e them mad and bloodthirsty. Shall I desert them now,
because I have a woman on my hands? If I remained from the fight my life
would not be worth a leaf, for the survivors would hunt me down."

He stepped to the table with the last word on his lips, and his hand was
about to continue his work, when the door which he had closed was burst
open and two Indians leaped into the room.

There were but few savages whom the renegade had reason to dread, for
was he not virtually an Indian, though white-skinned and English? But he
turned quickly upon the intruders, and started back when he saw their
faces.

They were Parquatoc, and Sackadac, the Shawnee; the ring leaders of the
cabal against his life!

James Girty, ever quick to act in the face of danger, sprang to his
rifle; but before his hand could seize the trusty weapon, the Seneca
youth bounded upon him and bore him to the cabin wall.

It was the work of a moment, and no giant could have withstood the
terrible spring.

The outlaw recovered in an instant, and his great strength would have
released him from Parquatoc's power if the Shawnee had not flown to his
comrade's aid. Girty was in the hands of two men who had sworn to rid
the world of his detestable shape.

He was disarmed in a moment, and found himself at the mercy of his foes,
who confronted him with weapons, eager to drink his blood.

"Call white hunter," said the Seneca to his companion, and Sackadac went
to the door.

At a signal from his lips a third party joined the Indians, and as he
crossed the threshold a cry of joy was heard, and Kate Merriweather
leaped forward to fall into his arms. It was her lover, Oscar Parton.

Girty ground his teeth as he witnessed the meeting, and fixed his eyes
upon his captors.

"The blood of Parquatin is on the Whirlwind's knife!" said the Seneca.
"He cut his heart because he dared to talk for peace."

"Not for that!" grated the renegade. "He called me coward, and no man
calls me that and lives."

"The Whirlwind is a coward!" flashed the youth! "He kills a boy when he
stands before him unarmed. Parquatin was but a boy; he was wearing his
first eagle feathers, and he had never made love to a woman."

"And he never will!" said Girty with sarcasm which cut its way to the
Indian brother's heart.

Parquatoc raised his rifle with a meaning glance at the Shawnee, and
stepped toward the door.

"The Whirlwind has killed his last man!" the youth resumed, as the
barrel cr