yards of the
river.

[Footnote 9: Americans, or Big Knives. We would remark here, that we
have made use altogether of the Shawanoe dialect; that being most common
among all the Ohio tribes, save the Wyandots or Hurons, who spoke an
entirely different language.]

[Footnote 10: Great Spirit.]

CHAPTER XI.

THE ENCAMPMENT OF THE RENEGADE.

It was about ten o'clock on the evening in question, and Simon Girty was
seated by a fire, around which lay stretched at full length some six or
eight dark Indian forms, and near him, on the right, two of another sex
and race. He was evidently in some deep contemplation; for his hat and
rifle were lying by his side, his hands were locked just below his
knees, as if for the purpose of balancing his body in an easy position,
and his eyes fixed intently on the flame, that, waving to and fro in
the wind, threw over his ugly features a ruddy, flickering light, and
extended his shadow to the size and shape of some frightful monster.
The clouds of the late storm had entirely passed away, and through the
checkered openings in the trees overhead could be discerned a few bright
stars, which seemed to sparkle with uncommon brilliancy, owing to the
clearness of the atmosphere. All beyond the immediate circle lighted by
the fire, appeared dark and silent, save the solemn, almost mournful,
sighing of the wind, as it swept among the tree-tops and through the
branches of the surrounding mighty forest.

What the meditations of the renegade were, we shall not essay to tell;
but doubtless they were of a gloomy nature; for after sitting in the
position we have described, some moments, without moving, he suddenly
started, unclasped his hands, and looked hurriedly around him on every
side, as if half expecting, yet fearful of beholding, some frightful
phantom; but he apparently saw nothing to confirm his fears; and with
a heavy sigh, he resumed his former position.

What were the thoughts of that dark man, as he sat there?--he whose soul
had been steeped in crime!--he whose hands had long been made red with
the blood of numberless innocent victims! Who shall say what guilty
deeds of the past might have been harrowing up his soul to fear and even
remorse? Who shall say he was not then and there meditating upon death,
and the dread eternity and judgment that must quickly follow
dissolution? Who shall say he was not secretly repenting of that life of
crime, which had already drawn down the cur