The moon was now well up in the sky, although it was still comparatively early in the night.  It was hardly possible that the escape of Miss Prescott could be discovered before morning, yet the Huron was too prudent not to guard against the most remote probability, by taking up their march at once in a direct line for the settlement.  The eight or ten hours of unmolested travel that were before them, were amply sufficient to place all beyond danger, at least from the Shawnees who had just been left behind.  Taking the lead, as usual, he proceeded at a moderate walk, timing his progress to the endurance of the maiden with him, still keeping the impatient Cato behind.

“I say, Oonomoo,” called out Lieutenant Canfield, in a suppressed voice, “suppose Miss Prescott and myself should indulge in conversation, would you have any objection?”

“No—­don’t care—­talk sweet—­talk love—­so no one hear but gal—­gal talk low, sweet, so no one but him hear,” returned the Indian, pleasantly.

Falling a rod or so in the rear, the Lieutenant took the willing hand of his betrothed, and said: 

“Tell me, dear Mary, of your captivity—­of all that happened to you since they took you from your home.”

The girl proceeded to relate what is already known to the reader, adding that but for the friendship of Hans Vanderbum and Oonomoo, she never would have hoped to escape from her captivity.

“The Dutchman is a stupid, honest-hearted fellow, whose heart is in the right place, and the Huron has endeared himself to hundreds of hearts by his self-sacrificing devotion in their hour of affliction.”

“What possible motive could influence him to risk his life in my rescue?”

“His own nature.  He has been with those holy men, the Moravians, and he is, what is so rarely seen, a Christian Indian.  But, he has been thus friendly to the whites for many years.  The Shawnees inflicted some great injury upon him.  What it was I do not know.  I have heard that his father was a chief, and, while Oonomoo was still a boy, he was broken of his chiefdom, and both he and his wife inhumanly massacred.  This is the secret of his deadly hostility to that tribe, and, I am told, that among the scores and scores of scalps which grace his lodge, there is not one which has not been torn from the head of a Shawnee.  But for a year or two, he has refrained from scalping his foes, and he has killed none except in honorable warfare.”

“Has he a wife and family?”

“He has a wife and son, and his lodge is deep in the forest, no one knows where.  Its location is so skillfully chosen that it has baffled all search for years.  His wife, I have been told, has been a sincere Christian from childhood, and her piety and faithfulness have had a good influence on him.”

“He is a noble man, and my dear father will reward him for this.”

“No, he will not.  Oonomoo has never accepted a reward for his services and never will.  Presents and mementoes have been showered upon him, but his proud soul scorns anything like payment for his services.  Do you suppose that I could ever remunerate him for the happiness he has brought me?” asked the Lieutenant, pressing the hand of his beloved.