Dark and full of sorrow were the thoughts of the chieftain.
He saw again the death-scene of the Red Arrow; heard her shriek for mercy, and then beheld the warm life-blood gushing, free, from her young veins. Amid the smoke and flames, she died. Like the Roman father, he had given to the death his own flesh and blood. And that deed had brought upon his nation the terrible scourge of the Wolf Demon.
Well might the brow of Ke-ne-ha-ha look dark as the thunder-cloud when he thought of the past. And in the future he saw no ray of light. He had little hope that the White Dog would succeed in his mission and kill the terrible foe.
As he was brooding over these gloomy thoughts, his daughter, Le-a-pah, entered the wigwam.
“May the White Dog speak with the chief?” the girl asked.
“Let the brave enter,” Ke-ne-ha-ha replied. A gleam of light flashed over his clouded face. Why should the young warrior seek him, save to tell of the death of the Wolf Demon?
A second more and the warrior stood before him. The girl remained, discreetly, at the door of the lodge.
“Well?” questioned the chief.
“The White Dog sought the Wolf Demon in the forest, fought him hand to hand, but the Shawnee brave fell beneath his foot; the tomahawk was raised to strike, when Le-a-pah bounded from the wood and the Wolf Demon held his arm and fled from her like the night flies from the dawn.”
Ke-ne-ha-ha listened, in amazement.