A grim smile crept over the stern features of the chief as he listened to the unanswerable words of the girl.
“My daughter is as wise as the fox—she speaks for her lover as stoutly as the she-wolf fights for her young.”
“The great chief is not angry at Le-a-pah because she speaks for the man she loves?”
“No; it is the blood of Ke-ne-ha-ha running in the veins of Le-a-pah that bids her speak.”
“My father will then give his consent that the young chief shall claim Le-a-pah as his own?”
“Ke-ne-ha-ha will then be alone in the world. The Red Arrow, his eldest joy, lies beneath the big oaks that sway their leafy branches in the woods of the Scioto valley. It is the will of the Great Spirit—the chief will not murmur at it.”
“Then Le-a-pah may go and sing in the lodge of the young warrior, and make glad his heart?” asked the girl, her heart swelling with joy.
“Yes—on one condition,” replied the chief.
“And what is that?” asked the girl, puzzled.
“The chief must first know. If he accepts the condition and performs the service asked, then Le-a-pah shall be his wife, and Ke-ne-ha-ha will himself give her into his hands.”