Here, under guard of a stalwart warrior, who went leaping off at sight of his chief, they found a trembling, terror-smitten circuit-rider who was too frightened to do more than grovel before the chief. Tecumthe kicked him away, and Norton lowered Kitty's body to the pallet in the corner. Despite all he knew about this gang, despite their intentions, he felt himself somewhat a traitor to his own race. Red Hugh must have felt much the same thing, for he was standing glaring at the chief, his eyes terrible. "It is not vengeance," said Tecumthe composedly, watching the low building with gloomy eye. "It is justice. A squaw met my men; they told me of one who wore my moccasins, in bonds. I knew of these white men, and I came in haste. That is all." "It's not all," cried Norton with sudden remembrance. "There are women in that place----" "Right!" broke out Red Hugh. "Tecumthe, we must have them, no matter what manner of women they are!" "Go," said the chief, nodding. "My men have seen your faces and you are safe." Norton sprang out on the word, and the two men ran side by side to the building. At the doorway, the scene within was horrible; the place was filled with powder-smoke, one corner was afire from a burst lantern, and from the door were pouring drunken Miamis, some of them still fighting together. And through the fire and smoke white men and red were battling like madmen, with axe and knife and pistol and clubbed rifle. Norton well knew the danger he was in from both sides, but shoving through the crowded mass of Miamis he dashed within, Red Hugh at his heels. In one corner were crouching the five terrified women, and as the Louisianian fought his way through the struggling, yelling groups, he saw a tall Shawnee tomahawk one of the drabbled figures. With a yell of fury, he raised his pistol and fired; the warrior sprang high in his death agony, and before he fell Norton was stripping him of knife and tomahawk. Then he turned, and with Red Hugh tried to get the four remaining women to the door. They were terror-stricken, hysterical creatures, mad with fear and liquor and obscenity, but they were women. As Norton fought his way across the floor, he caught glimpses through the smoke of the combat which raged around him--glimpses which remained etched on his memory for ever. Grigg, with a huge axe, was standing back to back with Duval, fighting a way across the place amid a surging wave of the redmen. A drunken, trampled Miami was striking right and left with a knife; screams and oaths and prayers rose high as the Shawnee steel bit deep, while over all shrilled the dread war-whoop, keen and terrible. "God!" breathed Norton. "It's not a fight, but a massacre!"