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.  Shifty and elusive, the lad dodged around the struggling savage.  One, two, three hard blows staggered Silvertip, and a fourth, delivered with the force of Joe’s powerful arm, caught the Indian when he was off his balance, and felled him, battered and bloody, on the grass.  The surrounding Indians looked down at the vanquished Shawnee, expressing their approval in characteristic grunts.

With Lance prancing proudly, and Mose leaping lovingly beside him, Joe walked back to his lodge.  Whispering Winds sprang to meet him with joyful face.  She had feared the outcome of trouble with the Shawnee, but no queen ever bestowed upon returning victorious lord a loftier look of pride, a sweeter glance of love, than the Indian maiden bent upon her lover.

Whispering Winds informed Joe that an important council was to be held that afternoon.  It would be wise for them to make the attempt to get away immediately after the convening of the chiefs.  Accordingly she got upon Lance and rode him up and down the village lane, much to the pleasure of the watching Indians.  She scattered the idle crowds on the grass plots, she dashed through the side streets, and let every one in the encampment see her clinging to the black stallion.  Then she rode him out along the creek.  Accustomed to her imperious will, the Indians thought nothing unusual.  When she returned an hour later, with flying hair and disheveled costume, no one paid particular attention to her.

That afternoon Joe and his bride were the favored of fortune.  With Mose running before them, they got clear of the encampment and into the woods.  Once in the forest Whispering Winds rapidly led the way east.  When they climbed to the top of a rocky ridge she pointed down into a thicket before her, saying that somewhere in this dense hollow was Girty’s hut.  Joe hesitated about taking Mose.  He wanted the dog, but in case he had to run it was necessary Whispering Winds should find his trail, and for this he left the dog with her.