CHAPTER XIII.
THE OFFER OF THE SHAWNEE CHIEF.
Boone and the chief of the Shawnees were alone together in the Indian wigwam.
The white man wondered why the Indian had dismissed his warriors. He guessed that the chief had probably something to say to him privately, and which he did not wish the others to hear; but of the nature of that communication he could not form the least idea.
Ke-ne-ha-ha surveyed the prisoner for a moment in silence.
The dim light of the fire illuminated the interior of the wigwam, so that each could plainly distinguish the face of the other.
At length the chief spoke.
“The pale-face is a great warrior in his nation—many red chiefs have fallen by his hand.”
“Yes, but it was in fair fight, man to man,” replied the scout.
“The squaws of the slain braves mourn their loss—they call upon the chief of the Shawnees to give them the blood of the white-skin who has stained his hand red with the blood of the Shawnee. The tears of the widowed wives fall thick upon the ground. The heart of Ke-ne-ha-ha is sad when he thinks of the brave warriors that the pale-face has sent to the happy hunting-grounds. Why should not the Long Rifle die by the hand of the red-man?”
“What on yearth is the use of askin’ any such foolish questions?” cried Boone, impatiently. “You know very well that you’re going to put an end to me, if you can. As for the blood that I’ve shed of your nation, I’ve always struck in self-defense. If any of your warriors feel aggrieved, I’m ready to meet ’em—even two to one—and give ’em all the satisfaction that they want.”