It was the strangest league ever formed in the Western wood.
Neither Coleola or Jules Bardue could accomplish their diabolical plans alone; so, throwing aside the bitter hate of years, they had crossed hands over the “bloody chasm,” each resolving to massacre the other, when they had satiated the demon of revenge.
John Williamson, the haunted trader, went with them—never dreaming that he would soon cease to be a ghoul-chased man!
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BITTER END.
The giant hunter guarded the mouth of the cave alone until midnight.
He heard no noise save the voices of his friends below him, and the soughing of the forest trees. The ghostly sounds boded danger. The half-superstitious hunter had noted this, for years, and he was remarking it in a low tone when the cracking of a bough startled his trained senses.
Instantly he was on the alert, and presently his sharp eyes distinguished three dark bodies approaching the cave. They looked like panthers, but he knew at once that they were human beings.
Stepping back into the corridor he called Nehonesto, and the chief was soon at his side.
“Didn’t I tell ye so?” he asked, looking into the Ojibwa’s face in triumph.