He did not speak, but faced the dusky demons with tomahawk in one hand, the rifle in the other. He saw at once that his enemies desired to take him alive, for they could have cleft his heart with a dozen balls while he walked leisurely beneath the tree vines.
“The Chippewas have caged the Tiger!” cried the leader of the Indians, a prepossessing young brave, who had won distinction and his eagle-feathers quite early in life. “They have trailed him long; they have watched for him in the caves of Gitche Gumee; they have followed him through the great wood. Now let him be a man, and surrender when he sees that he can not escape.”
The chief spoke in the language of his nation, and a smile wreathed the lips of the noble quarry, who, a moment after the chief had finished, threw rifle, knife and tomahawk on the ground in token of surrender.
Then he folded his half-naked arms, and surveyed the savages who sprung forward elated with long-sought triumph.
“The White Tiger is a true brave,” said the red leader, as he reached a spot within ten feet of the youth. “He knows when—”
“Ki-o-ee-chee!”
The yell pealed from the throat of the half-breed, and while yet it quivered his lips, he was among his dusky enemies, scattering them like chaff with the butt of his rifle!
The Chippewas recoiled before the impetuosity of the attack, for the youth seemed to have suddenly been transformed into a destroying fury, and quick, sharp exclamations of vengeance continually fell from his lips, while he plied the rifle with a dexterity which told that he was no novice in such warfare.
In a moment he had cleared for himself a path through the ranks of his foes, and once more, with his weapon at a trail, he was pushing toward the lake. But he ran at the top of his speed now, and eight mad red-men were on his trail.
Determined to take the daring half-breed alive, they put forth their entire strength in the pursuit.