The heavens now became shrouded with opaque clouds, and presently a figure resembling an animal was seen crawling toward the scouts. “An Indian!” whispered Kenowatha, and his rifle was brought to bear upon the dark object. Already his finger touched the trigger, when the peculiar cry of the young She-wolf greeted his ears, and his rifle fell from his shoulder. “Nanette!” The figure rose to an erect posture, and the next moment the Girl Avenger grasped the hands of the scouts. It was she who had delivered the mysterious shots. She had reached the Mount a short time in advance of the spies, and when surrounded by the Indians, concluded that she could assist them from her place of concealment as much as though at their sides. An escape was now thought of, and in the darkness the trio left their position. Before they deserted the mount, the bodies of no less than thirteen Indians lay scalpless thereon, and the brows of some bore a red crescent, those of others a bloody cross! As Kenowatha placed his mark upon the forehead of the last brave slain by his rifle, he took Nanette’s hand. “Girl,” he whispered, “do you recollect your promise in the cave?” “Yes, boy.” “Then to-night I sheathe my knife. Are you not tired of slaying? Have not the dead been avenged?” “Yes, Kenowatha; the deeds of that night have been atoned for by the red perpetrators with the blood of the bravest of the hosts. I have no desire for further vengeance.” “Nor I, girl; my mark has become as terrible to the Indians as yours; they have seen it in the thicket, the brake, by the stream, and on the hills. You will keep your promise?” “Yes, boy. God forbid that I should break it.” They avoided the guards at the base of the promontory, and though pursued, after leaving it, by a large party of Indians from the village, they made good their escape, and encountered Wayne’s army early the following day. At the treaty of Greenville, solemnized August 30th, 1795, the assembled chiefs cast lowering glances upon the Beautiful Terror of the Maumee, who, standing beside Kenowatha, looked more beautiful than ever. The last cross and crescent on the butt of her rifle had received its complement of punctures, and the braves congratulated themselves that no longer would they live in fear of the ball that had sent so many of their brethren to the spirit-land. The fangs of the young She-wolf would molest them no more, and they breathed freer when beyond her presence at Mad Anthony’s side. The end is at hand. After the battle of Fallen Timbers, Wayne surrendered Rudolph Runnion over to justice, and one calm September day, in the presence of the entire garrison of Fort Miami, the death of Firman Campbell was avenged by the unyielding law.