“Yes—Simon Girty!”
“Mold me into buckshot!” Kirby Kidd rises to his feet with this ejaculation. “Yer don’t mean ter tell me Simon Girty are the leader o’ the war-party ye’re talkin’ ’bout?”
“Dat what Wapawah say—Wapawah know Simon Girty well—see him much time at Sandusky.”
Kirby Kidd made no reply to this, but, relapsing into a thoughtful mood, leans on his rifle and gazes fixedly into the fire. At length he arouses himself from his reverie, and says:
“Chief, yer knows as well as I that them folks on the island are in a powerful sight o’ danger, ef that renegade, Girty, are circ’latin’ in these parts on the war-path.”
“Wapawah knows,” affirms the Indian.
“Wal, then, the sooner we add our two selves to the party the better it’ll be for them. How many reds did yer see, countin’ Girty?”
The Indian explains with his fingers, signifying thirty-two.
“The number o’ our enemies is less’n I s’posed,” the ranger resumes, “but we’ll do no harm by j’inein’ of ’em, so’t we kin help ’em git ready to meet an attack. Reckon the reds know they’re thar?”
“No, t’ink not. Hear dem talk—dey say nothing ’bout long-knives—t’ink dey don’t know where dey be.”