THE GIRL AVENGER; OR, THE BEAUTIFUL TERROR OF THE MAUMEE. BY CAPT. CHAS. HOWARD, AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS: 45. The Elk-King. 50. The Wolf Queen. 52. The Mad Chief. 60. Merciless Mat. 64. The Island Trapper. 65. Wolf-Cap. 69. The Yellow Hunter. 72. Silver Rifle. 82. Kenton, the Ranger. 87. Phil Hunter. NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by FRANK STARR & CO., In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. THE GIRL AVENGER; OR, THE BEAUTIFUL TERROR OF THE MAUMEE. CHAPTER I. STRICKEN OVER THE DEAD. It was evening among the stately cottonwoods and poplars that lined the banks of the Maumee, and the dying day an August one in the year 1794. A stag approached the historic stream to quench his thirst. The proud king of the Ohio wood walked with antlered head erect; but his cautious tread denoted that he suspected the proximity of hidden foes. His eyes swept the wood on his left and right, and the opposite bank of the stream underwent a close scrutiny as he advanced. Quite unmolested he reached the limpid water, and bathed his nozzle therein with manifest delight. It was a halcyon moment for his stagship. But suddenly a puff of smoke shot above the clumps of wild pansies on the opposite bank, the whip-like crack of a rifle followed, and with an almost human cry the stag staggered from the water’s edge, quivered like a stricken vessel, then sunk upon the verdant earth, the red tide of life flowing from a wound over his heart. The fatal shot was followed by the spring of an Indian from the perfumed pansies, and a moment later he was swimming toward his prey. He breasted the current with the strength of a strong man, for he had nothing to incumber him, having left his empty rifle among the flowers. He soon gained the stricken deer over which he stooped, and drove the scalping-knife into the delicate throat. A stream of warm blood that made the Indian’s hands redder than Nature’s coloring, followed the withdrawal of the crimson blade, and the brave rose to his feet with a grunt of satisfaction. Simultaneously with his rising, the quick sharp yelp of a young she-wolf rent the dense atmosphere, and caused the Indian to spring from his prey toward the nearest cottonwood. He never reached the sheltering tree. The report of a rifle scarce louder than the bursting of a percussion-cap, smote the air; the slayer of the stag halted in his tracks, threw his hands to his heart, retraced his steps with the reeling of a drunken man, and fell with a groan over the body of his victim. In the agonies of death, he raised his head over the stag’s breast, and his dying eyes caught sight of his slayer; then they closed to open in the lodge of the red-man’s God--his Ka Jai Manitou. Who shot the Ottawa? A lithe figure bounded from behind the gnarled trunk of a monster ash.