He went within, drawing her along with him,
and quickly informed her that he had learned the cause of the
council, that he had resolved to get away, and she must find out
Girty's hiding place. Whispering Winds threw herself into his arms,
declaring with an energy and passion unusual to her, that she would
risk anything for him. She informed Joe that she knew the direction
from which Girty always returned to the village. No doubt she could
find his retreat. With a cunning that showed her Indian nature, she
suggested a plan which Joe at once saw was excellent. After Joe got
his horse, she would ride around the village, then off into the
woods, where she could leave the horse and return to say he had run
away from her. As was their custom during afternoons, they would
walk leisurely along the brook, and, trusting to the excitement
created by the councils, get away unobserved. Find the horse, if
possible rescue the prisoner, and then travel east with all speed.

Joe left the lodge at once to begin the working out of the plan.
Luck favored him at the outset, for he met Silvertip before the
council lodge. The Shawnee was leading Lance, and the dog followed
at his heels. The spirit of Mose had been broken. Poor dog, Joe
thought, he had been beaten until he was afraid to wag his tail at
his old master. Joe's resentment blazed into fury, but he kept cool
outwardly.

Right before a crowd of Indians waiting for the council to begin,
Joe planted himself in front of the Shawnee, barring his way.

"Silvertip has the paleface's horse and dog," said Joe, in a loud
voice.

The chief stared haughtily while the other Indians sauntered nearer.
They all knew how the Shawnee had got the animals, and now awaited
the outcome of the white man's challenge.

"Paleface--heap--liar," growled the Indian. His dark eyes glowed
craftily, while his hand dropped, apparently in careless habit, to
the haft of his tomahawk.

Joe swung his long arm; his big fist caught the Shawnee on the jaw,
sending him to the ground. Uttering a frightful yell, Silvertip drew
his weapon and attempted to rise, but the moment's delay in seizing
the hatchet, was fatal to his design. Joe was upon him with
tigerlike suddenness. One kick sent the tomahawk spinning, another
landed the Shawnee again on the ground. Blind with rage, Silvertip
leaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but the
Indian was not a boxer, and he failed to get his hands on Joe.
Shift