"
"I guess he nearly killed Girty."
"Evidently, but surely the evil one protects the renegade."
"Jim Girty's doomed," whispered Joe, earnestly. "He's as good as
dead already. I've lived with Wetzel, and know him. He told me Girty
had murdered a settler, a feeble old man, who lived near Fort Henry
with his son. The hunter has sworn to kill the renegade; but, mind
you, he did not tell me that. I saw it in his eyes. It wouldn't
surprise me to see him jump out of these bushes at any moment. I'm
looking for it. If he knows there are only three left, he'll be
after them like a hound on a trail. Girty must hurry. Where's he
taking you?"
"To the Delaware town."
"I don't suppose the chiefs will let any harm befall you; but Kate
and I would be better off dead. If we can only delay the march,
Wetzel will surely return."
"Hush! Girty's up."
The renegade staggered to an upright position, and leaned on the
Shawnee's arm. Evidently he had not been seriously injured, only
stunned. Covered with blood from a swollen, gashed lump on his
temple, he certainly presented a savage appearance.
"Where's the yellow-haired lass?" he demanded, pushing away
Silvertip's friendly arm. He glared around the glade. The Shawnee
addressed him briefly, whereupon he raged to and fro under the tree,
cursing with foam-flecked lips, and actually howling with baffled
rage.
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