CHAPTER XVIII.

SIMON GIRTY IN HIS WAR-PAINT.

Jim Girty had deserted the braves who guarded the prison lodge for the purpose of assassinating Mayne Fairfax; but the absence of the young man had, for the present, thwarted his diabolical plans.

After seeing Mayne reënter the double wigwam, he walked to his own lodge, and threw himself upon an uncleanly couch of skins, and fell into a deep slumber.

The young white hunter slept till the golden day-god crept over the eastern hills, when he was waked by Alaska. The queen seemed in the possession of all her senses, and talked reasonably, while Mayne discussed the repast she had prepared. It was one of her lucid intervals, if her moments of calmness can be termed thus.

“Mother,” he said, rising from the remains of the feast, “the Wolf-King would seek the lodge of Okolona, but he knows not which way to look for it.”

Silently Alaska approached the door, and pointed to a wigwam covered with skins of different hues, fantastically arranged.

The young man, still clad as a Shawnee brave, left the lodge, and a wolf followed, and trotted at his heels.

But few braves were astir, as Fairfax walked toward the lodge of the old Medicine, in whose presence he soon found himself.

Okolona was bent beneath the burden of eighty winters, his hair was long and rivaled the snow in spotless beauty; but his face could not boast of a single wrinkle. Notwithstanding his physical condition, his limbs owned prodigious strength, and in his eyes the vestiges of golden manhood still remained--reluctant to leave one who trod the war-path when the Shawnee nation was a child.

As we have said, the Medicine had incurred the hatred of Tecumseh and Jim Girty; but the twain dared not to lift their hands against the old man, because he dealt in strange poisons, and was terrible revengeful.

As Mayne entered the lodge, the interior of which was ornamented with ghastly, grinning skulls, a smile played with Okolona’s lips, and when the young man threw his son’s bear-claw necklace into his hands, he embraced him, and his old lips murmured:

“My son, my Oonalooska!”

“Oonalooska says to his father, the Medicine of the Shawnees, ‘Help the pale prisoner,’” said Fairfax, and the old man’s eyes flashed with strange fire.

“Okolona will help Co Hago,” quickly returned the old Indian. “He would tear the pale Flower from the White Wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Let Co Hago draw nearer Okolona, and listen to the great Medicine’s words.”

Mayne moved nearer the Medicine, who sat up on his couch; but before the red lips parted, a loud whoop penetrated the lodge.

In an instant Okolona was on his feet.

He approached the opening, seemed to take a quick survey of the village, and returned.

“Did Co Hago hear the loud cry?”

“Yes,” answered Fairfax, looking curiously into the old man’s face.

“The brother of White Wolf has returned,” said Okolona. “He has been many moons from the Shawnees’ lodges. Okolona had hoped that he was with Watchemenetoc.”

Mayne Fairfax’s heart beat tumultuously in his fearful bosom.

_Simon_ Girty had arrived!

The young man had heard much of the cruelty of this monster, the terror of defenseless homes; but his eyes had never beheld him.

Burdened with curiosity he stepped to the opening, and exposed his entire form to gratify his sight. A band of Indians were filing through the village, toward the council-house. At its head strode a gigantic man, hideously painted and plumed. His forehead was bound by a cloth, through which blood oozed, and he trailed a long rifle at his side. His eagle eye took in every thing at a glance, and he seemed to be hunting a victim, to appease the anger that sat enthroned upon his countenance.

This man Mayne Fairfax knew to be the dreaded Simon Girty; and he involuntarily shrunk from his line of vision.

His action was completed too late, for the eyes of Simon Girty fell upon him, and, with a loud yell, he left the van of the band, and darted toward the lodge.

Instantly Okolona, who had witnessed the action of Girty over Mayne’s shoulder, threw himself in the door of skins, for the purpose of protecting his guest.

“Back!” he cried, as the painted renegade paused before him, with clubbed rifle. “Co Hago is a Shawnee. He is the son of Alaska.”

“He is a white-livered hound!” shrieked Simon Girty. “Stand aside, old man, or I’ll send you hellwards.”

Okolona replied with a withering look, and James Girty sprung to his brother’s side.

“Kill the old dog!” he whispered in Simon’s ear, and the butt of the rifle descended with crushing force.

Okolona saw the action, and received the blow on his arm; but the member could not resist the stroke, and he sunk to the earth a limp lump of senseless and bleeding humanity.

With drawn knife, and uttering a fierce oath, Jim Girty darted forward to complete the work his brother had begun, when a blow, administered by Mayne, with a hatchet hastily snatched from a corner of the lodge, sent him to _terra firma_.

Then the young man caught up the wolf, and faced Simon.

“Simon Girty,” he cried, determined to sell his life dearly, if sell it he must, “another step will bring my wolf’s teeth in contact with your throat. I am a Shawnee now; as such acknowledged by Tecumseh, who is able to punish the bravest man who harms one of his people.”

“If you be Shawnee, curse you!” cried Girty, mechanically shrinking from the flashing eyes of the upreared wolf. “But I must have a white victim. The whites have torn my head open, and I must have white blood.”

He turned and took in the village at a glance, as his brother scrambled to his feet.

At that moment Miantomah, a deposed chief, and a bitter enemy of Jim Girty, stepped to his side, and pointed to the prison lodge.

“In yonder lodge dwells a pale-face captive,” said Miantomah. “Let the White Chief have her blood.”

Simon Girty darted forward, his wicked eyes fastened upon Eudora’s lodge.

“She’s mine!” yelled James, throwing himself before his mad brother. “Simon, that girl is mine! Touch her upon your peril!”

The command was disregarded with an oath, and the enraged Simon threw his brother from him, and continued his vengeful bounds toward the prison lodge.

Jim Girty was soon on his feet, and his first action was to snatch a rifle from the nearest brave, and level it at his brother!

“Die! Simon Girty!” he hissed, as his sight flitted along the glistening barrel.

Instantly a sharp report rent the morning air, and, with a shriek, Simon Girty dropped his rifle, and fell forward to the earth, where he lay motionless.