Without another word they left the cabin, and in time crossed the river at the same ford over which Nanette had been borne as a doomed prisoner.
Immediately emerging from the stream, they heard the turmoil before Girty’s cabin, and the loud voice of the renegade calling Kenowatha.
When the noise died away, Nanette’s hand stole into Kenowatha’s.
“Come and see the young She-wolf’s den,” she said, looking up into his face, and away they hurried through the forest, silent, and hand in hand.
They must have traveled rapidly for three hours, when the glitter of waters greeted their eyes. The silvery liquid sped lazily, a hundred feet below them, toward the Maumee.
The limestone banks were almost perpendicular, and with her fingers still entwined around Kenowatha’s hand, Nanette began the descent. A misstep would send both to a dreadful death upon the rocky bed of the shallow stream far below, and the descent was extremely dangerous, for the rays of the moon but illy penetrated the branches of the overhanging trees, to show them the way.
Kenowatha trusted in the young She-wolf. He felt that she would guide him safely.
The twain reached a dark aperture that led into the cliff, and Nanette uttered a cry of delight.
“This is your home?” said Kenowatha, half interrogatively.
“My home and my citadel,” responded the Girl Avenger, and a moment later she was leading Kenowatha through a series of gloomy, tortuous passages, in which one not accustomed to the place would be hopelessly lost.