A volley of arrows shot toward the cave, but the Kickapoo quickly dove, and the hunter was shielded by a point of rock. The missiles pattered harmlessly around.
Then as the Osages splashed rapidly forward, the rifle of the hunter spoke. For the third time within as many minutes a death-yell broke the air, and the clear water was stained with the life-blood of an Osage warrior.
With laughable celerity the survivors scattered and buried themselves in the water, barely keeping their noses above the surface, dreading a volley from the cave. Nor was their chagrin lessened by hearing the taunting cry of the Kickapoo echo out from the dark opening in the bank.
A low, hearty laugh greeted the fugitive as he rose beside the old hunter, who was now rapidly recharging his rifle. Driving home the leathered bullet, the white man remarked:
"Well, chief, the varmints hunted you close. But why is it? The Kickapoos and Osages have long been friends."
"Yeh—friends now—all but Lightfoot—he en'my. Osage dogs put dust in Kickapoos' eyes. Mek all blind—mek dig up hatchet to strike the painted post. Osage say blood is good—Kickapoo say take plenty white scalps. Lightfoot he say no. Den Osage chief he say red dog go follow his white master. Lightfoot is a chief—he is a man. The words were yet hot on the lips of Huspah, when he died. See! his scalp is here," and the Kickapoo fingered the ghastly trophy that hung at his girdle.
"You rubbed the chief out, then, when his braves were lookin' on?" asked the old hunter, evidently understanding the dialect into which the savage had unconsciously glided, though at first using imperfect English.
Lightfoot rapidly recounted the events that had made him an outcast and hunted fugitive, while the eyes of both kept close watch upon the movements of the savages beyond.
The Pottawatomies, Iowas, Foxes, Sauks and Kickapoos were growing uneasy at the constantly increasing strength of the white settlements, more especially of that section then known as the "Boone's Lick Country"—now Howard county. In 1812 a plot was formed for a general uprising, but was discovered in time to be foiled. Since then there had been occasional skirmishing, with slight losses upon either side. But now—in the spring of 1814—another and more dangerous plot was formed. As he listened to the words of the Kickapoo chief, Daniel Boone—for he was the old hunter—felt that the crisis was at hand.
The chiefs of the different tribes had gathered at the Kickapoo village, and at the council every voice but that of Lightfoot was raised for war. His stubborn resistance raised the ire of Huspah, the Osage, who called him a dog of the pale-faced invaders. The next instant he fell dead, cloven to the chin by Lightfoot's tomahawk.