The council at last broke up amid the infernal yells that followed Blue Jacket’s peroration. The objects of the British and renegades were accomplished. All overtures of peace on the part of the Americans were useless now; every warrior of the allied nations had sworn to resist Wayne to the last, and die upon the hunting-grounds of their fathers. “Remember!” whispered Turkey-foot, in Girty’s ear, as he glided past the renegade. “The bloody words when another sleep comes. The She-wolf must die before we meet the mad white chief.” “Now or never!” was the response, for Girty knew the man who was leading his soldiers from the southern posts. The Indians now had no Harmar or St. Clair to deal with! * * * * * Nothing of note connected with our romance occurred in the Ottawa village during the day that followed, and when, to all appearance, the red people slept again, the renegade stole from his cabin and walked toward the river. Now and then he passed a wigwam from which voices reached his ears, and once or twice, through curiosity, for his business was not urgent, he paused and caught the words of the red conversationalist. Everywhere but one subject was the topic under discussion--the approach of Wayne, and the probable issue of the campaign. Beside one lodge he paused longer than usual, and would allow himself no rest until he had obtained a view of the talkers. One was Vulture-eyes, an experienced Wea chief, and a representative from his nation to the general council; his companion, an agile youth, clad in the habiliments of an Ottawa sub-chief. The latter was a stranger to Girty, who knew every man in the Ottawa nation, could distinguish each in the dark by his voice, and it is not surprising that the young Ottawa fell under the renegade’s suspicion. Vulture-eyes, whose orbs danced under the influence of the pale-face’s fire-water, was exceedingly communicative, and Joe Girty listened with rising indignation, while he divulged the number of the allied warriors, the plans and dispositions of the forces to the suspected one, who, according to his narrative, had returned from a tedious scout too late to participate in the council. The longer the renegade looked at the young Ottawa, the deeper grew his suspicions, until they were reduced almost to a certainty. And when he glided from his hiding-place, he felt that a white skin lay beneath the war-paint that glistened on the body of Vulture-eyes’ companion. He did not walk far, however, until he halted before a white birchen lodge, and at the sound of his voice two young braves awakened from light slumber. Their features proclaimed them what they really were--twins. “Do the Twin Panthers know where Vulture-eyes, the Wea, rests?” “We do.”