In the center of the horse-path, cold and dead, they found the Shawnee chief.
On the breast of the slain warrior blazed the fearful token, the Red Arrow.
Ke-ne-ha-ha then knew only too well who it was that had rescued the white hunter from his power, and left the footprint of an Indian and the mark of a wolf’s paw as traces behind him. The terrible Wolf Demon had again been in the midst of the Shawnee village. Again had his powerful arm struck the fearful blow that sealed the death of a red warrior.
Mournfully the Indians carried the body of the slain man to his wigwam, and soon the wail of lamentation and despair broke on the stillness of the night.
“What does the chief think?” asked the Black Cloud, as he watched the lowering face of Ke-ne-ha-ha.
“That the Bad Spirit is among us,” returned the chief, slowly. “My warriors are falling, one by one, by the hand of this secret foe. I would give my own life to conquer him and save my nation from him.”
“Why not seek the Medicine Man? The Wolf Demon is a spirit—the Medicine Man will give the chief a charm so that he can fight the Wolf Demon,” said the Black Cloud, sagely.
“My brother speaks well—his counsel is good—the chief will visit the Great Medicine,” replied Ke-ne-ha-ha.
And acting instantly on the resolution that he had formed, Ke-ne-ha-ha went at once to the wigwam of the old Indian who was the Great Medicine Man of the Shawnee tribe.
The wigwam of the Great Medicine was far from the others of the village, and half hid itself within the borders of the wood as if it courted solitude.