The warrior felt that he was lost.
The death-note of his nation broke from his lips.
Then, forth from the timber, from the direction in which the Indian village lay, came the Shawnee girl, Le-a-pah.
She had arrived upon the scene of conflict just in time to witness the discomfiture of her lover.
With outstretched arms and a cry of horror—regardless of her own life—she rushed forward to save her lover from the edge of the fatal tomahawk, which was raised to drink his blood.
The paw of the Wolf Demon which clutched the tomahawk remained poised in the air as the girl advanced. The blow descended not upon the unprotected head of the prostrate man.
The phantom form, motionless as one of the forest oaks, glared upon the Indian girl with its eyes of fire as if struck dumb with horror.
It was a startling tableau.
The scouts looked on with awe-struck eyes. They expect each instant to see the tomahawk descend, and the Indian girl fall lifeless at the blow.
Steadily for a few moments the Demon form glared at the girl, and then, taking its foot from the breast of the down-trodden chief, it retreated backward with slow steps, toward the forest, still, however, keeping its eyes upon the face of the girl as though under the influence of some terrible enchantment.