The red chieftain fumed and chafed like a caged lion. His allies, the Wyandots and the Mingoes, had sent word that they could not move their forces for three days, and so, despite his desire for war, he was compelled to remain inactive.
The wily sachem knew full well that he could accomplish nothing unless he came down upon his foes in overwhelming numbers.
Ke-ne-ha-ha had faced the deadly fire of the white rifles on many a bloody field. He had felt the prowess of the hardy bordermen, and had learned to respect it. No hot-headed boy was he, to rashly dare the power of the white-skins, without a force far superior to their own.
And so he waited, and while he waited—furious as the angry bear cheated of his prey—he called down the curses of the Great Spirit upon the heads of the slow-moving chiefs, his allies.
He paced restlessly up and down the narrow confines of his wigwam.
“The chiefs of the Wyandots and the Mingoes are like turtles; they should have houses on their backs. A warrior should be like the eagle or the hawk—swift as the forked light of the Great Spirit. The white-skins must know that the red-men will soon take the war-path against them. The great chief, Boone, has long ears. Like a fox he crept into the Shawnee village; he will carry back to his people the news that the red warriors are arming for the fight.”
The meditations of the chief were interrupted by the entrance of his daughter, Le-a-pah.
The features of the chieftain softened as he looked upon the handsome face of his only child.
“May Le-a-pah speak with her father, the great chief?” asked the girl, with a timid smile.