rass before his father's
wigwam. I heard Ellinipsico exclaim:

"He must not be hurt. He has felt the hand of the great manito on his
head."

I looked about for a weapon, so that I might go down fighting, for I first
thought the stranger Indians were demanding me for a plaything, not
understanding my true status as servant to the medicine-woman. I knew this
was not the solution of the affair when Ellinipsico jumped to his feet and
ran to the edge of the village, at every bound shouting to the Ottawas to
hurry back to the village.

A loud outcry answered him from the forest. To my amazement Ellinipsico
slowed down his mad pace and appeared to be reluctant to enter the woods.
The few Shawnees and Mingos in the village followed his example in
timidity. Then above the war-cry of the Ottawas rose the roar of Baby
Kirst, punctuated by the crack of a rifle and the death-yell of a savage.

Now I understood. The Ottawas, ignorant of Kirst's condition, had met him
blundering through the woods and had essayed to halt his progress. He
promptly had offered fight, and they were at it, with the odds greatly in
favor of the Indians. In my excitement I ran to where Ellinipsico stood.
He was dancing with rage and fright. Beholding me, he ordered me to dive
into the growth and stop the fight.

I glanced back and saw Lost Sister and Patricia leaving the wigwam. Lost
Sister began leading her charge toward the south end of the village and
jerked her head at me as though calling on me to follow. It was driven
into my mind that this was the time to escape with the girl. I plunged
into the woods and no Indian cared to dog my steps.

I made as if to go to the scene of the fearful confusion, but once out of
sight of Ellinipsico and his men I turned to intercept the course taken by
Lost Sister and Patricia. I miscalculated the distance, or else the
combatants made a rapid shift of ground, for before I knew it I was
standing on the edge of a most ferocious struggle. Kirst was still mounted
and bleeding from a dozen wounds. His long rifle was being swung for a
club.

My first view of him was as he splintered the butt on an Ottawa head. He
bawled in triumph. The Ottawas, expecting no diversion so near the
village, were armed only with their knives and axes. A fellow leaped on to
the horse and tried to stab him from behind, and one immense hand reached
back and caught him by the neck and held him in midair, and squeezed the
life from the painte