In a short space of time Rudolph Runnion’s arms were pinioned at his side, and a blow drew him to his feet. His face wore the ghastly pallor that belongs to the dead, for while securing him, the Indian had told him that a price was set upon his head, and that he intended to deliver him up to the insatiate hounds of justice. For late investigation had proved to the British at Fort Miami that St. Pierre’s shot had not immediately proved fatal, if at all, and it was generally believed that the slayer of Firman Campbell yet lived.
While Wacomet bound the Briton, Effie St. Pierre had obtained a piece of keil, and, as well as her pinioned hands would permit, traced these words upon the gray limestone wall of the cave:
“We are the prisoners of Wacomet the Ottawa, destined for a hidden place somewhere.
Effie.”
The chief did not notice the “handwriting on the wall,” when he turned to the girl, and pointed to the corridor with his tomahawk.
“We go to Wacomet’s home under the ground,” he said. “Come!”
The prisoners had stepped forward, when the Ottawa glanced overhead and espied the long string of scalps taken from his red brethren by the hands of the Terror of the Maumee. Beside them hung rifles, tomahawks, and richly ornamented wampums—the trophies of the Girl Avenger’s battles. A cry of indignation burst from his lips, when his eye fell upon all these, and a minute later they composed a confused heap at his feet. He caught up the wampums, and threw them on the fire, the scalps quickly followed, and the rifles and other weapons of Indian warfare crowned the crackling heap.
“Won’t the She-wolf howl when she returns to her den!” he cried, with fiendish anticipation, as he gazed upon the work of his revengeful hands.
Effie St. Pierre and Rudolph Runnion looked upon the Indian’s revenge with different thoughts. They knew that the red tribes would suffer terribly for that night’s work—that the Girl Avenger would not rest until every dried scalp was replaced by a fresh one.
Suddenly Wacomet turned toward the corridor again, and presently he was conducting his prisoners down the gloomy passage. He forced them near his half-naked body by a rope of sinews attached to their wrists, and secured to his girdle, and accompanied his commands for silence by threats of a death too horrible to be mentioned here.