"Wa-on-mon made haste to meet his warriors, that he might lead them against the pale-faces and slay them all."
"He lost more braves than did the pale-faces, but the white hunter must not think the mighty Wa-on-mon is afraid of him."
The remark was as near an untruth as the conscience of the good man would permit him to go. No one, not even Simon Kenton, suspected The Panther was afraid to meet any white man that lived in a personal encounter. But the statement hit the chieftain in the most sensitive spot.
"Does the white hunter think Wa-on-mon is afraid to meet him in the depths of the wood, where no eye but that of the Great Spirit shall see them?"
"How can he help thinking so when Wa-on-mon agrees to meet him, and the white hunter goes to the spot, and waits for Wa-on-mon, who does not come?"
"But Wa-on-mon has told the missionary the reason," said The Panther, with a threatening movement and flash of his eyes.
"Wa-on-mon has not told the white hunter," returned the unruffled Finley.
"The missionary can tell him."
"And he will do so, but what shall he tell the white hunter when he asks whether Wa-on-mon will meet him again and prove he is not afraid?"
"Tell the white hunter that Wa-on-mon will meet him!" exclaimed The Panther, with a concentrated fury of voice and manner surpassing that which he had yet shown. He placed his hand threateningly upon his knife, as though in his wrath he would bury it in the body of the good man as a means of relief for the cyclone of hate that was aroused by his words.