Burdened with curiosity he stepped to the opening, and exposed his entire form to gratify his sight. A band of Indians were filing through the village, toward the council-house. At its head strode a gigantic man, hideously painted and plumed. His forehead was bound by a cloth, through which blood oozed, and he trailed a long rifle at his side. His eagle eye took in every thing at a glance, and he seemed to be hunting a victim, to appease the anger that sat enthroned upon his countenance.
This man Mayne Fairfax knew to be the dreaded Simon Girty; and he involuntarily shrunk from his line of vision.
His action was completed too late, for the eyes of Simon Girty fell upon him, and, with a loud yell, he left the van of the band, and darted toward the lodge.
Instantly Okolona, who had witnessed the action of Girty over Mayne’s shoulder, threw himself in the door of skins, for the purpose of protecting his guest.
“Back!” he cried, as the painted renegade paused before him, with clubbed rifle. “Co Hago is a Shawnee. He is the son of Alaska.”
“He is a white-livered hound!” shrieked Simon Girty. “Stand aside, old man, or I’ll send you hellwards.”
Okolona replied with a withering look, and James Girty sprung to his brother’s side.
“Kill the old dog!” he whispered in Simon’s ear, and the butt of the rifle descended with crushing force.
Okolona saw the action, and received the blow on his arm; but the member could not resist the stroke, and he sunk to the earth a limp lump of senseless and bleeding humanity.
With drawn knife, and uttering a fierce oath, Jim Girty darted forward to complete the work his brother had begun, when a blow, administered by Mayne, with a hatchet hastily snatched from a corner of the lodge, sent him to terra firma.