Jim Girty could not repress an ejaculation of joy.
“Then to-night Giangomah will help the White Wolf to escape,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good! The White Wolf and Giangomah will take the Pale Flower, and fly to the neutral Mingoes.”
“Giangomah is ready,” responded the chief. “When the stars come out, he will glide to the Pale Flower’s lodge, and kill her guards. Then he will bear her to the White Wolf, and we will fly to the neutral tribe. There the White Shawnee and Tecumseh dare not enter to harm us.”
“No!” cried Girty. “Among the Mingoes the Pale Flower shall become the White Wolf’s squaw, and woe unto the White Shawnee[2] when he crosses his path!”
In his lodge Simon Girty raved like a maniac. The ball fired from his brother’s rifle, had plowed a furrow along his temple, and deprived him of reason. Yet his return to a rational state was but a question of time, two days at the furthest; and then he would rise to vengeance against his brother, and his white prisoner.
But let us return to Mayne Fairfax and the old Medicine.
Simon Girty’s blow broke the old man’s arm, and rendered him unconscious. Mayne Fairfax dragged him into the interior of the medicine lodge, and soon restored him to reason.
“The White Shawnee broke Okalona’s arm,” said the aged Indian, examining the injured member; “but the old Medicine is far from the lodge of the Manitou. He will help the King of the Wolves baffle the White Wolf and his brother. Let Co Hago speak, while he binds Okalona’s arm.”