“No,” said Boone, impressively; “not if I keep out of its way,” he added, to himself.
The Indian looked at Boone for a moment in silence; a slight expression of awe was in his face. Then the chief came nearer to the old scout, and in a solemn tone, spoke:
“Has the white-skin ever heard of the Wolf Demon of the Shawnees?”
“Yes,” answered the scout, somewhat surprised at the question.
“The Wolf Demon is the scourge of the Shawnee tribe. Many brave warriors have fallen by the tomahawk of the monster, and on their breasts he leaves his totem—a Red Arrow. Ke-ne-ha-ha is the great chief of the Shawnee nation; scalps hang thick in the smoke of his wigwam; he is not afraid of man or demon. But the scourge of the Shawnees fears to meet a warrior unless he is alone in the forest. Ke-ne-ha-ha has sought for the Wolf Demon, but he can not find him. The red chief would kill the monster that uses the totem of the Red Arrow. If my brother is a medicine-man, can he not tell me where I may find the Wolf Demon?”
“I can not,” answered Boone.
The chief looked disappointed.
“The red-man is sorry. He will see his brother in the morning.” Then the chief stalked, moodily, from the lodge.
For an hour or more Boone remained in silence. The fire in the center of the lodge burnt out and darkness surrounded the scout.
Then to the keen ear of the woodman came the sound of a knife cutting through the skins that formed the walls of the wigwam.