At last a footfall greeted her ear but it was not her lover’s. His well-known tread she could not mistake for another’s, and, wondering who approached she moved to the door, and peered through a crevice upon the scenes beneath the stars. She saw the form of an Indian nearing the guards. He made no pretensions to stealth, for he walked erect, and when near the lodge, one of the guards demanded his mission. “I am Giangomah, the Black Whirlwind,” he answered, with much pomposity. “I have a message for the ear of Chabaro.” Chabaro hastened eagerly forward, but Giangomah waved him back. “Let Chabaro not desert his post,” he said, advancing, with his right hand hidden from sight, in an unsuspicious manner. The guard resumed his post. Eudora’s heart beat high, for she doubted not that Giangomah was Mayne’s red friend sent by him to deliver her. Giangomah walked to Chabaro, and placed his lips to the listening ear. Then, with the unexampled rapidity of thought, his hand flew from beneath his blanket, and a knife glided noiselessly into the guard’s side. Not a groan, not a gasp, escaped the lips of the stricken Shawnee, and while he was sliding from Giangomah’s grip, the second sentinel felt a hand upon his throat. Useless, on the sentry’s part, was the brief struggle that followed, for Giangomah’s gory knife cleft his heart, and he sunk to the earth--dead. Seeing the action, Eudora burst the door open, and stepped beyond the threshold. “I am here, Giangomah,” she said. “Oh, how brave you are!” The savage was taken aback by her action, but soon recovered his composure. He stood the dead savage against the lodge, and, taking Eudora’s hand, hurried from the scene. Believing that she was being conducted to her lover, the girl did not speak, as she was being hurried through the village, and suddenly Giangomah paused before the prison hut. Then Eudora, wondering at the halt executed in such a strange place, was about to question the chief, when a figure crept from the shade of the building. It was habited in Indian costume, and she was about to whisper her lover’s name, when the figure revealed itself. _Jim Girty!_ Involuntarily a shriek bubbled to her lips; but the Renegade stifled it with his hand, ere it grew into life. “Girl, I am saving your life,” he whispered, in her ear. “When my brother comes to his senses he will kill you and me, too. We must fly to the Mingoes.” “Never, Jim Girty,” said Eudora, firmly. “Murderer of my parents, I will not fly with you, even though it be to a place of safety. Help!” Loud and clear that cry rung through the Indian village, and an instant later the tramp of feet was heard. Maddened beyond control, the renegade drew his hatchet, and caught Eudora’s arm as the weapon was raised above his head. There was the flash of murder in his blood-shot eyes, and he grated his fiendish intention through clenched teeth.