Vinnie felt a terrible fear forcing its way to her heart.
“My God!” she thought. “What if it should be some of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s warriors? Would they show me any mercy after the trick I have played on their chief?”
The scratching noise was repeated, louder than before, and she could see the heavy door tremble. With a white face, she stood awaiting—she knew not what!
The Indian still cowered down in the corner, apparently heedless of what was passing around him.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PHANTOM WARRIOR.
But it was not fated that Clancy Vere should die by the scalping-knife.
The Indian who had acted as the leader of the party leaped forward with a sharp cry, and with a quick blow of his powerful hand, sent the knife flying from the maddened brave’s grasp into the water tossing and roaring twenty feet below.
“What would Bear-Killer do?” he said, giving the baffled savage a sudden push that sent him staggering back against the tree. “Has he forgotten the laws of our nation? Does he forget that the great chiefs have said that when a number of warriors take a captive all shall have a share in putting him to death?”
Bear-Killer was cowed; but he stood with lowering brows, glowering upon the young hunter with a look of fierce hatred that made him appear, with his dark face bruised and bleeding, absolutely diabolical.
“Wy-an-da is right,” he said, at length. “Bear-Killer forgot. The pale-face must die hard! Bear-Killer must be avenged!”