Ke-ne-ha-ha turned, his blood chilled to ice with horror.
His eyes looked upon the terrible form of the Wolf Demon standing in the doorway of the wigwam. In the hand of the Demon shone the deadly tomahawk.
Ke-ne-ha-ha gazed with staring eyes upon the terrible figure.
“Let the chief prepare to die. He is the last Shawnee that will feel the edge of the tomahawk of the avenger,” cried the deep voice.
With an effort, Ke-ne-ha-ha roused himself from the spell of terror that the appearance of the dreaded Wolf Demon had cast around him.
With a sudden bound, he seized his tomahawk, that had been carelessly cast upon the floor of the wigwam.
The Wolf Demon made no effort to prevent the chief from possessing himself of the weapon.
Tomahawk in hand, the foes faced each other.
Slowly they moved around the narrow circle of the wigwam, watching each other with wary eyes, each seeking an unguarded opening for an attack.
Thrice they made the circle of the lodge, the little fire, with its glimmering light, revealing their movements to each other.