“I have repaid the debt I owed you,” she answered very quietly. “You will be safe for a time, at least. I must leave you now.” And ere he could make reply, she had withdrawn from the hut. Just outside she met Long Gun. The chief’s face wore a crestfallen and worried expression. Addressing him in the Shawnee language, she commanded: “Long Gun will take his men and occupy the cabin. If the mob return to take the paleface’s life, Long Gun and his warriors will defend him to the last.” “Ugh!” replied the Shawnee, with animation unusual to him. She continued: “Long Gun will not hesitate to shoot down any that seek to harm the prisoner—or his dog. La Violette has spoken—Long Gun will obey.” “Long Gun’s ears are open; he hears and understands,” was the grim reply. La Violette passed on to the Prophet’s quarters. The latter was preparing to journey to Fort Wayne, with a hundred warriors, to demand ammunition of the American commandant of the post. “Father,” the girl said, as she stood in his presence. “What does my daughter wish?” he asked kindly. “You are preparing to leave the village?” “Yes.” “To-day?” “Ugh!” “You must not go.” He stared at her in open-mouthed surprise. She hastily explained: “An attack has just been made upon Fleet Foot’s life. I overawed the mad warriors; for the present he is safe. But the attempt will be renewed. I may need your help. You must not leave the village to-day or to-night.” “Why does my daughter try to save the paleface’s life?” he demanded angrily. “Because Fleet Foot saved the life of La Violette,” she answered promptly. “Ugh!” he ejaculated—and was silent. “You will do as I desire?” she inquired anxiously. He nodded sullenly. “Listen, then,” she went on rapidly. “Fleet Foot must be protected to-day; to-night he must leave the village.” “But Scar Face——” Tenskwatawa began, a look of terror creeping over his repellant features. “I know what my father would say,” she interrupted. “But I will assume all responsibility. Fleet Foot shall not remain here to be killed. You have nothing to fear from Scar Face. I will shield you from his wrath.” The Prophet hung his head and made no reply; and the girl left the cabin. As she passed through the doorway and dropped the curtain of skins behind her, the cowardly wretch muttered shiveringly: “Scar Face will be very angry. But La Violette will have her way—I am helpless.” Then hiding his face in the folds of his blanket, he groaned aloud. The day passed quietly. Evening came—and the shades of night began to gather. As soon as it was quite dark, La Violette went to Long Gun and, drawing him aside, said: