“Thar’s a thunder-storm a-comin’,” replied the scout. “I s’pect from what I heerd, as I come up, that you know the Shawnees are on the war-path.”
“Yes, yes!” cried a dozen voices.
“I’ve just come down from the Muskingum, whar I’ve been on a hunt, and not five miles from this hyer station, I come across a big Injun lyin’ dead in the woods with a clean dig right through the skull. A powerful fellow he war, too; looked as if he mought have given Old Nick himself a sharp tussle.”
All wondered at the news brought by the scout. That a red-skin should be killed so near the station, and yet no one in the station know of it, was strange.
“What tribe was he? could you tell, Sim?” asked Boone.
“Shawnee,” replied Kenton. “A big brave he was in the tribe, too. I knowed him well. He was called Watega.”
The dark stranger, who had pressed forward eagerly to listen with the rest, could hardly prevent an oath escaping from his lips. This movement on his part did not escape the searching eyes of Murdock.
“I know the chief,” said Boone; “he was one of the principal warriors of the tribe. A clean dig through the skull, you say?”
“Yes; the man that made it must be a hurricane, for he split the Injun’s head clean open.”
“Who could have done it?” said Jackson, in wonder.