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Jason Strate

Expert Performance Indexing in SQL

Server 2019
Toward Faster Results and Lower Maintenance
3rd ed.
Jason Strate
Hugo, MN, USA

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.​apress.​com/​9781484254639 . For more
detailed information, please visit http://​www.​apress.​com/​source-code
.

ISBN 978-1-4842-5463-9 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-5464-6

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© Jason Strate 2019

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editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any
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Thanks to my family and friends for their support while I had to duck out
early at times to try to avoid missing deadlines on this edition.
—Jason Strate
Introduction
Today’s world is all about the data. From the applications to manage
our lives to the analytics we use to guide our decisions, data is
everywhere. Behind data, databases provide the engine to get to our
data, but without the right indexes we lack the fuel to access our data
efficiently.
When it comes to indexes, no single structure aids in retrieving data
from a database more than an index. New features in SQL Server
provide new and unique ways to leverage and access your data, but
without going back to the basics and ensuring that the data is properly
indexed, you’ll find that even the new features fail to live up to
expectations.
Indexes represent both how data is stored and the access paths by
which data can be retrieved from your database. Without indexes, a
database is an unordered mess minus the roadmap to find the
information you want.
Throughout my experience working on data platforms, one of the
most common resolutions that I provide for performance tuning and
application outages is to provide the right indexes for the underlying
databases. Often, the effort of adding an index or two to the most
accessed tables within a database provides significant performance
improvements—much more so than tuning the database at a per SQL
statement level. This is because an index affects many SQL statements
that are being run against the database lifting performance across the
workload.
Managing indexes may seem like an easy task. Unfortunately, their
seeming simplicity is often the key to why they are overlooked. Often,
there is an assumption from developers that the database
administrators will take care of indexing. Or there is an assumption by
the database administrators that the developers are building the
necessary indexes as they develop features in their applications. While
these are primarily cases of miscommunication, people need to know
how to determine what indexes are necessary and the value of those
indexes. This book provides that information.
Outside of the aforementioned scenarios is the fact that applications
and the data they use change over time. Features created and used to
tune the database may not be as useful as expected, or a small feature
change may lead to a big change in how the application and underlying
databases are used. All of this change affects the database and what
needs to be accessed. As time goes on, databases and their indexes need
to be reviewed to determine if the current indexing is accurate for the
new load. This book also provides information in this regard.

What’s in This Book?

From beginning to end, this book provides information that helps build
your skills from a novice at indexing to an expert. The chapters are laid
out such that you can start at any place to fill in the gaps in your
knowledge and build out from there. Whether you can barely spell
index, need to understand the fundamentals, or need to build an
indexing methodology, the information is available here.
Chapter 1 covers index fundamentals. It lays the groundwork for all
of the following chapters. This chapter provides information regarding
the types of indexes available in SQL Server. It covers some of the
Primary index types and defines what these are and how to build them.
The chapter also explores the options available that can change the
structure of indexes. From fill factor to included columns, the available
attributes are defined and explained.
Chapter 2 picks up where the previous chapter left off. Going
beyond defining the indexes available, the chapter looks at the physical
and logical structure of indexes and the components that make up
indexes. This internal understanding of indexes provides the basis for
grasping why indexes behave in certain ways in certain situations. As
you examine the structures of indexes, you’ll become familiar with the
tools you can use to begin digging into these structures on your own.
Armed with an understanding of the indexes available and how they
are built, Chapter 3 explores the statistics that are stored on the indexes
and how to use this information; these statistics provide insight into
how SQL Server is utilizing indexes. The chapter also provides
information necessary to decipher why an index may not be selected
and why it is behaving in a certain way. You will gain a deeper
understanding of how this information is collected by SQL Server
through dynamic management views and what data is worthwhile to
review.
Not every index type is fully discussed in the first chapter; the types
not discussed are covered in Chapters 4 , 5 , and 6. Beyond the rowstore
and columnstore index structures, there are a few other index types
which are Extensible Markup Language (XML), spatial, full-text, and
semantic search. These indexes are applicable to specific situations. In
these chapters, you’ll look into these other index types to understand
what they have to offer. You’ll also look at situations where they should
be implemented.
In a similar fashion to the previous three chapters, Chapter 7 takes a
dive into memory-optimized tables. Memory-optimized tables were
new to SQL Server 2014 and provided a unique capability to provide
improved performance with tables that reside in memory when online.
This chapter will look at how indexes function on these types of tables
and what restrictions still remain.
Chapter 8 identifies and debunks some commonly held myths about
indexes. Also, it outlines some best practices in regard to indexing a
table. As you move into using tools and strategies to build indexes in the
chapters that follow, this information will be important to remember.
With a firm grasp of the options for indexing, the next thing that
needs to be addressed is maintenance. In Chapter 9 , you’ll look at what
needs to be considered when maintaining indexes in your environment.
We’ll look at both the fragmentation of the indexes and the underlying
statistics that supports how SQL Server determines how the index can
be used.
SQL Server is not without tools to automate your ability to build
indexes. Chapter 10 explores these tools and looks at ways that you can
begin building indexes in your environment today with minimal effort.
The four tools discussed are the missing index dynamic management
views (DMVs), Database Engine Tuning Advisor (DTA), Query Store, and
Automatic Database Tuning. You’ll look at the benefits and issues
regarding these tools and get some guidance on how to use them
effectively in your environment.
The tools alone won’t give you everything you need to index your
databases. In Chapter 11 , you’ll begin to look at how to determine the
indexes that are needed for a database and a table. There are a number
of strategies for selecting what indexes to build within a database. They
can be built according to recommendations by the query optimizer.
They also should be built to support metadata structures such as
foreign keys. For each strategy of indexing, there are a number of
considerations to take into account when deciding whether or not to
build the index.
Part of effective indexing is writing queries that can utilize an index
on a query. Chapter 12 discusses a number of strategies for indexing.
Sometimes when querying data, the indexes that you assume will be
used are not used after all. These situations are usually tied into how a
query is structured or the data that is being retrieved. Indexes can be
skipped due to SARGability issues (where the query isn’t being properly
selective on the index). They can also be skipped over due to tipping
point issues, such as when the number of reads to retrieve data from an
index potentially exceeds the reads to scan that or another index. These
issues affect index selection as well as the effectiveness and justification
for some indexes.
Today’s DBA isn’t in a position where they have only a single table to
index. A database can have tens, hundreds, or thousands of tables, and
all of them need to have the proper indexes. Beginning in Chapter 13 ,
you’ll learn some methods to approach indexing for a single database
but also for all of the databases on a server and servers within your
environment.

What’s New in This Edition?

With three new versions of SQL Server released since the last edition of
this book, there have been a significant number of changes to how
indexes can be applied to your databases and data. Some of the key
changes to SQL Server that involve indexing are as follows:
Changes in indexing restrictions to memory-optimized tables and
columnstore indexes
Improvements to maintenance processes for indexes including
improved processing and ability to pause and restart index rebuilds
New tools to review query execution to identify and automate index
selection
Improvements to partitioning and statistics
 Changes in dynamic management objects (DMOs) available that
improve capabilities to inspect indexes and data pages
All of these changes and more are spread throughout the book in all
of the chapters. Even though there have been a number of releases of
SQL Server since the last edition, the primary focus will be on SQL
Server 2019 as the current state of SQL Server. Where applicable,
information will be included to indicate features made available since
the last edition, namely, calling out changes from SQL Server 2016 and
2017.

Summary
As previously mentioned, data is important, and indexes provide the
way for you to get to that data. Through the chapters in this book, you
will become armed with what you need to know about the indexes in
your environment. You will also learn how to find the information you
need to improve the performance of your environment.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Index Fundamentals
Why Build Indexes?​
Major Index Types
Heap Tables
Clustered Indexes
Nonclustered Indexes
Columnstore Indexes
Other Index Types
JSON and XML Indexes
Spatial Indexes
Hash and Range Indexes
Full-Text Search
Index Variations
Primary Key
Unique Index
Included Columns
Partitioned Indexes
Filtered Indexes
Compression and Indexing
Index Data Definition Language
Creating an Index
Altering an Index
Dropping an Index
Index Metadata
sys.​indexes
 sys.​index_​columns
sys.​index_​resumable_​operations
sys.​xml:​indexes
sys.​selective_​xml:​index_​paths
sys.​selective_​xml:​index_​namespaces
sys.​spatial_​indexes
sys.​spatial_​index_​tessellations
sys.​column_​store_​dictionaries
sys.​column_​store_​segments
sys.​column_​store_​row_​groups
sys.​hash_​indexes
sys.​fulltext_​catalogs
sys.​fulltext_​indexes
sys.​fulltext_​index_​columns
Summary
Chapter 2:​Index Storage Fundamentals
Storage Basics
Pages
Extents
Page Types
File Header Page
Boot Page
Page Free Space Page
Global Allocation Map Page
Shared Global Allocation Map Page
Differential Changed Map Page
 Minimally Logged Page
Index Allocation Map Page
Data Page
Index Page
Large Object Page
Organizing Pages
Heap Structure
B-Tree Structure
Columnstore Structure
Examining Pages
Dynamic Management Functions
DBCC Commands
Page Fragmentation
Forwarded Records
Page Splits
Index Characteristics
Heap
Clustered Index
Nonclustered Index
Columnstore Index
Summary
Chapter 3:​Index Metadata and Statistics
Column-Level Statistics
DBCC SHOW_​STATISTICS
Catalog Views
STATS_​DATE
 sys.​dm_​db_​stats_​properties
sys.​dm_​db_​stats_​histogram
sys.​dm_​db_​incremental_​stats_​properties
Statistics DDL
Colum-Level Statistics Summary
Index Usage Statistics
Header Columns
User Columns
System Columns
Index Usage Stats Summary
Index Operational Statistics
Header Columns
DML Activity
SELECT Activity
Locking Contention
Latch Contention
Page Allocation Cycle
Compression
LOB Access
Row Version
Index Operational Stats Summary
Index Physical Statistics
Header Columns
Row Statistics
Fragmentation Statistics
Index Physical Stats Summary
 Columnstore Statistics
Columnstore Physical Stats
Columnstore Operational Stats
Summary
Chapter 4:​XML Indexes
XML Data
Benefits
Cautions
XML Indexes
Primary/​Secondary XML Indexes
Selective XML Indexes
Summary
Chapter 5:​Spatial Indexing
How Spatial Data Is Indexed
Creating Spatial Indexes
Supporting Methods with Indexes
Understanding Statistics, Properties, and Information
The Views
The Procedures
Tuning Spatial Indexes
Restrictions on Spatial Indexes
Summary
Chapter 6:​Indexing Memory-Optimized Tables
Memory-Optimized Tables Overview
Hash Indexes
Range Indexes
 Summary
Chapter 7:​Full-Text Indexing
Full-Text Indexing
Creating a Full-Text Example
Creating a Full-Text Catalog
Creating a Full-Text Index
Full-Text Search Index Catalog Views and Properties
Summary
Chapter 8:​Indexing Myths and Best Practices
Index Myths
Myth 1:​Databases Don’t Need Indexes
Myth 2:​Primary Keys Are Always Clustered
Myth 3:​Online Index Operations Don’t Block
Myth 4:​Any Column Can Be Filtered in Multicolumn Indexes
Myth 5:​Clustered Indexes Store Records in Physical Order
Myth 6:​Indexes Always Output in the Same Order
Myth 7:​Fill Factor Is Applied to Indexes During Inserts
Myth 8:​Deleting from Heaps Results in Unrecoverable
Space
Myth 9:​Every Table Should Have a Heap/​Clustered Index
Index Best Practices
Index to Your Current Workload
Use Clustered Indexes on Primary Keys by Default
Specify Fill Factors
Index Foreign Key Columns
Balance Index Count
 Summary
Chapter 9:​Index Maintenance
Index Fragmentation
Fragmentation Operations
Fragmentation Variants
Fragmentation Issues
Defragmentation Options
Defragmentation Strategies
Preventing Fragmentation
Index Statistics Maintenance
Automatically Maintaining Statistics
Manually Maintaining Statistics
Summary
Chapter 10:​Indexing Tools
Missing Indexes
Explaining the DMOs
Using the DMOs
Database Engine Tuning Advisor
Explaining the DTA
Using the DTA GUI
Using the DTA Utility
Summary
Chapter 11:​Indexing Strategies
Heaps
Temporary Objects
Other Heap Scenarios
 Clustered Indexes
Identity Sequence
Natural Key
Foreign Key
Multiple Column
Globally Unique Identifier
Nonclustered Indexes
Search Columns
Index Intersection
Multiple Column
Covering Index
Included Columns
Filtered Indexes
Foreign Keys
Columnstore Index
JSON Indexing
Index Storage Strategies
Row Compression
Page Compression
Indexed Views
Summary
Chapter 12:​Query Strategies
LIKE Comparison
Concatenation
Computed Columns
Scalar Functions
 Data Conversion
Summary
Chapter 13:​Monitoring Indexes
Performance Counters
Dynamic Management Objects
Index Usage Stats
Index Operational Stats
Index Physical Stats
Wait Statistics
Data Cleanup
Event Tracing
SQL Trace
Extended Events
Query Store
Summary
Chapter 14:​Index Analysis
Review of Server State
Performance Counters
Wait Statistics
Buffer Allocation
Schema Discovery
Identify Heaps
Duplicate Indexes
Overlapping Indexes
Unindexed Foreign Keys
Uncompressed Indexes
 Database Engine Tuning Advisor
Unused Indexes
Index Plan Usage
Summary
Chapter 15:​Indexing Methodology
The Indexing Method
Implement
Communication
Deployment Scripts
Execution
Repeat
Summary
Index
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About the Author and About the Technical
Reviewer

About the Author

Jason Strate
is senior database architect and developer working in the financial
services industry. He has been making data cool again for nearly 20
years, which includes more than a decade of consulting with companies
across the United States. A previous recipient of Microsoft Most
Valuable Professional award for Data Platform (formerly SQL Server)
from 2009 to 2016, Jason’s done fun stuff like getting certifications,
blogging, authoring books, and presenting on technologies. These days,
he’s most often splitting his time between reading, karaoke, and the
PASS Cloud Virtual Group.

About the Technical Reviewer

Rodney Landrum
went to school to be a poet and a writer.
And then he graduated, so that dream
was crushed. He followed another path,
which was to become a professional in
the fun-filled world of information
technology. He has worked as a systems
engineer, UNIX and network admin, data
analyst, client services director, and
finally database administrator (DBA).
The old hankering to put words on
paper, while paper still existed, got the
best of him and in 2000 he began writing
technical articles, some creative and
humorous, some quite the opposite. In 2010, he wrote SQL Server
Tacklebox , a title his editor disdained, but a book closest to the true
creative potential he sought; he still yearned to do a full book without a
single screenshot, which he accomplished in 2019 with his first
novel,Chronicles of Shameus . He currently works from his castle office
in Pensacola, FL, as a senior DBA consultant for Ntirety, a division of
Hostway/Hosting.
© Jason Strate 2019
J. Strate, Expert Performance Indexing in SQL Server 2019
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-5464-6_1

1. Index Fundamentals
Jason Strate1

(1) Hugo, MN, USA

The goal of this book is to help you improve the performance of your
databases through the use of indexes. In order to accomplish this, you
must first understand what indexes are and why you need them. You
need to understand the differences between how data in a clustered
index, columnstore index, and heap table is stored. You also will look at
how nonclustered and other index types are built and how indexes
interact with other indexes. This chapter will provide the building
blocks for understanding the logical design of indexes.

Why Build Indexes?

The most important asset any business owns is its data. Databases exist
to store that data. A key piece in providing the data is delivering it
efficiently. Being able to efficiently access data improves the value that
the business gains from the data. The way to do that is through indexes.
Indexes are the means to providing an efficient access path between
the user and the data. By providing this access path, the user can ask for
data from the database, and the database will know where to go to
retrieve the data and how to do so with minimal effort.
Why not just have all the data in a table and return it when it is
needed? Why go through the exercise of creating indexes? Returning
data when needed is actually the point of indexes; they provide the path
that is necessary to get to the data in the quickest manner possible.
Without indexes to provide a map to where data is located, database
systems have to search through all of the available data to know that
the required data has been accessed. In today’s world where terabytes
of data is common, it’s important to be able to quickly and efficiently
get to the data needed.
To illustrate, let’s consider an analogy that is often used to describe
indexes—a library. When you go to the library, there are shelves upon
shelves of books. In this library, a common task repeated over and over
is finding a book. Most often you are particular on the book that you
need, and you have a few options for finding that book.
In the library, books are stored on the shelves using the Dewey
Decimal Classification system. This system assigns a number to a book
based on its subject. Once the value is assigned, the book is stored in
numerical order within the library. For instance, books on science are in
the range of 500–599. From there, if you wanted a book on
mathematics, you would look for books with a classification of 510–
519. Then to find a book on geometry, you’d look for books numbered
516. With this classification system, finding a book on any subject is
easy and efficient. Once you know the number of the book you are
looking for, you can go directly to the stack in the library where the
books with 516 are located, instead of wandering through the library
until you happen upon the geometry books. This is exactly how indexes
work; they provide an ordered manner to store information that allows
users to easily find the data.
What happens, though, if you want to find all the books in a library
written by Jason Strate? You could make an educated guess that they
are all categorized under databases, but you would have to know that
for certain. The only way to do that would be to walk through the
library and check every stack. The library has a solution for this
problem—the card catalog.
Most card catalogs are available through computer terminals these
days, but back when I was a kid, they consisted of individual cards that
were ordered by author, title, subject, and category. Using the card
catalog, you would be able to find the Dewey Decimal number for any
book. For instance, searching by author, you could find all books written
by Jason Strate. Thus, instead of wandering through the stacks and
checking each book to see whether I wrote it, you could instead go to
the specific books in the library written by me. In essence, this is also
how indexes work. The index provides a location of data so that queries
can go directly to the data.
Without these mechanisms, finding books in a library, or
information in a database, would be difficult. Instead of going straight
to the information, you’d wander through the library aisle to aisle
trying to find what you need. In smaller libraries, such as Little Free
Libraries, this isn’t much of a problem, since there are so few books. But
as the library gets larger and settles into a building, it just isn’t efficient
to browse all the stacks. And when there is research that needs to be
done and books need to be found, there isn’t time to browse through
everything.
This analogy has hopefully provided you with the basis to
understand the purpose and the need for indexes. In the following
sections, I’ll dissect this analogy a bit more and pair it with the different
indexing options that are available in SQL Server databases.

Major Index Types

You can categorize indexes in different ways. However, it’s essential to
understand the four major categories described in this particular
section: heaps, clustered, columnstore, and nonclustered indexes.
Heaps, clustered indexes, and clustered columnstore indexes directly
affect how data in the underlying tables are stored. Nonclustered
indexes are independent of data storage. The first step toward
understanding indexing is to grasp this categorization scheme.

Heap Tables
As mentioned in the library analogy, in a Little Free Library, the books
available change often; usually there are only one or two short shelves
of books. In these cases, the owner doesn’t spend time organizing the
books under the Dewey Decimal system. Instead, the books are placed
on the shelves as they are acquired. In this case, there is no order to
how the books are stored in the library. When SQL Server stores data in
a table in a similar fashion, when the data lacks an ordered structure, it
is referred to as a heap .
In a heap, the first row added to the index is the first record in the
table, the second row is the second record in the table, the third row is
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THE GIANT HERMIT OF THE SCIOTO.

BY CAPT. CHARLES HOWARD,

Author of “The Elk King,” (Pocket Novel No. 45.)

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
F R A N K S TA R R & C O .,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 CO NTENTS

PAGE

I. THE RIVER COMBAT. 9

II. THE HERMIT AND HIS CAVE. 12
III. JIM GIRTY AND HIS PRISONER. 18
IV. THE EVENTS OF THAT NIGHT. 22
V. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH-SHOTS. 27
VI. OUT OF THE CAVE TO DOOM. 31
VII. ALASKA IN HER FRENZY. 36
VIII. JIM GIRTY TRIUMPHS. 40
IX. ONE OF ALASKA’S WHIMS. 45
X. THE FATE OF WELL-LAID PLANS. 50
XI. THE MOLES ON THE SHOULDER. 56
XII. NOT YET! NOT YET! 60
XIII. THE BAFFLED RENEGADE. 66
XIV. SQUAW VENGEANCE, AND SQUAW RAGE. 71
XV. A LEAF FROM THE HERMIT’S LIFE. 75
XVI. THE KING OF THE WOLVES. 78
XVII. THE CONFERENCE ON THE KNOLL. 80
XVIII. SIMON GIRTY IN HIS WAR-PAINT. 82
XIX. A CHANGE IN AFFAIRS. 85
XX. THE BLOODY MEETING. 89
XXI. THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 94
 THE WOLF-QUEEN;
OR,

THE GIANT HERMIT OF THE SCIOTO.

 C H A P T E R I.
T H E R I V E R C O M B AT.

The sun was sinking, a great fiery ball, in the leaden west, at the
close of an autumn day, in the year 1804, when a solitary canoe
descended the Scioto, then vastly swollen by recent rains.
The single occupant of the tiny bark was a youth of two and
twenty summers, clad in buck-skin. His beardless face gave him an
extremely womanish expression. Its smooth surface was yet
untanned by the rays of the sun, which fairness of skin proclaimed
him a novice in backwoods life.
He plied the oars deftly and noiselessly, and kept in the middle of
the stream. Ever and anon he glanced upward at the ragged cliffs
that hung over the murky and turbulent waters like the hand of
doom. But, at last, he passed beyond the precipitous banks, and
gained the mouth of the Scioto’s nosiest tributary.
Here he rested upon his oars a moment, as if to decide a mental
debate, then ran his canoe up the new stream, toward the left bank
of which he presently steered.
“So far without accident,” he murmured in an audible tone, not
before glancing furtively around. “Simon Kenton may be a great
hunter; but he is a sorry prophet. What! did he think I would wait
until he returned from the hazardous expedition he is about to
undertake, and leave Eudora the while in Jim Girty’s hands? And
when, in the ebullition of anger, as I will admit—I called him a
lunatic, and told him that I would rescue the girl without the aid of
his potent arm, he said, with a sneer I shall never forget: ‘Go, rash
boy, and meet the reward for spurning the counsels of your elders.
Go to the death prepared for you by the Wolf-Queen.’”
“The Wolf-Queen!” the young man continued, after a sneer for the
prophecy of the king of backwoodsmen. “If such a creature exists, I
want to meet her; and I have no reason for doubting her existence,
for Simon Kenton says he once trembled in her presence. And Simon
Kenton never lies. I will pit my strength against the Amazon, and her
wolfish guard. Though rash and young in the ways of the woods,
Mayne Fairfax is not a coward, else why came he from cultivated
Virginia to the dark death-paths of Ohio? No; I—My God!”
The exclamation was called into being by the terrible sight that
suddenly burst upon the young hunter’s vision.
Scarce the distance of a hundred yards up-stream, a canoe shot
from the bush-fringed bank, and bore down upon the young
Virginian.
In the center of the bark stood the very person he had lately
expressed a desire to meet—the dreaded Wolf-Queen—dreaded alike
by Indians and whites.
She towered six feet above her moccasins, and her frame seemed
built of iron. She wore a frock of tanned doe-skin, the fringes of
which touched her knees. The leggins which fitted her nether limbs
to a fault, were composed of panther skins, secured to the
moccasins by painted strips of deer-hide. Over all these garments
she wore a long, dark robe whose ample folds disappeared in the
canoe, and lent a royal aspect to its strange wearer. Her head was
surrounded by a dress, composed of white heron-feathers, and
among her raven locks, which streamed over her shoulders, and
covered her beaded bosom, were curiously, but not distastily, woven
the gaudy feathers of the North American oriole.
The features, more than the dress of the singular being so
suddenly encountered on the swollen stream, commanded the
hunter’s attention.
They belonged to a woman in the noon, or summer of life. Here
and there a wrinkle was to be seen, and a sadly strange beauty
pervaded her countenance. But the eyes—those faithful indexes of
the human heart—proclaimed their possessor—a white woman—
mad!
 Yes, the unmistakable fire of insanity blazed fiercely in those
baleful orbs, and told the single beholder that she was a perfect
demon, when the paroxysm of lunacy swayed her.
But she was not alone.
On either side of her stood a huge black wolf, while at her feet sat
a monster gray one. A collar of deer-skin, elaborately beaded,
encircled the necks of the fierce brutes, and from their shaggy backs
the muddy water dripped.
The sight was enough to blanch the boldest cheek, and Mayne
Fairfax could not repress a shriek of terror. It bubbled to his lips
unsummoned.
He now had ocular proof that the dreadful Wolf-Queen was not a
myth.
The canoe and its terrible freight approached with an impetus
received from the swift waters. No oars were needed to keep it in
the center of the stream—a swift current did this service for the
Wolf-Queen, who stood erect in the bark, clutching a drawn bow.
Mayne Fairfax’s presence of mind soon returned. He griped his
rifle, but ere it struck his shoulder the twang of a bow-string smote
his ears, and a barbed shaft buried itself in his right breast.
Instantaneously a faintness stole over him, but the courageous
hunter repressed it, as the canoe of the Amazon grated against his.
He would not die without a struggle, and therefore seized his rifle
for the second time, for the purpose of braining his antagonist.
At that moment the gray wolf left his post.
The clubbed rifle dropped into the canoe, as the wolf buried his
fangs in the hunter’s throat, and the brave fellow staggered back,
trying to tear the mad animal from his breast.
In that terrible moment Simon Kenton’s last words burst doomfully
and prophetically upon his mind!
But his end was not yet.
 For in the fateful moment that followed the lupine attack, the
sharp report of a rifle rent the air; the wolf relinquished his hold with
a groan, and fell at Mayne Fairfax’s feet—dead!
The Wolf-Queen turned toward the shore, and saw a great
coonskin cap surmounting a clump of prickly pears. Instantly a cry,
but half earthly, escaped her lips, and a minute later she was flying
down the stream, vainly trying to stanch the crimson tide that
flowed from the gray wolf’s heart; while at her feet crouched the
black monsters, drinking the warm blood of their lifeless companion.
The young hunter’s canoe began to drift toward the Scioto, and
upon its gory bottom, as motionless as a corpse, lay Mayne Fairfax.
Suddenly the pear bushes parted, and a backwoods giant, bearing
a long but deadly-looking rifle sprung into the stream, and
intercepted the drifting canoe.
He looked over the side, and shook his head doubtingly.
“Poor lad! poor lad!” he murmured, with rough but genuine
indications of sorrow. “I’m afraid he’s going to cross the river.”
Then, standing in the water in the middle of the tributary, he
stanched the blood that poured from the lacerated throat, which he
bound with the soft linings of his grotesque cap.
“There!” he cried, surveying his work. “That doctoring will do until
I reach home. This young chap must not die. He’s too brave to
perish in the springtime of his life. I wonder what brought him alone
to these parts!”
Then with the interrogative still quivering his lips, he towed the
boat ashore, moored it to a clump of alder bushes, and raising the
unconscious youth in his arms, darted away into the great forest,
where strange fortunes and adventures awaited him and the human
burden he bore.
 C H A P T E R I I.
THE HERMIT AND HIS CAVE.

Now and then a groan parted the lips of the unconscious Virginian,
as the giant rapidly bore him through the wood, throughout the
recesses of which the somber shades of night were gathering.
At length the surface of the ground grew hilly, and the giant
approached so near the Scioto that the swash of the waters against
its new banks could be distinctly heard. He followed the course of
the stream for some distance, when he turned aside, and darted into
a small ravine once the bed of a tributary of the Scioto. In the banks
of the ravine were just discernible several gloomy apertures, into
one of which the backwoodsman disappeared.
Five steps from the orifice brought him to a strong oaken door,
seemingly imbedded in the limestone rock, and a short fumbling in
the gloom above his head threw wide the portal.
Dark as the night without was the gloom beyond the stone
threshold; but a joyful bark greeted the giant’s ears, and a dog
sprung forward to greet him.
“Home again, Wolf,” said the man, securing the door. “And I’ve
brought you a friend—a friend as near dead, I should judge, as you
get them, for, with an arrow sticking near through one, and the
awfulest torn throat you ever saw, things must look dangerous.”
The speaker moved forward, and, without the aid of a light,
tenderly placed Mayne Fairfax upon a couch, deep with soft dressed
skins. Then he ignited a tiny pile of bark films, which soon
communicated a warmth to a heap of sticks, which blazed and
crackled with some fury.
“Here, Wolf, quit smelling around the patient,” cried the giant,
turning to his charge. “I’m the doctor in this case, and I’m about to
see what can be done. May be he isn’t so badly hurt as I opine. That
arrow,” he continued, after a long silence, during which he had
critically examined the hunter’s wounds, “that arrow must be pulled
through. I’m not much of a surgeon, but I reckon as how I have
managed some pretty dangerous cases. Here goes! If that arrow
ain’t taken out, a certain young man will never shoulder a rifle
again.”
A protuberance on the young hunter’s back told the giant that the
arrow had nearly gone through the body, and delicately, yet firmly,
the rude surgeon set to work. His keen hunting-knife first severed
the shaft; then made the incision, and the remainder of the shaft
was withdrawn. Then some astringent liniment was rubbed on and
into the wounds, which were covered with strong adhesive plasters.
As this operation was completed, Mayne Fairfax groaned and
opened his eyes.
His first inquiry regarded his situation.
“You’re in the home of Bill Hewitt,” answered the giant, “and he
has just pulled the arrow of that madwoman from your body. Luckily,
as I have discovered, it struck no vital part. The deviation of an inch,
either to the right or the left, would have rendered my surgical
operations unnecessary. So you may begin to believe in special
providences.”
Fairfax tried to answer, but the condition of his throat, torn by the
jaws of the gray wolf, baffled him.
“I’ll dress your breathing apparatus right now,” said Hewitt, “and
then I opine you can chatter away like a parrot.”
The young hunter never winced under the pain occasioned by the
dressing of his throat.
“It’s best for you to stay down for a few days,” said Hewitt, after
completing the operation. “Exertion of body may irritate your breast
wound, and end in something disagreeable. I’ll stay with you all the
time, for I don’t go visiting much in these parts, nor these times.
Now just lay still, but talk to me while I get supper for two; tell me
all about yourself, and what brought you alone away down here.
Boy, you look like a Virginian.”
“I am a Virginian,” answered Fairfax, watching the giant’s
backwoods culinary operations. “My name is Fairfax.”
“Fairfax!” cried the backwoodsman, quickly turning upon the
speaker. “What Fairfax?”
“The son of Ronald Fairfax, of Roanoke.”
“I knew him,” said the giant.
“That is singular. When did you leave Virginia?”
“So you’ve got to questioning before you’re half through with your
story, eh?” cried Hewitt, with a strange smile. “Well, I’ll tell you; but
you must go on with your tale; and perhaps I’ll tell you mine, some
day. Perhaps, I say, and some day. I left Rockbridge county a matter
of twenty-one years ago.”
“Three months since I stood in my father’s house,” resumed young
Fairfax, whose countenance told that he would have questioned his
preserver further; “and were it not for the existence of that accursed
renegade, Jim Girty, I would be there this night.”
“Yes, curse Jim Girty, boy,” muttered Hewitt. “Oh that curses could
kill.”
“Yes, yes,” hissed Mayne Fairfax, and his nervous hands closed in
silent anger. “Near Rockbridge county the family of Nicholas
Morriston rather rashly dwelt alone in the wilderness. The father was
a hotheaded man, who lived in fancied security, while Indian raids
were being made all around him. One night, poor fellow, he paid
dearly for his rashness, for often had I entreated him to remove his
family to a place of safety. One night, I say, when too late to fly, he
paid the penalty attached to stubbornness. But not only did he
suffer, but every member of his family, save one, fell beneath the
swoop of the white hawk.”
“The red hawks, you mean,” interrupted Hewitt.
 “No, no. The destroying band was led by Jim Girty, whose evil
passions had been inflamed by the beauty, the innocence and grace
of Eudora Morriston.”
“I anticipate the remainder of your narrative, boy,” suddenly
interrupted the giant hermit. “Eudora Morriston is now Jim Girty’s
prisoner, and it is she whom you seek in the land of the dread Wolf-
Queen and her tribe.”
“Yes. By tarrying, perhaps months, in Chillicothe, I might have
secured the assistance of the renowned Simon Kenton; but the
thought of Eudora’s situation—growing more precarious every day—
caused me to spurn the great hunter’s offer, and, alone, I swore to
rescue her or perish in the attempt.”
“You’re a brave boy, a brave boy!” cried the giant, admiringly. “I
had a little boy once—a tiny fellow with golden hair, and the prettiest
eyes you ever saw. But where he is now, God knows. You love
Eudora Morriston?”
A flush suffused Mayne Fairfax’s temples.
“Yes, but she knows it not. I never breathed aught to her of my
passion.”
For a long time the hunter was silent, and the outward workings
of his countenance, told of mental struggles in the mysterious
unseen.
“I loved once—a long while ago,” he said, at length, fixing his gaze
upon the reclining hunter. “But I don’t think I love anybody now,
save my boy—wherever he is—and Wolf, here,” and he stroked the
mastiff’s shaggy hide. “These hands,” he quickly continued,
stretching forth his broad palms, “are red with the gore of a fellow-
creature, whose skin was as fair as yours, my boy. With the brand of
Cain upon my brow, I fled Virginia—fled between two days, and here
I am, a cave-hermit, on the verge of fifty years, with a giant’s frame,
unracked by disease; but with hair and beard almost as white as
driven snow.
 “Yes, yes,” he continued, as though the young hunter had put a
question, “it is a terrible thing to kill a fellow-creature in the first
heat of passion; but I will not tell you aught further of that dark
night, now. Boy, from that day to this I have not taken a human life
—nor ever will I, not even the life of an Indian. I will assist you to
recover the sweet creature you seek—together we will snatch her,
unharmed, from the fangs of the white wolf—Jim Girty; but into
whatever precarious situations we may fall, remember, boy, that
these hands shed no human blood. These fists are enough for a
score of red-skins. They have proved themselves thus in times gone
by. But here, our supper is ready. I’ll prop you up with these skins,
and you can make out to eat, I hope.”
The repast proved quite nutritious to Mayne Fairfax, and not a
word passed between the twain until it had ended, and the still
smoking remains thrown to Wolf.
“Boy, did you ever hear your father speak of William Hewitt?”
suddenly questioned the giant.
“Never to my knowledge,” answered the young man.
“Strange, when we knew each other so well,” soliloquized the
hermit, in a semi-audible tone. “But, perhaps, he would have his
heirs remain ignorant of that dark night, as well he might. But, my
boy, I’d give my right arm, nay, my very life, to know what became
of him—my boy.”
“I will make every inquiry when I return,” said Fairfax.
“But how shall I know the result of your inquiries?”
“I will return and make them known to you.”
“How can I reward you?” cried Hewitt, grasping the young man’s
hands.
“Say nothing about that. I am already rewarded. But—what was
that?”
 “My door-bell,” said the giant, with a smile, as he rose to his feet
and hastened to the mouth of the cave.
A minute later Fairfax heard the massive oaken door open and
close, and a confused murmur of voices approaching him.
“Boy,” suddenly said the giant, leading a tall and athletic young
Indian into the mellow light of the fire, “here is the only visitor I
have. The Bible says that it is not good for man to be alone always,
so I picked up a companion. This is Oonalooska, the bravest young
warrior of his tribe.”
Mayne Fairfax stretched forth his hand, and the young brave
pressed it with no small degree of feeling.
“So the madwoman struck the white hunter?” said Oonalooska,
half interrogatively, still retaining Fairfax’s hand.
“Yes; her shaft pierced my breast, and her wolf tore my throat.”
“She will be like a great storm now,” returned the Shawnee,
“because one of her wolves is dead. Oonalooska fears for the Pale
Flower in the Shawnee village.”
“Then she is there!” cried the young hunter, with eagerness.
“Yes,” answered Oonalooska, “she is under the fiery eyes of the
White Wolf, and unless he guards her well, Alaska will tear her from
him, and put her to the torture.”
“No, no!” cried Mayne Fairfax. “Hewitt, I feel strong enough to go
and rescue her.”
“You’re as weak as a kitten,” said the giant, with a smile for the
young hunter’s futile effort to rise. “We will send Oonalooska back to
the village, and he shall report affairs for us. It will be a terrible
conflict if affairs reach such a climax between Girty and Alaska, the
Wolf-Queen; but Girty may still possess the strange influence he has
held over her in days gone by. I am certain that a crisis will not be
reached in the Shawnee village for some time.”
 “But send Oonalooska thither at once,” cried Fairfax, “and tell him
to tell Eudora that a friend seeks her rescue. And, Shawnee,” here
he addressed Oonalooska, “if you can save the Pale Flower at once,
do so, and convey her hither.”
“Oonalooska will not sleep,” was the reply; “but to overcome the
White Wolf and Alaska he must have the cunning of his white
friends.”
“I cannot leave this young man until his sores are healed,” said
Hewitt. “But that will not be long. Then we will baffle Jim Girty, and
you, who hate him, can send him to Watchemenetoc.”
The Indian’s eyes flashed at the hermit’s last sentence, and a
minute later Oonalooska was gone.
 C H A P T E R I I I.
J I M G I R TY A N D H I S P R I S O N E R .

James Girty was one of a quartette of brothers to which the

notorious Simon belonged. He became the prisoner of the Indians
early in Braddock’s ill-fated campaign, when he was in his fourteenth
year, and was adopted by the Shawnees. Growing to manhood, he
loved the life and customs of the red rovers of the trackless forests,
and hated all whom they hated. His passions were as fiery as
Simon’s, but for some unaccountable reasons, he has not figured as
conspicuously on the page of history.
Simon Girty, notwithstanding his multitudinous crimes, possessed
a few good qualities; but James possessed not one. Simon often
pleaded for the life of a prisoner, James never; and his countenance
was the incarnation of all that is repulsive.
At the opening of our romance he had attained his sixty-ninth
year, notwithstanding which he still possessed a giant’s frame and a
giant’s strength.
So well did he bear the burden of his years, that he looked
beneath fifty, and scarce a gray hair was visible upon his head. His
eyes still flashed the fire of manhood’s prime, from beneath long,
midnight lashes, and not a crow’s foot furrowed his forehead. His
face was covered by splotches of red hair, through which cutaneous
eruptions, caused by his dissolute habits, were constantly making
their appearance. When not influenced by wine, he was not
quarrelsome; but for many years he had drawn scarce a single sober
breath. He was an unerring marksman, and his influence over the
Indians was unbounded.
While hunting in Virginia he encountered Eudora Morriston, whose
beauty fanned the fires of his evil nature; and, as Mayne Fairfax has
already related, he swooped down upon the happy home, at the
head of a band of Shawnees, massacred every one of its inmates,
save the beautiful girl, whom he bore to the Indian village, and
placed under the guardianship of two of the most pliant of his red
tools.
Bright and translucently beautiful upon the Shawnee village broke
the morn that followed the transaction of the events related in the
foregoing chapters.
James, or as he was commonly called, Jim Girty, would have
slumbered late, had he not been startled from his sleep by the grip
of a human hand upon his arm. He opened his baleful eyes, and
beheld a middle-aged savage bending over him. The first streaks of
morning but illy dispersed the gloom of his lodge, and the renegade
sprung to his feet, with the oath, never absent from his lips.
“Alaska is a storm!” cried the Indian, springing from Girty’s side,
and throwing aside the curtain of skins that served for a door. “See!
she goes to the lodge of the Pale Flower. Her wolves will kill the
guards, and tear to pieces the White Wolf’s prisoner. Last night the
Lone Man shot Alaska’s gray wolf, and she will now have the blood
of the white captive for it.”
Astounded at the sight to which the savage directed his gaze—the
Wolf-Queen, guarded by a dozen terrible wolves, and followed by
near a hundred Indians, advancing toward the lodge where dwelt his
prisoner, guarded by but ten braves—Jim Girty jerked his rifle from
its pins over his couch, and bounded to the scene.
He seemed to fly over the ground, and threw himself between
Eudora’s guards, as the foremost wolves were preparing for the
combat.
“Back!” he yelled, fixing his gaze upon Alaska. “Why does Alaska
seek the life of my prisoner?”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the madwoman, long and loud. “’Tis for the
White Wolf to question, but for Alaska to answer. Last night Alaska
met a young pale-faced hunter on the little stream. She pierced him
with her shaft, but he was brave. He would use his rifle as a club.
Alaska’s gray wolf—the only snow wolf of Alaska’s band—sought the
hunter’s throat, when the Lone Man, concealed by many bushes,
shot Lupino. Now lies he cold and dead in Alaska’s wigwam. She
must have blood for his, and that blood must flow from the Pale
Flower’s heart.”
She finished, and stepped forward, while her grip tightened on the
long-bladed knife that glittered in the first beams of the sun.
Girty’s rifle shot to his shoulder.
He did not dare shoot the Wolf-Queen, for she knew not the value
of life, and her death at his hands would soon be followed by his, by
the claws and fangs of her wolves.
He directed his weapon at the head of her favorite wolf—a
monster black fellow, around whose neck was a wide beaded collar,
and over the shaggy back dropped a rich mantle.
“If Alaska does not stay her hand,” he cried, “the White Wolf will
have Leperto’s blood!”
The Wolf-Queen suddenly paused, and glanced from Girty to the
threatened wolf. Indecision ruled her form, and Girty was on the eve
of triumph, when an old Indian, bent with more than three-score
years and ten, stepped to Alaska’s side.
His eyes flashed with a fire seldom seen in the orbs of age, when
his gaze fell upon the renegade.
“Let the White Wolf shoot Leperto,” he cried, addressing the
madwoman. “Old Miantomah will give her another. Let the Pale
Flower die for the act of the Lone Man, and if the White Wolf resists,
let Alaska’s wolves, his brothers, tear him to pieces.”
Miantomah exercised a weird influence over the Wolf-Queen, and,
inspired by his words, she spoke to her wolves.
The mad animals fixed their eyes upon Girty, and crawled forward.
It was a critical moment.
 “Shall an old, empty-headed man rule a mad-woman with his
forked tongue?” cried Girty, appealing to the crowd of warriors. “Let
the White Wolf’s brothers gather around him. He has led them to
victory, and will they now desert him for a crack-headed squaw?”
“No!” cried Oonalooska, drawing his tomahawk, and springing to
Girty’s side. “Oonalooska is not a squaw. Warriors, follow him!”
His action electrified the warriors, and, a moment later, all, save a
dozen, surrounded Girty, and displayed a hollow square glistening
with knives, to the Wolf-Queen.
“Back to your wigwam now, and bury your dead!” cried Girty, in
triumph.
Alaska regarded him in silence.
He repeated the command.
“Alaska moves not hence without the Pale Flower’s blood,” she at
length replied. “Her braves are on the war-path, and at their head,
marches the great Tecumseh, against whom the White Wolf dare not
stand. They will return ere yon ball of fire again rises over the hills.
Then, let the White Wolf fear, then will Alaska have the Pale Flower’s
heart. Here she will remain until Tecumseh comes,” and she seated
herself upon the ground, in the midst of her wolves.
At the mention of Tecumseh’s name, Girty’s guard exchanged
looks of fear. The great chief was on ill terms with the renegade,
and, fearing to incur the anger of Tecumseh, several braves deserted
Girty, and went over to the mad-woman.
“Be firm!” cried Girty, lowering upon the disaffection. “They who
stand by me shall be rewarded, and Tecumseh will act justly when
he comes.”
This retained a goodly portion of his guard.
The long hours wore away, both parties longing, yet fearing, for
the night.
 Oonalooska knew that Tecumseh would favor the Wolf-Queen,
and, with a determined resolve in his heart, he stepped into the
lodge, where knelt a trembling girl, praying to her God for
deliverance.
He touched her arm.
She looked up, her eyes bathed in pearly tears.
“Let the Pale Flower tremble not,” whispered the young brave.
“Tecumseh will not return till midnight, and ere he comes
Oonalooska will save the White Wolf’s captive. The young hunter
lives in the lodge of the great Lone Man.”
Then he turned away, without noticing the look of gratitude
Eudora bestowed upon him.
Oh, for the night!
What had it in store for Eudora Morriston—life or death?
 C H A P T E R I V.
T H E E V E N T S O F T H AT N I G H T.

Slowly the hours of that beautiful autumn day wore away, and the
shades of evening seemed a century in making their appearance.
The squaws of the “town” brought a repast to Girty and his band;
but Alaska dispatched several warriors to her own wigwam, the
capacious larder of which was soon empty for the benefit of herself
and wolves.
The terrible animals never took their eyes from Girty, whose
distasteful form blocked the doorway of Eudora’s lodge.
“Never fear, girl,” he said, one time, turning upon his prisoner, who
sat listlessly upon her couch of skins. “The wolves shan’t eat you. I
have great influence over Tecumseh, and the chief will quickly drive
the crazy woman to her wigwam.”
A better dissembler than “Jim” Girty never trod the woods of Ohio.
He knew that the great Shawnee chieftain lived in superstitious awe
of the Wolf-Queen, and that, upon his return, his prisoner would be
given over to the fangs of the wolves. And while he spoke to Eudora
he was plotting to get her beyond the village before Tecumseh
returned.
The young girl deigned no reply to his words, but in silence set to
work to arrange the disheveled locks which hung over her shoulders.
She was very beautiful—the possessor of a symmetrical form
faultless in the minutest particular, large, black eyes, lustrous
beneath raven lashes, and a wealth of raven hair, which enhanced
her transcendent loveliness. She wore the coronet of her
seventeenth year, though weeping for the fate of her parents and
golden-haired sisters, mercilessly butchered in her sight, caused her
to look beyond her years.
 The words of Oonalooska shot a cheering ray of hope into her
heart, and caused that guiltless organ to beat for joy. “The young
hunter lives,” he had said; but what “young hunter” did he mean?
Quite a number of “young hunters” had been enraptured by her
beauty, though none had she ever bade hope for the dimpled hand
that could send an arrow unerringly to the target, and direct the
bullet with an accuracy unequaled by many well-known frontiersmen
of those “dark and bloody days.”
Among her admirers, Mayne Fairfax had called oftenest at her
home, now a heap of ashes, and she had evinced a partiality for his
companionship, which had driven the others from the field.
Was he the “young hunter” who sought her in the Indian village?
Her rapid heart-beats proclaimed that she hoped so.
The afternoon was nearing its close when Girty summoned
Oonalooska to his side.
The young brave obeyed with alacrity, and was surprised to hear
the renegade make the following proposition:
“Tecumseh must not meet the Pale Flower in the lodge,” said Girty,
in a low tone, that it might not reach the ears of Alaska, who was
within common earshot. “The chief hates me, but he also fears me.
Without a second thought he would deliver the white-faced girl to
Alaska. To-morrow he will decide otherwise. Not far from this lodge
dwell the exiled Mingoes, on whose grounds no hostile warrior dares
to tread. To-night, then, will not Oonalooska guide the Pale Flower
thither, and guard her until the White Wolf commands their return?”
Eagerly Oonalooska promised to grant Girty’s request, and the
plans for the escape were quickly formed.
While the plot was discussed by the warrior and the renegade,
dark clouds were creeping from the west, and soon the whole sky
was overcast—which harbingered a storm. Through a rift in the
opaque masses, the dying rays of the sun fell upon the Shawnee
village, and when night prevailed Girty threw a cordon of braves
around Eudora’s lodge. Alaska witnessed the precautionary
movement, but instead of encircling the cordon with her braves, she
moved nearer the aperture of the wigwam, which she made
discernible by torches, thrust into the yielding earth.
Girty thought it best to keep Eudora ignorant of the destination he
intended for her; but told Oonalooska to say that he would conduct
her to a place of safety, beyond the reach of all her enemies.
The night was the incarnation of gloom, and every waning
moment brought Tecumseh and his braves nearer the village. The
chief had promised to return upon that particular night, and he had
never broken his word. In the rear of the wigwam Girty had placed
several braves upon whom he could rely, and, as the first peal of
thunder reverberated through the forest, and far down the Scioto,
Oonalooska’s keen knife gashed the thin bark in the rear of Eudora’s
couch.
A peal of thunder in autumn always startled the Shawnees, and,
believing it the harbinger of Tecumseh’s approach, the most timid
glided over to the Wolf-Queen.
Girty did not murmur at their late disaffection, for he knew that
Alaska would not move till the arrival of the giant chief.
“Oonalooska is ready,” whispered the brave, turning from the
perforated bark to the maiden, whose eyes had witnessed the
operation.
“Then let us hasten,” she said in tremulous accents, “lest
Tecumseh’s arrival doom me to the teeth of the mad-woman’s
wolves.”
Tenderly, noiselessly, Oonalooska lifted Eudora in his arms, and
glided through the slit, and past the posted guards in the rear of the
wigwam. Once beyond the confines of the village, he walked rapidly,
experiencing no difficulty in picking his way rightly in the cimmerian
gloom.
 Presently he entered the forest, and when he had placed a hill
between himself and the village, he paused, and drew a torch from
beneath his wolf-skin robe.
“Oonalooska does not possess the eyes of the owl,” he said, with a
smile, as he ignited a wisp of bark films with the flints. “The wood is
dark, and unless fire guides Oonalooska, he may wander to the
Mingoes, whither the White Wolf has sent him.”
“But may not Oonalooska’s torch encounter Tecumseh?” asked
Eudora, who feared the worst.
“No; the great chief and his braves will cross the creek into the
lodges. Oonalooska must have fire. It will keep the wolves away.”
The mere mention of the wolves sent an icy shudder to Eudora’s
heart. From the jaws of the ravenous animals she had first been
snatched by the chivalrous red-man, who was once more bearing
her through the labyrinthine recesses of the Scioto forest.
The hermit home of William, or, as he called himself, “Bill,” Hewitt,
was about fourteen miles from the Shawnee village, and Oonalooska
rapidly traversed the dreary miles. The crisp leaves gave forth a
weird sound, as the Indian’s moccasined feet touched them, and the
great drops of rain that pattered down through the giant, leafless
trees, added to the ghostliness of the moment. Sure enough, the
wolves struck the trail, and, at last, Oonalooska saw many a pair of
fiery eyes far in his rear.
He felt Eudora shudder as a chorus of yells smote her ear; but he
assured her that they would reach the hermit’s cave in safety, when
he knew that the issue was doubtful.
At length the warrior uttered a light cry, as he gained the summit
of a knoll, from which he indistinctly heard the roar of a little
cataract that poured its waters into the Scioto.
“The Pale Flower is near the Lone Man’s lodge,” said the Shawnee,
and he dashed down the knoll, the foot of which he reached as the
foremost wolf poked his head over the summit.