“Does the Great Medicine read the future straight?” he asked, anxiously. “Is not the blood that he sees the blood of the white settlers by the banks of the Ohio? the blood of the false-hearted, crooked-tongued chiefs who have stolen the lands of the red-men and whose mouths are full of lies?”
Sorrowfully the old Indian shook his head.
“The blood is the life-current of the Shawnees, the Mingoes, the Wyandots and the Hurons. The heart of the Great Medicine is sad, but he must speak the truth.”
“Then the expedition of the Shawnee chief against the whites on the Ohio will be defeated?” asked Ke-ne-ha-ha, with a frown upon his face.
“Yes.”
“The chief will go if he had ten thousand lives to lose and knew that by the act he would sacrifice them all,” said the Shawnee, proudly, and with an air of dogged defiance.
“The chief has but one life to lose, and he will lose it in the Shawnee village by the banks of the Scioto,” said the Great Medicine.
Ke-ne-ha-ha started as the words fell upon his ears, and a look of anger swept over his face.
“Will the chief die by the hand of a spy—a snake who will creep into the Shawnee village to strike him in the back?”
“No, Ke-ne-ha-ha will be killed in a fair and open fight, but he will be killed in the midst of the Shawnees and die in one of the wigwams of his own people.”