On the damp floor of the prison-house Jim Girty found bitter food for reflection, and, with fate against him, he plotted not only his own escape, but the freedom of Eudora Morriston. He possessed many friends in the Shawnee nation; but not so numerous an array as his brother boasted of. For a long time the brothers had vacillated between friendship and strife, and James possessed secret friends who seemed to be active partisans of Simon. His brother was never beyond the vision of his red spies; and what James lacked in strength he gained in cunning.
When he heard his guard leave the prison house, he rolled himself to the door, and applied his lips to the crevice between the portal and sill.
“Who guards the White Wolf?” he asked in a low tone.
“Giangomah, the Black Whirlwind.”
Girty’s heart gave an exultant throb.
Giangomah had long been his secret friend.
“Who guards with Giangomah?”
“The Black Whirlwind is alone,” was the reply.
“Where is the White Shawnee?”
“He is in his lodge with a crazed head. He will know nothing till to-morrow.”