The combatants paid no heed to the entrance of the warriors, so engrossed were they in their terrible struggle.
For a moment the Indians stood like statues, gazing in bewilderment upon the strange scene before them.
Then, actuated by a sudden thought, one of the Shawnees—wiser than his fellows—dashed from the wigwam to the fire that burned near to the lodge of the Medicine Man.
The chief snatched a flaming brand from the fire, and then re-entered the wigwam.
The struggle between the two upon the ground had ceased. One had conquered the other.
By the light of the burning fagot the amazed Indians looked upon a fearful scene.
In the center of the wigwam, flat upon his back, and with the blood streaming freely from a wound in his temple, lay Ke-ne-ha-ha, the great chief of the Shawnee nation.
Over him, with his foot planted upon his breast, and the blood-stained tomahawk upraised in menace in his hand, was the terrible being that wore the shape of a wolf and the face of a man.
The blood of the warriors congealed within their veins as they looked upon the awful picture.
For a moment the Wolf Demon held his position, with his foot placed in triumph upon the body of the prostrate chief. Then, with a hoarse yell of defiance, he sprung forward upon the warriors gathered in the doorway of the lodge.