The English, who had come from Fort Miami to attend the conclave, gazed with consternation into each others' faces, and the members of the council looked startled.

In Simon Girty's eye there was a look of triumph, for Parquatin seemed his spokesman.

"I defend myself!" the accused renegade suddenly cried. "I lead the red men when I tell them to meet the American soldiers. Parquatin, the Wyandot, is jealous; he dares to lie about me in the great council because I lead more and braver warriors than he. But the Indians know me; they spurn the lie as they hate the good-for-nothing lying dog!"

A short cry of rage followed the cutting epithet, and with flashing tomahawk Parquatin sprang forward.

"Here I am," said Girty, drawing his own hatchet and planting himself firmly. "I am willing to kill my enemies wherever I meet 'em!"

The seated warriors--for the partic.i.p.ants of Indian councils are usually seated--watched the scene with interest. Parquatin, young and not strong of limb, was no match for the renegade; but he possessed the spirit of the maddened tiger, and never thought of the strength against him.

For a moment he glared at his calm antagonist, and then bounded forward.

Girty received the shock with his hatchet's iron-like handle, and by a dexterous blow in return sent Parquatin's weapon spinning to the edge of the fire.

The young chief was now completely at his mercy, and, as James Girty seldom spared a helpless foe, his doom was as swift as terrible.

Parquatin met his fate with the red man's famous stoicism.

With his arms folded upon his breast, he received the renegade's blow, and without a death cry fell backward--his skull cleft by the keen-edged tomahawk.

"Now!" cried the heartless victor, swinging aloft the gory weapon, and sweeping the circle with his flashing glance, "now let the man who persuaded Parquatin to insult me in the council step forth and meet me face to face. He is here and I know him! His victim lies before me. Let him stand up and say that I lie, if he dare!"

But no voice replied, and no man rose to confront the White Whirlwind.

"Well, never mind," he said. "I would not strike him if he did rise against me. Gentlemen," to the English officers, "this is the bitterest moment of my life. Jim Girty is not callous to every affection. I bid you good night. Warriors, I will meet you before the big battle. Again I say, be strong!"

As the renegade turned and strode across the ground, the circle was respectfully broken, and he pa.s.sed into the dark forest beyond.

It was a strange event for an Indian council, and was destined to decide the fate of many helpless families; but few knew it, then.

There was but one man in the council who knew why James Girty spoke as he did to the British soldiers.

CHAPTER VII.

A MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.

The discovery of John Darknight's treachery and his escape filled the hearts of the fugitives with terror. The little band found themselves in the forest at the foot of the Maumee rapids, and with many miles stretching their perilous length between them and Wayne's camp.

Little Moccasin, too, had deserted without a word of explanation, and several members of the party were inclined to believe her as treacherous as the English guide.

George Darling, the nephew, was especially bitter in his denunciation of the girl, and in this he was seconded by young Carl Merriweather. The two resolved to keep on the lookout for her reappearance, and to shoot her on sight. They firmly believed that her coming to the camp had been prearranged by John Darknight himself, and saw in the desertion of both the successful working of the plot.

In the brief and deeply interesting council that followed the double abandonment, the fugitives resolved to prosecute their journey without delay. Of course the boat could not stem the strong rapids, therefore it would have to be transported to a point above them, and that upon the shoulders of the men.

The craft, while it was strong and capable of carrying eight or ten people, was unusually light, and when Merriweather and Oscar Parton raised it to their shoulders, they declared with joy that they could carry it all day without a rest.

The fugitives did not resume their journey until a frugal breakfast had been discussed on the scene of the night's encampment. At that meal no one seemed to be communicative; the thought of the present peril or the shadow of the impending danger appeared to seal their lips.

Abel Merriweather doubtless regretted leaving the cabin home at the mouth of the Maumee, and upbraided himself for having listened to the representations of the false guide.

In Oscar Parton's mind one particular thought was uppermost--the safety of Kate Merriweather. Now and then he coupled with it a strong desire to deal with the man who had led them into the trap.

The sun was silvering the waves of the river when the boat was lifted from the ground, and the journey resumed.

The little party kept from the stream for fear of being seen by any foes, but near enough to hear any voice which might arise from its banks.

They indulged in the fond hope of encountering some of Wayne's scouts who were known to be scouting in the vicinity, and the settler trusted that he would fall in with Wells, with whom he was intimately acquainted. But the sun approached his meridian without bringing incident or misfortune to the little band who pushed resolutely through the forest toward the distant goal.

"Are you ready to fulfill your part of the promise, George?" said Carl Merriweather to his cousin at the noonday rest held beneath the shade of a great tree.

George Darling looked up and saw the youth's face glowing with excitement. His eyes seemed to emit sparks of fire.

"What do you mean, Carl?" he said.

"Why, what we promised one another this morning--that we would kill the first redskin we laid our eyes on."

"Yes. Where is one?"

"Come with me."

George Darling rose, and the two left the camp together.

"There be two of them," the settler's son said, "and they are at the river; I saw them not five minutes since. A good shot, George. I'll take one, you the other."

The eager couple glided toward the river, and the youth all at once pulled his cousin's sleeve and told him to halt.

"There they are!" he cried excitedly, pointing towards the stream.

"Look! do you not see them in the tree top? Real Indians, George, and no mistake. What on earth can they be doing? They are up to their knees in water."

George Darling did not reply, but continued to gaze at the two persons in the tree top which lay in the water. Their skin proclaimed them savages; but they seemed to be washing--a thing which no Indian warrior ever does. Hence the spectators' perplexity.

"Come, George, we can't wait on them," said the impatient Carl. "Beside, they will miss us at the camp. Now, let us give the rascals a little lead. Remember our promise to let no Indian escape our rifles."

The young man heard his cousin, and, a partaker of his excitement, grasped his rifle.

"The little fellow on the right," Carl said without taking his eyes from the couple in the tree top. "Leave the other one for me. He is as tall as a Virginia bean-pole."

The victims of the pair were not fifty yards away. Unconscious of the presence of their enemies.

They kept on performing motions with their arms and hands, which had led Darling to believe that they were patronizing the homely art of washing.

"Ready?" whispered the boy.

"Ready!" I've covered my man was the low but distinct response.