The captive, still bound securely with thongs of deer-hide, was thrust into a cabin; and two stout warriors were appointed to watch over him by day and night, and were charged to use the utmost vigilance in preventing his escape. A few dried bunches of fern were spread for his couch; and he was supplied with a wooden bowl of water and a handful of pounded corn to satisfy his appetite; and it was ordered that Monega, the most skilful mediciner of the tribe, should apply her most healing salves and balsams to his hurts, that he might the sooner be ready to run the gauntlet, and endure the torture of fire, which was the destiny awaiting him.
Monega was the daughter of a chief, and as it chanced, was as distinguished for the gentleness of her heart, as for her exceeding loveliness, and her great medical skill. No one could look upon her slight and well-rounded limbs, and upon her sweet countenance, without a feeling of admiration, if not of love; and no sooner did our Mohawk gaze upon her features, and listen to the soft tones of her voice, than he was completely fascinated with her charms. Nor did the Indian damsel gaze upon the noble captive with less favorable emotions. With a blushing cheek and trembling hand she produced from a number of gourds, the most potent herbs that constituted her remedies, and tenderly applied them to the wounded limbs of the Mohawk.
"How is the sweet daughter of the Oneida named?" inquired the young chief, as the damsel proceeded to bathe the bruised places with sweet-smelling medicines.
A blush suffused the modest cheek of Monega as she replied, "I am called among my people Monega, or the Wild-rose, and am the daughter of a chief."
"Monega," exclaimed he, "is fairer than any honeyed wild-rose that is kissed by the red lip of the morning, or than the pearly lily that droops by the brink of the running water. There is no maiden among the fair daughters of the Mohawk, so lovely in the eyes of Wauchee. Will not the Wild-rose return again the fondness that blooms in the breast of the strange warrior, though he lies like a wounded panther at the feet of his mistress?"
"The captive warrior," returned the maiden, "has a bold heart, and is more stately and noble than any of the young chiefs of her own people, yet Monega must not yield her heart to a chief of an enemy." And, so saying, she hastily gathered her herbs and unguents together, and withdrew beneath the suspended buffalo-hide that formed the door of the wigwam.