“I wonder why Ahdeek does not come!” said Silver Rifle to the young Destroyer, on the night that followed their arrival in the Cave of the Winds.
“Something must have gone wrong,” was the reply. “He said he would be here, and if he lives, he surely would not tarry longer than this night. Girl, if you but knew how I love that boy! And if the red hounds have killed him, by heavens! I’ll resume the trail of vengeance, and for every drop of his blood shall flow a crimson river from the Chippewas’ hearts!”
The youth rose to his feet as he paused, and for the fiftieth time that night stepped toward the mouth of the cave to listen for the half-breed. He had taken but two strides when something, hurled from the gloom, fell at his feet.
He started back with ready rifle, and saw that the object was an Indian, freshly slain and scalped.
The youth was bewildered, and before he could recover, a figure darted forward.
He recognized it with a joyous cry of “Ahdeek!”
Silver Rifle started to her feet, and Clearwater rose from the couch, and echoed the name of her lover.
“Ahdeek just in time,” said the youth, pointing to the dead Indian. “Red spy find Cave of Winds, and his rifle was aimed at Nahma, when Ahdeek leaped upon him like the panther, and his life went out over the waters of Gitche Gumee to the other land.”
“But, Ahdeek, think you he was the only savage hereabouts?” questioned the White Tiger, anxiously.
“Yes, he was alone. Ahdeek come back sooner, but Indians catch him on the cliff; he fight ’em all; lost medicine-pouch in Gitche Gumee; but rock catch it for him, and—here, Silver Rifle, talking-papers.”