She did not shriek when she found herself in the power of Joe Girty. On the contrary, she smiled triumphantly, with a glance at the dead Ottawa, as if to say: “Do your worst.”
“The She-wolf has yelped for the last time,” growled the renegade.
In reply the avenger stretched forth her arm, and significantly touched the records of her vengeance.
“I know what them means,” said Girty. “Yes! girl, you’ve done bloody work; now for the burning. The red-skins have paid dearly for the deeds of that dark November night down the Maumee. I must go.”
He bound the girl’s feet and threw her across his shoulder as though she were a roe; then he gripped her rifle in the hand that held her from the ground, and stepped from the tragic spot.
A short distance up the stream he found a ford, and soon stood on the opposite bank.
To his questions and triumphant ejaculations, the girl never uttered a word, though the renegade rudely shook her as if he would break every bone in her body.
It was a proud hour for Joe Girty!
When from his covert he watched Jaguar-tail shoot the stag, he little dreamed of the rich prize so soon to fall within his grasp.
There was not an Indian among the tribes allied against Wayne, who would not have given his right hand for the young She-wolf.