Quietly the Indian chief drew the keen-edged scalping knife from his
girdle. Every muscle in his massive frame was nerved for the coming
contest.
The little fire, now burnt down to a mass of glowing embers, but
faintly lighted up the gloom of the wigwam.
The Medicine Man turned his back to the chief, slowly disengaged
himself from the huge blanket wrapped around him, and then held it up
in the air.
The blanket concealed the form of the Medicine Man from the eyes of
Ke-ne-ha-ha.
Darker and darker grew the gloom.
“Is the chief ready to see the Wolf Demon?” asked the Medicine Man, his
voice vibrating with a strange accent.
“Yes,” replied the Shawnee warrior, slowly and undauntedly.
“Ere the heart of the warrior can beat ten, the Wolf Demon will stand
before him,” chanted the solemn voice of the old Indian.
Then all was silent.
In the stillness, the throbbings of the Indian’s heart seemed to his
excited fancy to make as big a noise as the foot-fall of the brown deer
falling upon the forest-glade.
More and more dense grew the gloom.
The blanket that had concealed the figure of the Medicine Man from the
chief dropped to the ground.
The old Indian had disappeared.
In his place stood the terrible form that all living things shrunk from.
Face to face with the chief of the Shawnee nation stood the Wolf Demon!
In his paw he held the death-dealing tomahawk, whose edge, even now,
was crusted red with Shawnee blood.
The eyeballs of the chief were distended with horror as he looked upon
the awful form. But no thought of fear was in the mind of the Shawnee
warrior.
For a moment the foemen glared upon each other.
Then, swift as the flash of the lightning, the Wolf Demon leaped upon
his destined prey.
The wild war-note of the Shawnee nation burst from the lips of
Ke-ne-ha-ha, as he struck desperately at the huge form that sprung so
fiercely upon him.
The keen scalping-knife cut deep into the side of the Wolf Demon, but
met no flesh in its passage, only hide and hair.
The tomahawk of the unknown being came down upon the head of the chief,
but glancing in its course, inflicted only a slight flesh wound.
The two closed together in mortal conflict.
Alarmed by the war-cry of the chief, the Shawnee warriors came pouring
into the wigwam.
In the gloom they could only discover that two dark figures were
grappling with each other upon the ground that formed the floor of the
lodge, in a furious struggle.
Amazed, the warriors paused. In the darkness they could not tell which
of the two dark forms--interlaced so snake-like together--was friend or
foe.
The combatants paid no heed to the entrance of the warriors, so
engrossed were they in their terrible struggle.
For a moment the Indians stood like statues, gazing in bewilderment
upon the strange scene before them.
Then, actuated by a sudden thought, one of the Shawnees--wiser than his
fellows--dashed from the wigwam to the fire that burned near to the
lodge of the Medicine Man.
The chief snatched a flaming brand from the fire, and then re-entered
the wigwam.
The struggle between the two upon the ground had ceased. One had
conquered the other.
By the light of the burning fagot the amazed Indians looked upon a
fearful scene.
In the center of the wigwam, flat upon his back, and with the blood
streaming freely from a wound in his temple, lay Ke-ne-ha-ha, the great
chief of the Shawnee nation.
Over him, with his foot planted upon his breast, and the blood-stained
tomahawk upraised in menace in his hand, was the terrible being that
wore the shape of a wolf and the face of a man.
The blood of the warriors congealed within their veins as they looked
upon the awful picture.
For a moment the Wolf Demon held his position, with his foot placed
in triumph upon the body of the prostrate chief. Then, with a hoarse
yell of defiance, he sprung forward upon the warriors gathered in the
doorway of the lodge.
With a howl of terror, the Shawnees scattered in fear, tumbling over
each other in their fright.
Two quick and powerful strokes of the keen-edged tomahawk, and two more
Shawnees were sent to the happy hunting-grounds.
Swift as the hunted deer ran the Wolf Demon through the Indian village.
The warriors, recovering a little from their fright, and with the
boldness that the sense of overpowering numbers gives, followed in
pursuit.
The yells of the Indians rung out shrill on the still night-air.
Increasing in speed at every stride, the Wolf Demon headed for the
thicket.
Far in the rear followed the warriors.
With a hoarse yell of defiance, the terrible figure gained the shelter
of the wood, and disappeared within its shadows.
On the borders of the wood the Indians halted. All the village had been
aroused by the terrible outcry, and great was the wonder and alarm of
the Shawnees when they learned that the terrible Wolf Demon had been in
their midst.
After a short consultation, the warriors entered the thicket. But ten
paces within the wood all traces of the passage of the Wolf Demon
vanished. He had disappeared as utterly as if the earth had opened and
swallowed him.
Keen-witted as the Shawnee chiefs were, they never dreamed of examining
the oak branches that waved over their heads. They little thought that,
even as they paused within the wood, in wonderment and dismay, from his
leafy covert in the branches above their heads, the terrible Wolf Demon
glared down upon them, and laughed, with fierce joy, when, puzzled and
beaten, they took their way in sullen anger back to the Indian village.
The Indians gone, the strange form descended from his perch in the
branches of the oak, and, with a rapid but silent tread, stole through
the mazes of the forest.
While some of the Indians had been pursuing the phantom form, others
had given their attention to the wounded chief.
Ke-ne-ha-ha had suffered but little. Two slight cuts on the head,
inflicted by the tomahawk of the Wolf Demon--mere flesh wounds--were
all the damage he had received.
To his wondering warriors the chief told the story of the interview
with the Great Medicine Man, and the sudden appearance of the terrible
scourge of the Shawnee nation, the Wolf Demon.
Then, to the horror of the savages, on examining the wigwam, in one
corner, covered by a blanket, they found the Great Medicine Man, _dead_!
The terrible tomahawk-cut on his head, and the totem of the Red Arrow
carved upon his breast, told of the manner of his death and the doer of
the deed.
The Great Medicine Man of the Shawnees had indeed been slain by the
Wolf Demon.
By a miracle Ke-ne-ha-ha had escaped. It was evidently not fated that
he was to die so soon.
Carefully they wiped the blood from the face and garments of the chief
and bound up his wounds.
Ke-ne-ha-ha at once called a council of his principal warriors.
By the time the council had assembled, the party that had pursued the
Wolf Demon returned and told of their failure to trace the terrible
being through the forest.
Calmly the chief addressed the council.
He told of the dreadful hand-to-hand encounter that he had had with the
white man’s devil. Declared that the charm was broken, and that the
Wolf Demon no longer was to be feared.
The warriors took heart at the bold address of the great chief.
Then Ke-ne-ha-ha urged the necessity of making an immediate attack upon
the white settlements along the Ohio.
In this the chief was supported by every warrior within the council.
All were eager for the attack. All thirsted for the blood of the
white-skins.
The council broke up, and earnestly the warriors donned their war-paint
in readiness for the coming fight.
It was arranged that the expedition was to start on the morrow, and
that Point Pleasant should be the first station attacked.
Girty and Kendrick had been in the council, and on its breaking up,
walked slowly along together.
“The chief is terribly in earnest,” said Kendrick, as they proceeded
onward.
“Yes, there’ll be a leaden hail rattling around Point Pleasant soon,”
responded Girty.
“What do you think of this Wolf Demon?” asked Kendrick, suddenly.
“Well, I don’t exactly know what to think,” said Girty, with a puzzled
air.
“The chief had a tussle with him.”
“Yes, and the warriors saw him when he fled through the village. A huge
gray wolf walking erect on its hind legs like a man and with a human
face.”
“It ain’t a spook, ’cos the Indians wouldn’t have been able to have
seen it.”
“No, but what is it?” asked Girty.
“Now you’ve got me,” said Kendrick, with a dubious shake of the head.
“Man or devil, if he ever comes within range of my rifle I’ll wager
that I’ll drill a hole through him,” said Girty, decidedly.
“Well, the chief failed,” observed Kendrick. “He said that he struck
his knife clean through his side, and yet not a drop of blood was on
the blade.”
“It’s wonderful, to say the least,” said Girty.
And then the two entered their wigwam.