The command was obeyed. Joe Girty’s hand, with human blood, was made as red as those of the Indians, and then, with the gory members raised to heaven, while the red current trickled down their arms, they swore to bathe their hands in and drink the heart’s-blood of Nanette Froisart, the Beautiful Terror of the Maumee, and Kenowatha. Joe Girty swore more particularly regarding the latter.
It was, in every sense of the word, a terrible oath!
“We will not follow her just now,” said Turkey-foot. “She is far away. But we know where her den is—along the stream with high walls. We will track the young She-wolf there, and then—doing what no brave until this hour dared think of—we’ll enter her den, and drink her blood. And we’ll meet the White Whirlwind with her yellow scalp-locks in our belt.”
This determination met with shouts of approval, and a few minutes later the members of the League separated.
No turmoil following the death-shot by Indians without Turkey-foot’s lodge, it passed unnoticed.
Joe Girty hurried toward the lodge of the Twin Panthers.
It was empty!
“The spy is determined to pump Vulture-eyes dry,” he murmured, turning on his heel; “I’ll help them catch ’im.”
A few moments later, he saw in the bright starlight, one Indian struggling with two others, before Vulture-eyes’ lodge.
He bounded forward, with a glittering blade in his blood-stained hand.