Kenowatha had thrown himself upon Loosa, whom of himself he could not conquer, for the frantic woman, sobered by her situation, possessed the strength of a tigress. Seeing this, the girl sprung to his assistance; but before she could lend any aid, the stalwart woman hurled the White Fox from her, and sprung erect.
It was a critical moment for the youthful twain.
Kenowatha glanced at the young She-wolf as he rose to his feet.
She stood against the door, armed with her scalping-knife, which she had snatched from the corner into which Joe Girty had tossed it.
With a cry of rage—summoned perhaps by the thought of the doom adjudged her should the girl escape—the renegade’s squaw sprung upon Nanette. A dirk, similar to the formidable one Girty wore, glittered in her bony hand.
The girl met the mad onset calmly; her left arm skillfully warded off the blow that the mad squaw aimed at her, and her right hand, preceded by a glitter of steel, shot forward.
It was a deathful blow.
The dirk fell from Loosa’s hands; she staggered back, and Kenowatha, who had bounded to Nanette’s aid, caught her and lowered to the ground his adopted mother, from whose hand he had received many a hard blow.
“Come!” he said to Nanette, in the Indian tongue, when they had equipped themselves with their own arms, “the white Ottawa is liable to return at any moment. Shall we go to the river?”
“Yes, to the low place,” replied the Girl Avenger, “and then I’ll guide you to my home.”