The Indian chief, hardly able to realize that he was saved from the death that but a moment before seemed so certain, made no effort to rise, but appeared transfixed with horror.
The Wolf Demon gained the shadow of the thicket, and then—as if the spell that had bound him had been broken—with a terrible cry, that rung through the forest like the wail of a lost soul, doomed forever to eternal fires, he vanished amid the darkness.
The cry of the Wolf Demon froze the blood of his hearers with horror.
The girl, with a sob of terror, sunk down by the side of the young chieftain.
Rising, the Shawnee warrior tenderly lifted the light form of Le-a-pah from the greensward.
“Light of my heart, thou hast saved the life of the red chief!” cried the warrior.
“Le-a-pah could not bear the thought that her lover should seek the terrible Wolf Demon in the wood; she followed in his track to urge him to return,” said the maiden.
“The White Dog has tried to win Le-a-pah. If he has failed to kill the Wolf Demon, it is because the Great Spirit wills that he shall not die by the hand of a red-man.”
“Let us seek my father. I will beg him to release you from the cruel task.”
Then the chief and the maiden left the glade.