No report of Herrod's death, and the consequent excitement and alarm among the settlers in the Scioto valley, had reached Wawillaway, and when he saw three white men, Wolf and two men whom he had hired to assist him on his farm, coming toward him, no thought of hostile intention on their part or his own was in his heart. They met him in the trail and he shook hands cordially with them, inquiring about their health and that of their families. A little talk followed and Wolf proposed to the chief to exchange guns, took Wawillaway's on a pretence of examining it with a view to purchase, slyly blew out the priming, and handing it back, said he did not care to swap. Wawillaway had seen his treacherous act, but still unsuspicious, took his own gun handing back the other. "Have the Indians begun war?" asked one of Wolf's companions. "No, no," said the chief, "the Indians and white men are all one; all brothers now." "Why, haven't you heard that the Indians have killed Captain Herrod?" asked Wolf. Wawillaway looked astonished, and incredulous. "No, no! Indian not kill Captain Herrod," he said. "Captain Herrod not dead?" "Yes, he is; it's certain that he was found dead and scalped in the woods a few days ago," said Wolf. "Maybe fire water; too much drink make fight." "No, Herrod hadn't any quarrel with the Indians; and we don't know which of them killed him." "Maybe some bad white man killed Captain Herrod," suggested Wawillaway; then shaking hands all round again, he turned to go on his way, when the dastardly Wolf shot him in the back, mortally wounding him. The brave chieftain, wounded as he was, and deprived of the use of his gun, turned upon his cowardly assailants with his tomahawk, and spite of the superiority of numbers, killed one, and severely wounded Wolf and the others. A distant sound of horses' hoofs sent them flying into the woods, leaving the lifeless body of their comrade, and the bleeding, dying chief lying in the trail. Nearer and nearer came the sounds, and in another moment two farmers returning from Chillicothe to their homes, had come to a sudden halt beside the prostrate forms and were gazing with grief, horror and dismay upon the bloody scene. "It's Wawillaway!" cried one, hastily dismounting and stooping over the chief. "Who can have done this cruel, wicked deed, for he has always been the white man's friend! Ah, he's not dead, thank God! Come, Miller, help me to raise him up." They did so as gently as possible, but life was ebbing fast; they saw it in his glazing eye and the clammy sweat upon his brow. Another horseman came galloping up and drew rein close at hand, then leaping to the ground came hurriedly toward the little group. "Dr. Clendenin," cried Miller, "you have come in the nick of time!" "No," sighed Kenneth, taking the cold hand of the chief, "he is beyond human help. Wawillaway, my poor friend, whose fiendish work is this?"