“Joe, it’s as plain as day to me,” said Simon Girty.
“Then out with it.”
“The girl an’ Kenowatha, as you call your pale spawn, are together.”
The next moment the white Ottawa had bounded into the cabin, tenanted by the dead.
Turkey-foot followed him.
The torches of the twain revealed the ghastly sight again, and Girty suddenly turned to the chief.
“Simon must have told the truth,” he said; “the white spawn’s gun is gone.”
“And he is with the young She-wolf,” hissed Turkey-foot. “Now shall he become the red-man’s enemy. The white Ottawa will help us hunt him?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Joe Girty, grasping the outstretched hand of the chief; but a moment later his cheek blanched to an icy pallor, in the glare of the torches.
He thought of the deadly bullets that sped from the She-wolf’s rifle.