He knew that the beauty of Aola, of Whispering Winds Among the Leaves, had been sung from the Ohio to the Great Lakes.
Often she passed him that afternoon.

At sunset, as the braves untied him and led him away, he once more caught the full, intense gaze of her lovely eyes.
That night as he lay securely bound in the corner of a lodge, and the long hours wore slowly away, he strained at his stout bonds, and in his mind revolved different plans of escape.

It was not in this man's nature to despair; while he had life he would fight.

From time to time he expanded his muscles, striving to loosen the wet buckskin thongs.
The dark hours slowly passed, no sound coming to him save the distant bark of a dog and the monotonous tread of his guard; a dim grayness pervaded the lodge.

Dawn was close at hand--his hour was nearly come.
Suddenly his hearing, trained to a most acute sensibility, caught a faint sound, almost inaudible.