Startled by the cry, Ewana sprung to her feet to find a great hand closed upon her beautiful throat, and a choking sensation almost rendering her unconscious. “Where’s the white girl and the red-coat?” shrieked Wacomet, as he shook the girl at arm’s length, still griping her throat. “Tell Wacomet what’s become of his captives, or he’ll shake Ewana till her eyes drop from her head.” He released her throat to clutch her arm with his left hand, while his clenched right one itched to beat the life out of her frame. “Now speak!” he hissed, “speak before the Ottawa’s hand gives you but one eye.” As he uttered this threat he raised his iron fist. “They’re--gone,” she said, gaspingly, instinctively shrinking from the irate chief. “Wacomet intended to make the white girl his squaw, and so the red-coat bore her from his cave.” “Where was Ewana, then?” “Braiding her hair,” was the truthful reply, couched in a courageous tone. “And you let them go?” yelled Wacomet, at the top of his voice, for his passion was now utterly ungovernable. “You listened to the tale that lying dog breathed into your ears and turned your face away while they went?” “Ewana did all this--she did it because she loved Wacomet--because she did not want a White Rose to nestle in his bosom.” A shriek of rage that would have done credit to demons was the Ottawa’s reply, and his clenched hand descended upon the girl’s face once, twice, thrice in rapid succession. Then he hurled her from him, drew his tomahawk and darted upon the body. But not to strike. Two pairs of eyes had followed his steps through the woods and two pairs of stealthy feet had penetrated the dark corridor. Kenowatha and the Girl Avenger were there! As the Ottawa whirled his weapon to strike it was knocked from his grasp by a blow that broke his strong right arm. With a shriek of mingled rage and pain, he dropped the senseless girl, and turned upon his antagonists. The Girl Avenger’s rifle covered his heart, while Kenowatha looked upon the dramatic tableau with folded arms! “Wacomet, your time has come at last,” said the Girl Avenger, calmly, yet with an unconcealed tone of triumph. “One night four years ago, come the 24th of November, a band of red-skins surrounded a cabin near the mouth of the Maumee. The flames of their happy home was the first warning of the inmates’ danger, and when they sprung from their beds the butchery had begun. A father, crippled by disease, an aged mother, two brothers, and three sisters, fell beneath the hatchets of the red demons, and but one of that sweet household--one destined by God to be the avenger of her race--escaped the work of death. Unseen by the butcherers she flew to the forest, and has since been a terror to your accursed race. Wacomet, you were there; I saw you strip Josie’s golden scalp from her baby head, and I swore that this hand should take yours.