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〃Kol…lookol…lookol…loo。〃
The long signal； heralding the return of the party with important news； pealed
throughout the quiet valley； and scarcely had the echoes died away when from
the village came answering shouts。
Once beyond the aisles of waving corn the hunter saw over the shoulders of his
captors the home of the redmen。 A grassy plain； sloping gradually from the
woody hill to a winding stream； was brightly beautiful with chestnut trees and
long； well…formed lines of lodges。 Many…hued blankets hung fluttering in the
sun； and rising lazily were curling columns of blue smoke。 The scene was
picturesque and reposeful； the vivid hues suggesting the Indians love of color
and ornament； the absence of life and stir； his languorous habit of sleeping
away the hot noonday hours。
The loud whoops； however； changed the quiet encampment into a scene of
animation。 Children ran from the wigwams； maidens and braves dashed here and
there； squaws awakened from their slumber； and many a doughty warrior rose
from his rest in the shade。 French fur traders came curiously from their
lodges； and renegades hurriedly left their blankets； roused to instant action
by the well…known summons。
The hunter； led down the lane toward the approaching crowd； presented a calm
and fearless demeanor。 When the Indians surrounded him one prolonged； furious
yell rent the air； and then followed an extraordinary demonstration of fierce
delight。 The young brave's staccato yell； the maiden's scream； the old squaw's
screech； and the deep war…cry of the warriors intermingled in a fearful
discordance。
Often had this hunter heard the name which the Indian called him； he had been
there before； a prisoner； he had run the gauntlet down the lane； he had been
bound to a stake in front of the lodge where his captors were now leading him。
He knew the chief； Wingenund； sachem of the Delawares。 Since that time； now
five years ago； when Wingenund had tortured him； they had been bitterest foes。
If the hunter heard the hoarse cries； or the words hissed into his ears； if he
saw the fiery glances of hatred； and sudden giving way to ungovernable rage；
unusual to the Indian nature； if he felt in their fierce exultation the
hopelessness of succor or mercy； he gave not the slightest sign。
〃Atelang！ Atelang！ Atelang！〃 rang out the strange Indian name。
The French traders； like real savages； ran along with the procession； their
feathers waving； their paint shining； their faces expressive of as much
excitement as the Indians' as they cried aloud in their native tongue：
〃Le Vent de la Mort！ Le Vent de la Mort！ La Vent de la Mort！〃
The hunter； while yet some paces distant； saw the lofty figure of the
chieftain standing in front of his principal men。 Well he knew them all。 There
were the crafty Pipe； and his savage comrade； the Half King； there was
Shingiss； who wore on his forehead a scarthe mark of the hunter's bullet；
there were Kotoxen； the Lynx； and Misseppa； the Source； and Winstonah； the
War…cloud； chiefs of sagacity and renown。 Three renegades completed the
circle； and these three traitors represented a power which had for ten years
left an awful； bloody trail over the country。 Simon Girty； the so…called White
Indian； with his keen； authoritative face turned expectantly； Elliott； the
Tory deserter； from Fort Pitt； a wiry； spider…like little man； and last； the
gaunt and gaudily arrayed form of the demon of the frontierJim Girty。
The procession halted before this group； and two brawny braves pushed the
hunter forward。 Simon Girty's face betrayed satisfaction； Elliott's shifty
eyes snapped； and the dark； repulsive face of the other Girty exhibited an
exultant joy。 These desperadoes had feared this hunter。
Wingenund； with a majestic wave of his arm； silenced the yelling horde of
frenzied savage and stepped before the captive。
The deadly foes were once； again face to face。 The chieftain's lofty figure
and dark； sleek head； now bare of plumes； towered over the other Indians； but
he was not obliged to lower his gaze in order to look straight into the
hunter's eyes。
Verily this hunter merited the respect which shone in the great chieftain's
glance。 Like a mountain…ash he stood； straight and strong； his magnificent
frame tapering wedge…like from his broad shoulders。 The bulging line of his
thick neck； the deep chest； the knotty contour of his bared forearm； and the
full curves of his legsall denoted a wonderful muscular development。
The power expressed in this man's body seemed intensified in his features。
His face was white and cold； his jaw square and set； his coal…black eyes
glittered with almost a superhuman fire。 And his hair； darker than the wing of
a crow； fell far below his shoulders； matted and tangled as it was； still it
hung to his waist； and had it been combed out； must have reached his knees。
One long moment Wingenund stood facing his foe； and then over the multitude
and through the valley rolled his sonorous voice：
〃Deathwind dies at dawn！〃
The hunter was tied to a tree and left in view of the Indian populace。 The
children ran fearfully by； the braves gazed long at the great foe of their
race； the warriors passed in gloomy silence。 The savages' tricks of torture；
all their diabolical ingenuity of inflicting pain was suppressed； awaiting the
hour of sunrise when this hated Long Knife was to die。
Only one person offered an insult to the prisoner； he was a man of his own
color。 Jim Girty stopped before him； his yellowish eyes lighted by a tigerish
glare； his lips curled in a snarl； and from between them issuing the odor of
the fir traders' vile rum。
〃You'll soon be feed fer the buzzards；〃 he croaked； in his hoarse voice。 He
had so often strewed the plains with human flesh for the carrion birds that
the thought had a deep fascination for him。 〃D'ye hear； scalp…hunter？ Feed
for buzzards！〃 He deliberately spat in the hunter's face。 〃D'ye hear？〃 he
repeated。
There was no answer save that which glittered in the hunter's eye。 But the
renegade could not read it because he did not meet that flaming glance。 Wild
horses could not have dragged him to face this man had he been free。 Even now
a chill crept over Girty。 For a moment he was enthralled by a mysterious fear；
half paralyzed by a foreshadowing of what would be this hunter's vengeance。
Then he shook off his craven fear。 He was free； the hunter's doom was sure。
His sharp face was again wreathed in a savage leer； and he spat once more on
the prisoner。
His fierce impetuosity took him a step too far。 The hunter's arms and waist
were fastened； but his feet were free。 His powerful leg was raised suddenly；
his foot struck Girty in the pit of the stomach。 The renegade dropped limp
and gasping。 The braves carried him away； his gaudy feathers trailing； his
long arms hanging inertly； and his face distorted with agony。
The maidens of the tribe； however； showed for the prisoner an interest that
had in it something of veiled sympathy。 Indian girls were always fascinated by
white men。 Many records of Indian maidens' kindness； of love； of heroism for
white prisoners brighten the dark pages of frontier history。 These girls
walked past the hunter； averting their eyes when within his range of vision；
but stealing many a sidelong glance at his impressive face and noble
proportions。 One of them； particularly； attracted the hunter's eye。
This was because； as she came by with her companions； while they all turned
away； she looked at him with her soft； dark eyes。 She was a young girl； whose
delicate beauty bloomed fresh and sweet as that of a wild rose。 Her costume；
fringed； beaded； and exquisitely wrought with fanciful design； betrayed her
rank； she was Wingenund's daughter。 The hunter had seen her when she was a
child； and he recognized her now。 He knew that the beauty of Aola； of
Whispering Winds Among the Leaves； had been sung from the Ohio to the Great
Lakes。
Often she passed him that afternoon。 At sunset； as the braves untied him and
led him away； he once more caught the full； intense gaze of her lovely eyes。
That night as he lay securely bound in the corner of a lodge； and the long
hours wore slowly away； he strained at his stout bonds； and in his mind
revolved different plans of escape。 It was not in this man's nature to
despair； while he had life he would fight。 From time to time he expanded his
muscles； striving to loosen the wet buckskin thongs。
The dark hours slowly passed； no sound coming to him save the distant bark of
a dog and the monotonous tread of his guard； a dim grayness pervaded the
lodge。 Dawn was close at handhis hour was nearly come。
Suddenly his hearing； trained to a most acute sensibility； caught a faint
sound； almost inaudible。 It came from without on the other side of the lodge。
There it was again； a slight tearing sound； such as is caused by a knife when