“Girl,” he spoke, in the English tongue.
She looked up and sprung to her feet.
“A pale-face!”
“Yes, Kenowatha is a pale-face, though for many years he has been a red Ottawa.”
Nanette took his hands.
“And they slew your loved ones, too?” she cried.
“Yes.”
“Then we unite our fortunes!” she said: “side by side we will avenge the death of our loved ones. For every hair that crowned their heads a red-skin shall fall.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Kenowatha. “White girl, Kenowatha’s life has grown into yours. He will hunt the red murderers with you, and the mark that he shall make upon their brows shall become as terrible as yours. Oh, our parents shall be terribly avenged! God nerve me to the task!” and the youth’s hand was lifted heavenward.
“I swear again, Kenowatha—let us swear together,” and a minute later the cave resounded with the most terrible vow that was ever taken by the enemies of the red-man.