With stealthy step he moved through the wood, his eyes glaring, like coals of fire, upon the Indian warrior. In his paw he carried the fatal tomahawk that had brained so many Shawnee chieftains.
The terrible form was moving in a circle around the warrior. But the Indian was on his guard, and, guided by the sound of the stealthy steps, kept his front always to his foe.
The Wolf Demon completed the circle, and then, as if fully satisfied that he could not take the warrior by surprise, came slowly from the thicket and stood within the open space; not, though, in the soft light of the moonbeams, but half hid by the shadows thrown by the forest monarchs that hemmed in the little glade.
The keen eyes of the Indian detected the appearance of the terrible form.
The light of fierce determination shone upon the face of the Shawnee warrior, and firmly he grasped his weapons and waited for the onset of the foe.
Boone and Kenton, in breathless suspense, watched from their leafy covert, eager to see the issue of the contest that was, apparently, so near at hand.
A few seconds only the Wolf Demon paused within the friendly shadows of the wood; then, with the swiftness of forked lightning, he leaped upon the Shawnee warrior.
Bravely the Indian met the assault. With his tomahawk he parried the blow aimed at his head, and, at the same moment, drove his long knife, up to its haft, in the side of the phantom foe; but, the glittering blade met no flesh in its passage, and not a single drop of blood dimmed the brightness of the steel.
The thrust of the Shawnee chieftain cost him dear, for, ere he could withdraw his knife again, the tomahawk of the Wolf Demon descended upon his head. By a quick motion of his own ax he partly parried the blow, but the force of the stroke bore him over backward to the earth.
With a howl of triumph the Wolf Demon planted his foot upon the warrior’s breast, and the glittering tomahawk gleamed before his eyes, raised to give the death-blow.