Simon Girty, prince of renegades, sat at the door of the great buffalo
skin tepee and calmly smoked a pipe, the bowl of which contained some
very good tobacco. His eyes were quiet and contemplative, and his dark
features were at rest. In the softening twilight he might have seemed a
good man resting at his door step, with the day's work well done.

Nor was Simon Girty unhappy. The fallen, whether white or red, were
nothing to him. He need not grieve over a single one of them. Despite
the distrust of Timmendiquas, he saw a steady growth of his power and
influence among the Indians, and it was already great. He watched the
smoke from his pipe curl up above his face, and then he closed his eyes.
But the picture that his fancy had drawn filled his vision. He was no
obscure woods prowler. He was a great man in the way in which he wished
to be great. His name was already a terror over a quarter of a million
square miles. Who in the west, white or red, that had not heard of Simon
Girty? When he spoke the tribes listened to him, and they listened with
respect. He was no beggar among them, seeking their bounty. He brought
them knowledge, wisdom, and victory. They were in his debt, not he in
theirs. But this was only the beginning. He would organize them and lead
them to other and greater victories. He would use this fierce chief,
Timmendiquas, for his own purposes, and rise also on his achievements.

The soul of Simon Girty was full of guile and cunning and great plans.
He opened his eyes, but the vision did not depart. He meant to make it
real. Braxton Wyatt came to the door, also, and stood there looking at
the Indian horde. Girty regarded him critically, and noted once more
that he was tall and strong. He knew, too, that he was bold and
skillful.

"Braxton," he said, and his tone was mild and persuasive, "why are you
so bitter against this boy Ware and his comrades?"

The young renegade frowned, but after a little hesitation he replied:

"We came over the mountains together and we were at Wareville together,
but I never liked him. I don't know why it was in the beginning, but I
suppose it was because we were different. Since then, in all the
contests between us, he and his friends have succeeded and I have
failed. I have been humiliated by him, too, more than once. Are not
these causes enough for hatred?"

Girty drew his pipe from his mouth, and blew a ring of smoke that
floated slowly above his head.

"They are good