“Curses on you, the gal is gone!” he cried.
The Indian looked the astonishment he felt, while on Kendrick’s face was a look of amazement, of course assumed for the occasion.
“You have left your post,” Girty cried to the Indian.
The chief did not attempt to deny it, but strove to excuse himself by stating that Kendrick had watched in his place.
Girty guessed the scheme at once.
“You eternal villain!” he cried, addressing Kendrick; “it was all contrived between you and your daughter to rescue the girl from my hands, you lying hound!”
Enraged, Kendrick rose to his feet, drew his knife and made a dash at Girty, but his opponent was quicker far than he, for, as Kendrick advanced, Girty dealt him a terrific blow with his tomahawk that felled him like a log to the earth.
“Lie there and rot!” cried Girty, contemptuously. “And now summon the warriors; we must follow our birds at once. As for this affair, you can bear witness, chief, that I struck him in self-defense.”
Within five minutes, a dozen painted warriors, headed by Girty, were on the trail of the fugitives.