instant a flash of intelligence made it clear.He remembered her vague uneasiness and solicitude at his agitation,her sudden disappearance;she had fathomed his perplexity,as she had once before.Of her own accord she was going to release the prisoner!The knife to cut his cords glittered in her hand.Brave and faithful animal!