For a moment the foemen glared upon each other.
Then, swift as the flash of the lightning, the Wolf Demon leaped upon his destined prey.
The wild war-note of the Shawnee nation burst from the lips of Ke-ne-ha-ha, as he struck desperately at the huge form that sprung so fiercely upon him.
The keen scalping-knife cut deep into the side of the Wolf Demon, but met no flesh in its passage, only hide and hair.
The tomahawk of the unknown being came down upon the head of the chief, but glancing in its course, inflicted only a slight flesh wound.
The two closed together in mortal conflict.
Alarmed by the war-cry of the chief, the Shawnee warriors came pouring into the wigwam.
In the gloom they could only discover that two dark figures were grappling with each other upon the ground that formed the floor of the lodge, in a furious struggle.
Amazed, the warriors paused. In the darkness they could not tell which of the two dark forms—interlaced so snake-like together—was friend or foe.