The great chief of the Shawnee nation, smarting over his failure to destroy the dreaded Wolf Demon, panted eagerly for the opportunity to lead his warriors against the pale-faces.
Girty recounted to the chief all that he had learned regarding the strength of the settlers—knowledge that he had gained in his recent scout to the other side of the Ohio.
The chief listened with a gloomy brow. His plan to surprise the whites had failed.
“Since we can not creep upon them like the fox, our attack shall be like the swoop of the eagle,” Ke-ne-ha-ha said, at length.
“The chief will attack Point Pleasant first?” Girty asked.
“Yes; we will cross the Ohio above the pale-face lodges; then my warriors shall form a circle around the long-knives, reaching from river to river. The circle shall be a line of fire, breathing death to the pale-face that dares to attempt to cross it.”
“And the expedition will move to-night?”
“Yes; I have dispatched my fleetest runners to my brothers, the Wyandots and the Mingoes, telling them that the war-hatchet is dug up, and that, like the storm cloud, the red-men are about to burst in arrows of fire upon the pale-faces, and drive them from the land that the Great Spirit gave to the Indian.”
“I will prepare at once for the expedition,” Girty said, in savage glee, his soul gloating over the prospect of slaughter. Then he withdrew from the wigwam.
As Girty proceeded in the direction of his own lodge he met Kendrick.