“Now for your future home, the Shawnee village!” Girty cried, in triumph.
The Indians and their prisoners, led by the renegade, passed through the door of the cabin and stood within the little clearing that surrounded the house.
Then forth from the timber came the Shawnee brave, Noc-a-tah.
He came straight to Girty.
“Well, chief, what is it?” asked the renegade. He conjectured from the Indian’s manner that he was the bearer of some important tidings.
“Your white brother has gone to the land of shadows—he sends this totem to you.” Then the Indian drew from his pocket the piece of birch bark whereon Kendrick had, with his blood and the pointed twig, traced his dying words.
“Dead, eh?” said Girty, with a sneer. “A totem to me? What can it be?”
Then the renegade took the piece of bark and endeavored to read the lines.
Rudely were the letters formed, for Dave Kendrick could boast of but little scholarship.
The renegade puzzled over the writing. Suddenly the meaning flashed upon him. A gleam of fierce joy swept over his dark face.