“The chief speaks straight, for with his own hand he killed his daughter, the Red Arrow.”
“And would also kill Le-a-pah, his other singing-bird, if she left the village of her fathers to sing in the wigwam of a white-skin,” exclaimed Ke-ne-ha-ha, with stern accents.
“It is good.”
“Why has my father told of the death of the bird who flew from her nest to dwell with the stranger?”
“Does not the chief wish to know why the Wolf Demon kills only the Shawnee warriors?”
“Yes; but what has that to do with the dead singing-bird?” Ke-ne-ha-ha said, puzzled.
“Does not the Wolf Demon leave as his totem on the breast of his victims a Red Arrow?”
The chief started. For the first time the thought that the mark of the Wolf Demon and the name of his murdered daughter were alike, flashed across his mind.
“Why does the Wolf Demon take for his totem a Red Arrow?” demanded the chief.
“Let the chief open his ears and he shall hear,” said the old Indian, gravely. “When the lodge of the white hunter was burnt to the ground, and the body of the singing-bird lay before the warriors disfigured by the flames, they looked for the white hunter, but could not find him.”