George Girty had so sunk his individuality into the savage's that he was no longer a white man.
Jim Girty stalked over the borderland with a bloody tomahawk, his long arm outstretched to clutch some unfortunate white woman, and with his hideous smile of death.

Both of these men were far lower than the worst savages, and it was almost wholly to their deeds of darkness that Simon Girty owed his infamous name.
To-day White Chief, as Girty was called, awaited his men.

A slight tremor of the ground caused him to turn his gaze.

The Huron chief, Half King, resplendent in his magnificent array, had entered the teepee.

He squatted in a corner, rested the bowl of his great pipe on his knee, and smoked in silence.