THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDERA ROMANCE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS IN THE OHIO VALLEY

BY ZANE GREY

1906

To my brother

With many fond recollections of days spent in the solitude of theforests where only can be satisfied that wild fever of freedom ofwhich this book tells; where to hear the whirr of a wild duck in hisrapid flight is joy; where the quiet of an autumn afternoon swellsthe heart, and where one may watch the fragrant wood-smoke curl fromthe campfire, and see the stars peep over dark, wooded hills astwilight deepens, and know a happiness that dwells in the wildernessalone. 

Introduction

The author does not intend to apologize for what many readers maycall the "brutality" of the story; but rather to explain that itswild spirit is true to the life of the Western border as it wasknown only a little more than one hundred years ago. 

The writer is the fortunate possessor of historical material ofundoubted truth and interest. It is the long-lost journal of ColonelEbenezer Zane, one of the most prominent of the hunter-pioneer, wholabored in the settlement of the Western country. 

The story of that tragic period deserves a higher place inhistorical literature than it has thus far been given, and thisunquestionably because of a lack of authentic data regarding theconquering of the wilderness. Considering how many years thepioneers struggled on the border of this country, the history oftheir efforts is meager and obscure. 

If the years at the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of thenineteenth century were full of stirring adventure on the part ofthe colonists along the Atlantic coast, how crowded must they havebeen for the almost forgotten pioneers who daringly invaded thetrackless wilds! None there was to chronicle the fight of thesesturdy, travelers toward the setting sun. The story of their stormylives, of their heroism, and of their sacrifice for the benefit offuture generations is too little known. 

It is to a better understanding of those days that the author haslabored to draw from his ancestor's notes a new and strikingportrayal of the frontier; one which shall paint the fever offreedom, that powerful impulse which lured so many to unmarkedgraves; one which shall show his work, his love, the effect of thecauses which rendered his life so hard, and surely one which doesnot forget the wronged Indian. 

The frontier in 1777 produced white men so savage as to be men inname only. These outcasts and renegades lived among the savages, andduring thirty years harassed the border, perpetrating all manner offiendish cruelties upon the settlers. They were no less cruel to theredmen whom they ruled, and at the height of their bloody careersmade futile the Moravian missionaries' long labors, and destroyedthe beautiful hamlet of the Christian Indians, called Gnaddenhutten, or Village of Peace. 

And while the border produced such outlaws so did it produce huntersEke Boone, the Zanes, the McCollochs, and Wetzel, that strange, silent man whose deeds are still whispered in the country where heonce roamed in his insatiate pursuit of savages and renegades, andwho was purely a product of the times. Civilization could not havebrought forth a man like Wetzel. Great revolutions, great crises, great moments come, and produce the men to deal with them. 

The border needed Wetzel. The settlers would have needed many moreyears in which to make permanent homes had it not been for him. Hewas never a pioneer; but always a hunter after Indians. When not onthe track of the savage foe, he was in the settlement, with his keeneye and ear ever alert for signs of the enemy. To the superstitiousIndians he was a shadow; a spirit of the border, which breathedmenace from the dark forests. To the settlers he was the right armof defense, a fitting leader for those few implacable and unerringfrontiersmen who made the settlement of the West a possibility. 

And if this story of one of his relentless pursuits shows the man ashe truly was, loved by pioneers, respected and feared by redmen, andhated by renegades; if it softens a little the ruthless name historyaccords him, the writer will have been well repaid. 

Z. G. 

The Spirit of the Border

Chapter I. 

"Nell, I'm growing powerful fond of you. "

"So you must be, Master Joe, if often telling makes it true. "

The girl spoke simply, and with an absence of that roguishness whichwas characteristic of her. Playful words, arch smiles, and a touchof coquetry had seemed natural to Nell; but now her grave tone andher almost wistful glance disconcerted Joe. 

During all the long journey over the mountains she had been gay andbright, while now, when they were about to part, perhaps never tomeet again, she showed him the deeper and more earnest side of hercharacter. It checked his boldness as nothing else had done. Suddenly there came to him the real meaning of a woman's love whenshe bestows it without reservation. Silenced by the thought that hehad not understood her at all, and the knowledge that he had beenhalf in sport, he gazed out over the wild country before them. 

The scene impressed its quietness upon the young couple and broughtmore forcibly to their minds the fact that they were at the gatewayof the unknown West; that somewhere beyond this rude frontiersettlement, out there in those unbroken forests stretching dark andsilent before them, was to be their future home. 

From the high bank where they stood the land sloped and narrowedgradually until it ended in a sharp point which marked the last bitof land between the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. Here theseswift streams merged and formed the broad Ohio. The new-born river, even here at its beginning proud and swelling as if already certainof its far-away grandeur, swept majestically round a wide curve andapparently lost itself in the forest foliage. 

On the narrow point of land commanding a view of the rivers stood along, low structure enclosed by a stockade fence, on the fourcorners of which were little box-shaped houses that bulged out as iftrying to see what was going on beneath. The massive timbers used inthe construction of this fort, the square, compact form, and thesmall, dark holes cut into the walls, gave the structure athreatening, impregnable aspect. 

Below Nell and Joe, on the bank, were many log cabins. The yellowclay which filled the chinks between the logs gave these a peculiarstriped appearance. There was life and bustle in the vicinity ofthese dwellings, in sharp contrast with the still grandeur of theneighboring forests. There were canvas-covered wagons around whichcurly-headed youngsters were playing. Several horses were grazing onthe short grass, and six red and white oxen munched at the hay thathad been thrown to them. The smoke of many fires curled upward, andnear the blaze hovered ruddy-faced women who stirred the contents ofsteaming kettles. One man swung an axe with a vigorous sweep, andthe clean, sharp strokes rang on the air; another hammered stakesinto the ground on which to hang a kettle. Before a large cabin afur-trader was exhibiting his wares to three Indians. A secondredskin was carrying a pack of pelts from a canoe drawn up on theriver bank. A small group of persons stood near; some wereindifferent, and others gazed curiously at the savages. Two childrenpeeped from behind their mother's skirts as if half-curious, half-frightened. 

From this scene, the significance of which had just dawned on him, Joe turned his eyes again to his companion. It was a sweet face hesaw; one that was sedate, but had a promise of innumerable smiles. The blue eyes could not long hide flashes of merriment. The girlturned, and the two young people looked at each other. Her eyessoftened with a woman's gentleness as they rested upon him, for, broad of shoulder, and lithe and strong as a deer stalker, he wasgood to look at. 

"Listen, " she said. "We have known each other only three weeks. Since you joined our wagon-train, and have been so kind to me and sohelpful to make that long, rough ride endurable, you have won myregard. I--I cannot say more, even if I would. You told me you ranaway from your Virginian home to seek adventure on the frontier, andthat you knew no one in all this wild country. You even said youcould not, or would not, work at farming. Perhaps my sister and Iare as unfitted as you for this life; but we must cling to our unclebecause he is the only relative we have. He has come out here tojoin the Moravians, and to preach the gospel to these Indians. Weshall share his life, and help him all we can. You have been tellingme you--you cared for me, and now that we are about to part I--Idon't know what to say to you--unless it is: Give up this intentionof yours to seek adventure, and come with us. It seems to me youneed not hunt for excitement here; it will come unsought. "

"I wish I were Jim, " said he, suddenly. 

"Who is Jim?"

"My brother. "

"Tell me of him. "

"There's nothing much to tell. He and I are all that are left of ourpeople, as are you and Kate of yours. Jim's a preacher, and the bestfellow--oh! I cared a lot for Jim. "

"Then, why did you leave him?"

"I was tired of Williamsburg--I quarreled with a fellow, and hurthim. Besides, I wanted to see the West; I'd like to hunt deer andbear and fight Indians. Oh, I'm not much good. "

"Was Jim the only one you cared for?" asked Nell, smiling. She wassurprised to find him grave. 

"Yes, except my horse and dog, and I had to leave them behind, "answered Joe, bowing his head a little. 

"You'd like to be Jim because he's a preacher, and could help uncleconvert the Indians?"

"Yes, partly that, but mostly because--somehow--something you'vesaid or done has made me care for you in a different way, and I'dlike to be worthy of you. "

"I don't think I can believe it, when you say you are 'no good, '"she replied. 

"Nell, " he cried, and suddenly grasped her hand. 

She wrenched herself free, and leaped away from him. Her face wasbright now, and the promise of smiles was made good. 

"Behave yourself, sir. " She tossed her head with a familiar backwardmotion to throw the chestnut hair from her face, and looked at himwith eyes veiled slightly under their lashes. "You will go with Kateand me?"

Before he could answer, a cry from some one on the plain belowattracted their attention. They turned and saw another wagon-trainpulling into the settlement. The children were shooting and runningalongside the weary oxen; men and women went forward expectantly. 

"That must be the train uncle expected. Let us go down, " said Nell. 

Joe did not answer; but followed her down the path. When they gaineda clump of willows near the cabins he bent forward and took herhand. She saw the reckless gleam in his eyes. 

"Don't. They'll see, " she whispered. 

"If that's the only reason you have, I reckon I don't care, " saidJoe. 

"What do you mean? I didn't say--I didn't tell--oh! let me go!"implored Nell. 

She tried to release the hand Joe had grasped in his broad palm, butin vain; the more she struggled the firmer was his hold. A frownwrinkled her brow and her eyes sparkled with spirit. She saw thefur-trader's wife looking out of the window, and remembered laughingand telling the good woman she did not like this young man; it was, perhaps, because she feared those sharp eyes that she resented hisaudacity. She opened her mouth to rebuke him; but no words came. Joehad bent his head and softly closed her lips with his own. 

For the single instant during which Nell stood transfixed, as ifwith surprise, and looking up at Joe, she was dumb. Usually the girlwas ready with sharp or saucy words and impulsive in her movements;but now the bewilderment of being kissed, particularly within viewof the trader's wife, confused her. Then she heard voices, and asJoe turned away with a smile on his face, the unusual warmth in herheart was followed by an angry throbbing. 

Joe's tall figure stood out distinctly as he leisurely strolledtoward the incoming wagon-train without looking backward. Flashingafter him a glance that boded wordy trouble in the future, she raninto the cabin. 

As she entered the door it seemed certain the grizzled frontiersmansitting on the bench outside had grinned knowingly at her, andwinked as if to say he would keep her secret. Mrs. Wentz, thefur-trader's wife, was seated by the open window which faced thefort; she was a large woman, strong of feature, and with that calmplacidity of expression common to people who have lived long insparsely populated districts. Nell glanced furtively at her andthought she detected the shadow of a smile in the gray eyes. 

"I saw you and your sweetheart makin' love behind the willow, " Mrs. Wentz said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I don't see why you need hideto do it. We folks out here like to see the young people sparkin'. Your young man is a fine-appearin' chap. I felt certain you wassweethearts, for all you allowed you'd known him only a few days. Lize Davis said she saw he was sweet on you. I like his face. Jake, my man, says as how he'll make a good husband for you, and he'lltake to the frontier like a duck does to water. I'm sorry you'll nottarry here awhile. We don't see many lasses, especially any aspretty as you, and you'll find it more quiet and lonesome thefarther West you get. Jake knows all about Fort Henry, and JeffLynn, the hunter outside, he knows Eb and Jack Zane, and Wetzel, andall those Fort Henry men. You'll be gettin' married out there, won'tyou?"

"You are--quite wrong, " said Nell, who all the while Mrs. Wentz wasspeaking grew rosier and rosier. "We're not anything---"

Then Nell hesitated and finally ceased speaking. She saw thatdenials or explanations were futile; the simple woman had seen thekiss, and formed her own conclusions. During the few days Nell hadspent at Fort Pitt, she had come to understand that the dwellers onthe frontier took everything as a matter of course. She had seenthem manifest a certain pleasure; but neither surprise, concern, norany of the quick impulses so common among other people. And this wasanother lesson Nell took to heart. She realized that she wasentering upon a life absolutely different from her former one, andthe thought caused her to shrink from the ordeal. Yet all thesuggestions regarding her future home; the stories told aboutIndians, renegades, and of the wild border-life, fascinated her. These people who had settled in this wild region were simple, honestand brave; they accepted what came as facts not to be questioned, and believed what looked true. Evidently the fur-trader's wife andher female neighbors had settled in their minds the relation inwhich the girl stood to Joe. 

This latter reflection heightened Nell's resentment toward herlover. She stood with her face turned away from Mrs. Wentz; thelittle frown deepened, and she nervously tapped her foot on thefloor. 

"Where is my sister?" she presently asked. 

"She went to see the wagon-train come in. Everybody's out there. "

Nell deliberated a moment and then went into the open air. She saw anumber of canvas-covered wagons drawn up in front of the cabins; thevehicles were dusty and the wheels encrusted with yellow mud. Thegrizzled frontiersman who had smiled at Nell stood leaning on hisgun, talking to three men, whose travel-stained and worn homespunclothes suggested a long and toilsome journey. There was the bustleof excitement incident to the arrival of strangers; to the quickexchange of greetings, the unloading of wagons and unharnessing ofhorses and oxen. 

Nell looked here and there for her sister. Finally she saw herstanding near her uncle while he conversed with one of theteamsters. The girl did not approach them; but glanced quicklyaround in search of some one else. At length she saw Joe unloadinggoods from one of the wagons; his back was turned toward her, butshe at once recognized the challenge conveyed by the broadshoulders. She saw no other person; gave heed to nothing save whatwas to her, righteous indignation. 

Hearing her footsteps, the young man turned, glancing at heradmiringly, said:

"Good evening, Miss. "

Nell had not expected such a matter-of-fact greeting from Joe. Therewas not the slightest trace of repentance in his calm face, and heplacidly continued his labor. 

"Aren't you sorry you--you treated me so?" burst out Nell. 

His coolness was exasperating. Instead of the contrition and apologyshe had expected, and which was her due, he evidently intended totease her, as he had done so often. 

The young man dropped a blanket and stared. 

"I don't understand, " he said, gravely. "I never saw you before. "

This was too much for quick-tempered Nell. She had had some vagueidea of forgiving him, after he had sued sufficiently for pardon;but now, forgetting her good intentions in the belief that he wasmaking sport of her when he should have pleaded for forgiveness, sheswiftly raised her hand and slapped him smartly. 

The red blood flamed to the young man's face; as he staggeredbackward with his hand to his cheek, she heard a smotheredexclamation behind her, and then the quick, joyous barking of a dog. 

When Nell turned she was amazed to see Joe standing beside thewagon, while a big white dog was leaping upon him. Suddenly she feltfaint. Bewildered, she looked from Joe to the man she had juststruck; but could not say which was the man who professed to loveher. 

"Jim! So you followed me!" cried Joe, starting forward and flinginghis arms around the other. 

"Yes, Joe, and right glad I am to find you, " answered the young man, while a peculiar expression of pleasure came over his face. 

"It's good to see you again! And here's my old dog Mose! But how onearth did you know? Where did you strike my trail? What are yougoing to do out here on the frontier? Tell me all. What happenedafter I left---"

Then Joe saw Nell standing nearby, pale and distressed, and he feltsomething was amiss. He glanced quickly from her to his brother; sheseemed to be dazed, and Jim looked grave. 

"What the deuce--? Nell, this is my brother Jim, the one I told youabout. Jim, this is my friend, Miss Wells. "

"I am happy to meet Miss Wells, " said Jim, with a smile, "eventhough she did slap my face for nothing. "

"Slapped you? What for?" Then the truth dawned on Joe, and helaughed until the tears came into his eyes. "She took you for me!Ha, ha, ha! Oh, this is great!"

Nell's face was now rosy red and moisture glistened in her eyes; butshe tried bravely to stand her ground. Humiliation had taken theplace of anger. 

"I--I--am sorry, Mr. Downs. I did take you for him. He--he hasinsulted me. " Then she turned and ran into the cabin. 

Chapter II. 

Joe and Jim were singularly alike. They were nearly the same size, very tall, but so heavily built as to appear of medium height, whiletheir grey eyes and, indeed, every feature of their clean-cut facescorresponded so exactly as to proclaim them brothers. 

"Already up to your old tricks?" asked Jim, with his hand on Joe'sshoulder, as they both watched Nell's flight. 

"I'm really fond of her, Jim, and didn't mean to hurt her feelings. But tell me about yourself; what made you come West?"

"To teach the Indians, and I was, no doubt, strongly influenced byyour being here. "

"You're going to do as you ever have--make some sacrifice. You arealways devoting yourself; if not to me, to some other. Now it's yourlife you're giving up. To try to convert the redskins and influenceme for good is in both cases impossible. How often have I said therewasn't any good in me! My desire is to kill Indians, not preach tothem, Jim. I'm glad to see you; but I wish you hadn't come. Thiswild frontier is no place for a preacher. "

"I think it is, " said Jim, quietly. 

"What of Rose--the girl you were to marry?"

Joe glanced quickly at his brother. Jim's face paled slightly as heturned away. 

"I'll speak once more of her, and then, never again, " he answered. "You knew Rose better than I did. Once you tried to tell me she wastoo fond of admiration, and I rebuked you; but now I see that yourwider experience of women had taught you things I could not thenunderstand. She was untrue. When you left Williamsburg, apparentlybecause you had gambled with Jewett and afterward fought him, I wasnot misled. You made the game of cards a pretense; you sought itsimply as an opportunity to wreak your vengeance on him for hisvillainy toward me. Well, it's all over now. Though you cruelly beatand left him disfigured for life, he will live, and you are savedfrom murder, thank God! When I learned of your departure I yearnedto follow. Then I met a preacher who spoke of having intended to goWest with a Mr. Wells, of the Moravian Mission. I immediately said Iwould go in his place, and here I am. I'm fortunate in that I havefound both him and you. "

"I'm sorry I didn't kill Jewett; I certainly meant to. Anyway, there's some comfort in knowing I left my mark on him. He was asneaking, cold-blooded fellow, with his white hair and pale face, and always fawning round the girls. I hated him, and gave it to himgood. " Joe spoke musingly and complacently as though it was atrivial thing to compass the killing of a man. 

"Well, Jim, you're here now, and there's no help for it. We'll goalong with this Moravian preacher and his nieces. If you haven't anygreat regrets for the past, why, all may be well yet. I can see thatthe border is the place for me. But now, Jim, for once in your lifetake a word of advice from me. We're out on the frontier, whereevery man looks after himself. Your being a minister won't protectyou here where every man wears a knife and a tomahawk, and wheremost of them are desperadoes. Cut out that soft voice and most ofyour gentle ways, and be a little more like your brother. Be as kindas you like, and preach all you want to; but when some of thesebuckskin-legged frontiermen try to walk all over you, as they will, take your own part in a way you have never taken it before. I had mylesson the first few days out with that wagon-train. It was a caseof four fights; but I'm all right now. "

"Joe, I won't run, if that's what you mean, " answered Jim, with alaugh. "Yes, I understand that a new life begins here, and I amcontent. If I can find my work in it, and remain with you, I shallbe happy. "

"Ah! old Mose! I'm glad to see you, " Joe cried to the big dog whocame nosing round him. "You've brought this old fellow; did youbring the horses?"

"Look behind the wagon. "

With the dog bounding before him, Joe did as he was directed, andthere found two horses tethered side by side. Little wonder that hiseyes gleamed with delight. One was jet-black; the other iron-grayand in every line the clean-limbed animals showed the thoroughbred. The black threw up his slim head and whinnied, with affectionclearly shining in his soft, dark eyes as he recognized his master. 

"Lance, old fellow, how did I ever leave you!" murmured Joe, as hethrew his arm over the arched neck. Mose stood by looking up, andwagging his tail in token of happiness at the reunion of the threeold friends. There were tears in Joe's eyes when, with a lastaffectionate caress, he turned away from his pet. 

"Come, Jim, I'll take you to Mr. Wells. "

They stated across the little square, while Mose went back under thewagon; but at a word from Joe he bounded after them, trottingcontentedly at their heels. Half way to the cabins a big, raw-bonedteamster, singing in a drunken voice, came staggering toward them. Evidently he had just left the group of people who had gathered nearthe Indians. 

"I didn't expect to see drunkenness out here, " said Jim, in a lowtone. 

"There's lots of it. I saw that fellow yesterday when he couldn'twalk. Wentz told me he was a bad customer. "

The teamster, his red face bathed in perspiration, and his sleevesrolled up, showing brown, knotty arms, lurched toward them. As theymet he aimed a kick at the dog; but Mose leaped nimbly aside, avoiding the heavy boot. He did not growl, nor show his teeth; butthe great white head sank forward a little, and the lithe bodycrouched for a spring. 

"Don't touch that dog; he'll tear your leg off!" Joe cried sharply. 

"Say, pard, cum an' hev' a drink, " replied the teamster, with afriendly leer. 

"I don't drink, " answered Joe, curtly, and moved on. 

The teamster growled something of which only the word "parson" wasintelligible to the brothers. Joe stopped and looked back. His grayeyes seemed to contract; they did not flash, but shaded and losttheir warmth. Jim saw the change, and, knowing what it signified, took Joe's arm as he gently urged him away. The teamster's shrillvoice could be heard until they entered the fur-trader's cabin. 

An old man with long, white hair flowing from beneath hiswide-brimmed hat, sat near the door holding one of Mrs. Wentz'schildren on his knee. His face was deep-lined and serious; butkindness shone from his mild blue eyes. 

"Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has comein place of the man you expected from Williamsburg. "

The old minister arose, and extended his hand, gazing earnestly atthe new-comer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in hisquick scrutiny of the other's face, for his lips were wreathed witha smile of welcome. 

"Mr. Downs, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me. I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who is young enoughto carry on the work when my days are done. "

"I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in mypower, " answered Jim, earnestly. 

"We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers whoclaim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fiercesavages Christianity; but I know it can be done, and my heart is inthe work. I have no fear; yet I would not conceal from you, youngman, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must begreat. "

"I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with theredman. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature andbelieve the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war, and I want to help him into other paths. "

Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs. Wentz. The fur-trader's wife was glowing with pleasure. She held inher hand several rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener, a young woman, that the toys were for the children, having beenbrought all the way from Williamsburg. 

"Kate, where's Nell?" Joe asked of the girl. 

"She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz. "

Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow, easy and consistent with her large, full, form. Her brown eyes andhair contrasted sharply with Nell's. The greatest difference in thesisters lay in that Nell's face was sparkling and full of the fireof her eager young life, while Kate's was calm, like the unruffledsurface of a deep lake. 

"That's Jim, my brother. We're going with you, " said Joe. 

"Are you? I'm glad, " answered the girl, looking at the handsomeearnest face of the young minister. 

"Your brother's like you for all the world, " whispered Mrs. Wentz. 

"He does look like you, " said Kate, with her slow smile. 

"Which means you think, or hope, that that is all, " retorted Joelaughingly. "Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God forJim!"

He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look athim wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; neveruntil then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. Amoment's silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the childrenwho were playing with the trinkets; while Kate mused over the youngman's remark, and began studying his, half-averted face. She feltwarmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he hadgiven his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize withmuch of this wild and reckless boy's behavior. To Kate he had alwaysseemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet herewas proof that Master Joe loved his brother. 

The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by alow cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, andthen a husky voice:

"Hol' on, my purty lass. "'

Joe took two long strides, and was on the door-step. He saw Nellstruggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster. 

"I'll jes' hev' to kiss this lassie fer luck, " he said in a tone ofgood humor. 

At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth, the grizzled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell. 

"Let me go!" cried Nell. 

Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him, and was bendinghis red, moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped hisneck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouthopened, his tongue protruded; his eyes seemed starting from theirsockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flungwith a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in a heap onthe grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple. 

"What's this?" cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up, and arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman. 

"It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn't hev' did better myself, and Iwas comin' for that purpose, " said the frontiersman. "Leffler wastryin' to kiss the lass. He's been drunk fer two days. That littlegirl's sweetheart kin handle himself some, now you take my word onit. "

"I'll agree Leff's bad when he's drinkin', " answered the fur-trader, and to Joe he added, "He's liable to look you up when he comesaround. "

"Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I'll kill him, " Joe criedin a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster, and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glancewas cutting, as if with the flash of cold gray steel. "Nell, I'msorry I wasn't round sooner, " he said, apologetically, as if it wasowing to his neglect the affair had happened. 

As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was thethird time he had injured a man because of her. She had on severaloccasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it hadalways frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were insidethe building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly, and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry withhim; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. Hehad spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that heconsidered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweetand subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fearbecause of his strength was mingled with her pride in it. Any othergirl would have been only too glad to have such a champion; shewould, too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud. 

"Look here, Nell, you haven't spoken to me, " Joe cried suddenly, seeming to understand that she had not even heard what he said, soengrossed had she been with her reflections. "Are you mad with meyet?" he continued. "Why, Nell, I'm in--I love you!"

Evidently Joe thought such fact a sufficient reason for any act onhis part. His tender tone conquered Nell, and she turned to him withflushed cheeks and glad eyes. 

"I wasn't angry at all, " she whispered, and then, eluding the arm heextended, she ran into the other room. 

Chapter III. 

Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplatingtwo quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. Onehe recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hourthat morning; the red son of the woods was wrapped in slumber. Hehad placed under his head a many-hued homespun shirt which the youngpreacher had given him; but while asleep his head had rolled offthis improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attractingthe eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which hadfound lodgment in Joe's fertile brain. 

The other sleeper was a short, stout man whom Joe had seen severaltimes before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced inhis mind, and was the butt of the settlers' jokes, while thechildren called him "Loorey. " He, like the Indian, was sleeping offthe effects of the previous night's dissipation. 

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with anexpression on his face which told that he thought in them were greatpossibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappearedwithin the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveyingthe village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a smallbasket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simplycontained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as the Indiansused for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among thefur-trader's wares. 

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight werebusy with their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckledwhen there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took theIndians' gaudy shirt, and, lifting Loorey, slipped it around him, shoved the latter's arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it infront. He streaked the round face with red and white paint, andthen, dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the Indian'shead-dress, stuck it in Loorey's thick shock of hair. It was alldone in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went downto the river. 

Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf where JeffLynn, the grizzled old frontiersman, busied himself withpreparations for the raft-journey down the Ohio. Lynn had beenemployed to guide the missionary's party to Fort Henry, and, as thebrothers had acquainted him with their intention of accompanying thetravelers, he had constructed a raft for them and their horses. 

Joe laughed when he saw the dozen two-foot logs fastened together, upon which a rude shack had been erected for shelter. This slightprotection from sun and storm was all the brothers would have ontheir long journey. 

Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with somethought for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hutwas raised so that the waves which broke over the logs could notreach it. Taking a peep into the structure, Joe was pleased to seethat Nell and Kate would be comfortable, even during a storm. Abuffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior a cozy, warmlook. He observed that some of the girls' luggage was already onboard. 

"When'll we be off?" he inquired. 

"Sun-up, " answered Lynn, briefly. 

"I'm glad of that. I like to be on the go in the early morning, "said Joe, cheerfully. 

"Most folks from over Eastways ain't in a hurry to tackle theriver, " replied Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply. 

"It's a beautiful river, and I'd like to sail on it from here towhere it ends, and then come back to go again, " Joe replied, warmly. 

"In a hurry to be a-goin'? I'll allow you'll see some slim reddevils, with feathers in their hair, slipping among the trees alongthe bank, and mebbe you'll hear the ping which's made when whistlin'lead hits. Perhaps you'll want to be back here by termorrersundown. "

"Not I, " said Joe, with his short, cool laugh. 

The old frontiersman slowly finished his task of coiling up a ropeof wet cowhide, and then, producing a dirty pipe, he took a liveember from the fire and placed it on the bowl. He sucked slowly atthe pipe-stem, and soon puffed out a great cloud of smoke. Sittingon a log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long, heavy limbs of the young man, with a keen appreciation of theirsymmetry and strength. Agility, endurance and courage were more to aborderman than all else; a new-comer on the frontier was always"sized-up" with reference to these "points, " and respected inproportion to the measure in which he possessed them. 

Old Jeff Lynn, riverman, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at hispipe while he mused thus to himself: "Mebbe I'm wrong in takin' alikin' to this youngster so sudden. Mebbe it's because I'm fond ofhis sunny-haired lass, an' ag'in mebbe it's because I'm gettin' oldan' likes young folks better'n I onct did. Anyway, I'm kinderthinkin, if this young feller gits worked out, say fer about twentypounds less, he'll lick a whole raft-load of wild-cats. "

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was puttogether, and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. Atlength he seated himself beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions;to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, theIndians--everything in connection with this wild life; but alreadyhe had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure meansof closing their lips. 

"Ever handle the long rifle?" asked Lynn, after a silence. 

"Yes, " answered Joe, simply. 

"Ever shoot anythin'?" the frontiersman questioned, when he hadtaken four or five puffs at his pipe. 

"Squirrels. "

"Good practice, shootin' squirrels, " observed Jeff, after anothersilence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined. "Kin ye hit one--say, a hundred yards?"

"Yes, but not every time in the head, " returned Joe. There was anapologetic tone in his answer. 

Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowlypursuing his line of thought. After Joe's last remark he returnedhis pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco-pouch. He tore offa large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then heheld out the little buckskin sack to Joe. 

"Hev' a chaw, " he said. 

To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a borderman's guarantee offriendliness toward that person. 

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a littlenearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possiblythis was the borderman's way of oiling up his conversationalmachinery. At all events, he commenced to talk. 

"Yer brother's goin' to preach out here, ain't he? Preachin' is allright, I'll allow; but I'm kinder doubtful about preachin' toredskins. Howsumever, I've knowed Injuns who are good fellows, andthere's no tellin'. What are ye goin' in fer--farmin'?"

"No, I wouldn't make a good farmer. "

"Jest cum out kinder wild like, eh?" rejoined Jeff, knowingly. 

"I wanted to come West because I was tired of tame life. I love theforest; I want to fish and hunt; and I think I'd like to--to seeIndians. "

"I kinder thought so, " said the old frontiersman, nodding his headas though he perfectly understood Joe's case. "Well, lad, whereyou're goin' seein' Injuns ain't a matter of choice. You has to see'em, and fight 'em, too. We've had bad times for years out here onthe border, and I'm thinkin' wuss is comin'. Did ye ever hear thename Girty?"

"Yes; he's a renegade. "

"He's a traitor, and Jim and George Girty, his brothers, are p'isinrattlesnake Injuns. Simon Girty's bad enough; but Jim's the wust. He's now wusser'n a full-blooded Delaware. He's all the time on thelookout to capture white wimen to take to his Injun teepee. SimonGirty and his pals, McKee and Elliott, deserted from that thar fortright afore yer eyes. They're now livin' among the redskins downFort Henry way, raisin' as much hell fer the settlers as they kin. "

"Is Fort Henry near the Indian towns?" asked Joe. 

"There's Delawares, Shawnees and Hurons all along the Ohio belowFort Henry. "

"Where is the Moravian Mission located?"

"Why, lad, the Village of Peace, as the Injuns call it, is right inthe midst of that Injun country. I 'spect it's a matter of a hundredmiles below and cross-country a little from Fort Henry. "

"The fort must be an important point, is it not?"

"Wal, I guess so. It's the last place on the river, " answered Lynn, with a grim smile. "There's only a stockade there, an' a handful ofmen. The Injuns hev swarmed down on it time and ag'in, but they hevnever burned it. Only such men as Colonel Zane, his brother Jack, and Wetzel could hev kept that fort standin' all these bloody years. Eb Zane's got but a few men, yet he kin handle 'em some, an' withsuch scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he allus knows what's goin' onamong the Injuns. "

"I've heard of Colonel Zane. He was an officer under Lord Dunmore. The hunters here speak often of Jack Zane and Wetzel. What arethey?"

"Jack Zane is a hunter an' guide. I knowed him well a few yearsback. He's a quiet, mild chap; but a streak of chain-lightnin' whenhe's riled. Wetzel is an Injun-killer. Some people say as how he'scrazy over scalp-huntin'; but I reckon that's not so. I've seen hima few times. He don't hang round the settlement 'cept when theInjuns are up, an' nobody sees him much. At home he sets roundsilent-like, an' then mebbe next mornin' he'll be gone, an' won'tshow up fer days or weeks. But all the frontier knows of his deeds. Fer instance, I've hearn of settlers gettin' up in the mornin' an'findin' a couple of dead and scalped Injuns right in front of theircabins. No one knowed who killed 'em, but everybody says 'Wetzel. 'He's allus warnin' the settlers when they need to flee to the fort, and sure he's right every time, because when these men go back totheir cabins they find nothin' but ashes. There couldn't be anyfarmin' done out there but fer Wetzel. "

"What does he look like?" questioned Joe, much interested. 

"Wetzel stands straight as the oak over thar. He'd hev' to gosideways to git his shoulders in that door, but he's as light offoot an' fast as a deer. An' his eyes--why, lad, ye kin hardly lookinto 'em. If you ever see Wetzel you'll know him to onct. "

"I want to see him, " Joe spoke quickly, his eyes lighting with aneager flash. "He must be a great fighter. "

"Is he? Lew Wetzel is the heftiest of 'em all, an' we hev some askin fight out here. I was down the river a few years ago and joineda party to go out an' hunt up some redskins as had been reported. Wetzel was with us. We soon struck Injun sign, and then come on to alot of the pesky varmints. We was all fer goin' home, because we hada small force. When we started to go we finds Wetzel sittin'calm-like on a log. We said: 'Ain't ye goin' home?' and he replied, 'I cum out to find redskins, an' now as we've found 'em, I'm notgoin' to run away. ' An' we left him settin' thar. Oh, Wetzel is afighter!"

"I hope I shall see him, " said Joe once more, the warm light, whichmade him look so boyish, still glowing in his face. 

"Mebbe ye'll git to; and sure ye'll see redskins, an' not tame ones, nuther. "

At this moment the sound of excited voices near the cabins broke inon the conversation. Joe saw several persons run toward the largecabin and disappear behind it. He smiled as he thought perhaps thecommotion had been caused by the awakening of the Indian brave. 

Rising to his feet, Joe went toward the cabin, and soon saw thecause of the excitement. A small crowd of men and women, alllaughing and talking, surrounded the Indian brave and the littlestout fellow. Joe heard some one groan, and then a deep, gutturalvoice:

"Paleface--big steal--ugh! Injun mad--heap mad--kill paleface. "

After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holdingLoorey with one hand, while he poked him on the ribs with the other. The captive's face was the picture of dismay; even the streaks ofpaint did not hide his look of fear and bewilderment. The poorhalf-witted fellow was so badly frightened that he could only groan. 

"Silvertip scalp paleface. Ugh!" growled the savage, giving Looreyanother blow on the side. This time he bent over in pain. Thebystanders were divided in feeling; the men laughed, while the womenmurmured sympathetically. 

"This's not a bit funny, " muttered Joe, as he pushed his way nearlyto the middle of the crowd. Then he stretched out a long arm that, bare and brawny, looked as though it might have been a blacksmith's, and grasped the Indian's sinewy wrist with a force that made himloosen his hold on Loorey instantly. 

"I stole the shirt--fun--joke, " said Joe. "Scalp me if you want toscalp anyone. "

The Indian looked quickly at the powerful form before him. With atwist he slipped his arm from Joe's grasp. 

"Big paleface heap fun--all squaw play, " he said, scornfully. Therewas a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left thegroup. 

"I'm afraid you've made an enemy, " said Jake Wentz to Joe. "AnIndian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded yourjoke. Silvertip has been friendly here because he sells us hispelts. He's a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows!"

By this time Jim and Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wentz and the girls had joinedthe group. They all watched Silvertip get into his canoe and paddleaway. 

"A bad sign, " said Wentz, and then, turning to Jeff Lynn, who joinedthe party at that moment, he briefly explained the circumstances. 

"Never did like Silver. He's a crafty redskin, an' not to betrusted, " replied Jeff. 

"He has turned round and is looking back, " Nell said quickly. 

"So he has, " observed the fur-trader. 

The Indian was now several hundred yards down the swift river, andfor an instant had ceased paddling. The sun shone brightly on hiseagle plumes. He remained motionless for a moment, and even at sucha distance the dark, changeless face could be discerned. He liftedhis hand and shook it menacingly. 

"If ye don't hear from that redskin ag'in Jeff Lynn don't knownothin', " calmly said the old frontiersman. 

Chapter IV. 

As the rafts drifted with the current the voyagers saw the settlerson the landing-place diminish until they had faded from indistinctfigures to mere black specks against the green background. Then camethe last wave of a white scarf, faintly in the distance, and atlength the dark outline of the fort was all that remained to theirregretful gaze. Quickly that, too, disappeared behind the greenhill, which, with its bold front, forces the river to take a wideturn. 

The Ohio, winding in its course between high, wooded bluffs, rolledon and on into the wilderness. 

Beautiful as was the ever-changing scenery, rugged gray-faced cliffson one side contrasting with green-clad hills on the other, therehovered over land and water something more striking than beauty. Above all hung a still atmosphere of calmness--of loneliness. 

And this penetrating solitude marred somewhat the pleasure whichmight have been found in the picturesque scenery, and caused thevoyagers, to whom this country was new, to take less interest in thegaily-feathered birds and stealthy animals that were to be seen onthe way. By the forms of wild life along the banks of the river, this strange intruder on their peace was regarded with attention. The birds and beasts evinced little fear of the floating rafts. Thesandhill crane, stalking along the shore, lifted his long neck asthe unfamiliar thing came floating by, and then stood still andsilent as a statue until the rafts disappeared from view. Blue-herons feeding along the bars, saw the unusual spectacle, and, uttering surprised "booms, " they spread wide wings and lumbered awayalong the shore. The crows circled above the voyagers, cawing in notunfriendly excitement. Smaller birds alighted on the raised poles, and several--a robin, a catbird and a little brown wren--venturedwith hesitating boldness to peck at the crumbs the girls threw tothem. Deer waded knee-deep in the shallow water, and, lifting theirheads, instantly became motionless and absorbed. Occasionally abuffalo appeared on a level stretch of bank, and, tossing his hugehead, seemed inclined to resent the coming of this stranger into hisdomain. 

All day the rafts drifted steadily and swiftly down the river, presenting to the little party ever-varying pictures of denselywooded hills, of jutting, broken cliffs with scant evergreen growth;of long reaches of sandy bar that glistened golden in the sunlight, and over all the flight and call of wildfowl, the flitting ofwoodland songsters, and now and then the whistle and bellow of thehorned watchers in the forest. 

The intense blue of the vault above began to pale, and low down inthe west a few fleecy clouds, gorgeously golden for a fleetinginstant, then crimson-crowned for another, shaded and darkened asthe setting sun sank behind the hills. Presently the red raysdisappeared, a pink glow suffused the heavens, and at last, as graytwilight stole down over the hill-tops, the crescent moon peepedabove the wooded fringe of the western bluffs. 

"Hard an' fast she is, " sang out Jeff Lynn, as he fastened the ropeto a tree at the head of a small island. "All off now, and' we'llhev' supper. Thar's a fine spring under yon curly birch, an' Ifetched along a leg of deer-meat. Hungry, little 'un?"

He had worked hard all day steering the rafts, yet Nell had seen himsmiling at her many times during the journey, and he had found timebefore the early start to arrange for her a comfortable seat. Therewas now a solicitude in the frontiersman's voice that touched her. 

"I am famished, " she replied, with her bright smile. "I am afraid Icould eat a whole deer. "

They all climbed the sandy slope, and found themselves on the summitof an oval island, with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded bybirches. Bill, the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at onceswung his axe upon a log of driftwood. Mr. Wells and Jim walked toand fro under the birches, and Kate and Nell sat on the grasswatching with great interest the old helmsman as he came up from theriver, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he hadgiven them. Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after layingout the few utensils, he addressed himself to Joe:

"I'll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by badcuttin' and cookin'. You're slicin' it too thick. See--thar! Nowsalt good, an' keep outen the flame; on the red coals is best. "

With a sharpened stick Jeff held the thin slices over the fire for afew moments. Then he laid them aside on some clean white-oak chipsBill's axe had provided. The simple meal of meat, bread, andafterward a drink of the cold spring water, was keenly relished bythe hungry voyagers. When it had been eaten, Jeff threw a log on thefire and remarked:

"Seein' as how we won't be in redskin territory fer awhile yit, wekin hev a fire. I'll allow ye'll all be chilly and damp fromriver-mist afore long, so toast yerselves good. "

"How far have we come to-day?" inquired Mr. Wells, his mind alwaysintent on reaching the scene of his cherished undertaking. 

"'Bout thirty-odd mile, I reckon. Not much on a trip, thet's sartin, but we'll pick up termorrer. We've some quicker water, an' the raftshev to go separate. "

"How quiet!" exclaimed Kate, suddenly breaking the silence thatfollowed the frontiersman's answer. 

"Beautiful!" impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joe. A quick flashfrom his gray eyes answered her; he did not speak; indeed he hadsaid little to her since the start, but his glance showed her howglad he was that she felt the sweetness and content of this wildland. 

"I was never in a wilderness before, " broke in the earnest voice ofthe young minister. "I feel an almost overpowering sense ofloneliness. I want to get near to you all; I feel lost. Yet it isgrand, sublime!"

"Here is the promised land--the fruitful life--Nature as it wascreated by God, " replied the old minister, impressively. 

"Tell us a story, " said Nell to the old frontiersman, as he oncemore joined the circle round the fire. 

"So, little 'un, ye want a story?" queried Jeff, taking up a livecoal and placing it in the bowl of his pipe. He took off hiscoon-skin cap and carefully laid it aside. His weather-beaten facebeamed in answer to the girl's request. He drew a long and audiblepull at his black pipe, and send forth slowly a cloud of whitesmoke. Deliberately poking the fire with a stick, as if stirringinto life dead embers of the past, he sucked again at his pipe, andemitted a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the grizzledhead. From out that white cloud came his drawling voice. 

"Ye've seen thet big curly birch over thar--thet 'un as bends kindof sorrowful like. Wal, it used to stand straight an' proud. I'veknowed thet tree all the years I've navigated this river, an' itseems natural like to me thet it now droops dyin', fer it shades thegrave of as young, an' sweet, an' purty a lass as yerself, MissNell. Rivermen called this island George's Island, 'cause Washingtononct camped here; but of late years the name's got changed, an' themen say suthin' like this: 'We'll try an' make Milly's birch aforesundown, ' jest as Bill and me hev done to-day. Some years agone Iwas comin' up from Fort Henry, an' had on board my slow old scow alass named Milly--we never learned her other name. She come to me atthe fort, an' tells as how her folks hed been killed by Injuns, an'she wanted to git back to Pitt to meet her sweetheart. I was ag'inher comin' all along, an' fust off I said 'No. ' But when I seentears in her blue eyes, an' she puts her little hand on mine, I jestwilted, an' says to Jim Blair, 'She goes. ' Wal, jest as might hevbeen expected--an' fact is I looked fer it--we wus tackled byredskins. Somehow, Jim Girty got wind of us hevin' a lass aboard, an' he ketched up with us jest below here. It's a bad place, calledShawnee Rock, an' I'll show it to ye termorrer. The renegade, withhis red devils, attacked us thar, an' we had a time gittin' away. Milly wus shot. She lived fer awhile, a couple of days, an' all thetime wus so patient, an' sweet, an' brave with thet renegade'sbullet in her--fer he shot her when he seen he couldn't captureher--thet thar wusn't a blame man of us who wouldn't hev died togrant her prayer, which wus that she could live to onct more see herlover. "

There was a long silence, during which the old frontiersman satgazing into the fire with sad eyes. 

"We couldn't do nuthin', an' we buried her thar under thet birch, where she smiled her last sad, sweet smile, an' died. Ever sincethen the river has been eatn' away at this island. It's only half asbig as it wus onct, an' another flood will take away this sand-bar, these few birches--an' Milly's grave. "

The old frontiersman's story affected all his listeners. The elderminister bowed his head and prayed that no such fate might overtakehis nieces. The young minister looked again, as he had many timesthat day, at Nell's winsome face. The girls cast grave glances atthe drooping birch, and their bright tears glistened in thefire-glow. Once more Joe's eyes glinted with that steely flash, andas he gazed out over the wide, darkening expanse of water his facegrew cold and rigid. 

"I'll allow I might hev told a more cheerful story, an' I'll do sonext time; but I wanted ye all, particular the lasses, to knowsomethin' of the kind of country ye're goin' into. The frontierneeds women; but jist yit it deals hard with them. An' Jim Girty, with more of his kind, ain't dead yit. "

"Why don't some one kill him?" was Joe's sharp question. 

"Easier said than done, lad. Jim Girty is a white traitor, but he'sa cunnin' an' fierce redskin in his ways an' life. He knows thewoods as a crow does, an' keeps outer sight 'cept when he's leastexpected. Then ag'in, he's got Simon Girty, his brother, an' almostthe whole redskin tribe behind him. Injuns stick close to a whiteman that has turned ag'inst his own people, an' Jim Girty hain'tever been ketched. Howsumever, I heard last trip thet he'd beentryin' some of his tricks round Fort Henry, an' thet Wetzel is onhis trail. Wal, if it's so thet Lew Wetzel is arter him, I wouldn'tgive a pinch o' powder fer the white-redskin's chances of a longlife. "

No one spoke, and Jeff, after knocking the ashes from his pipe, wentdown to the raft, returning shortly afterward with his blanket. Thishe laid down and rolled himself in it. Presently from under hiscoon-skin cap came the words:

"Wal, I've turned in, an' I advise ye all to do the same. "

All save Joe and Nell acted on Jeff's suggestion. For a long timethe young couple sat close together on the bank, gazing at themoonlight on the river. 

The night was perfect. A cool wind fanned the dying embers of thefire and softly stirred the leaves. Earlier in the evening a singlefrog had voiced his protest against the loneliness; but now hisdismal croak was no longer heard. A snipe, belated in his feeding, ran along the sandy shore uttering his tweet-tweet, and his littlecry, breaking in so softly on the silence, seemed only to make moredeeply felt the great vast stillness of the night. 

Joe's arm was around Nell. She had demurred at first, but he gave noheed to her slight resistance, and finally her head rested againsthis shoulder. There was no need of words. 

Joe had a pleasurable sense of her nearness, and there was a delightin the fragrance of her hair as it waved against his cheek; but justthen love was not uppermost in his mind. All day he had been silentunder the force of an emotion which he could not analyze. Somepower, some feeling in which the thought of Nell had no share, wasdrawing him with irresistible strength. Nell had just begun tosurrender to him in the sweetness of her passion; and yet even withthat knowledge knocking reproachfully at his heart, he could nothelp being absorbed in the shimmering water, in the dark reflectionof the trees, the gloom and shadow of the forest. 

Presently he felt her form relax in his arms; then her soft regularbreathing told him she had fallen asleep and he laughed low tohimself. How she would pout on the morrow when he teased her aboutit! Then, realizing that she was tired with her long day's journey, he reproached himself for keeping her from the needed rest, andinstantly decided to carry her to the raft. Yet such was the noveltyof the situation that he yielded to its charm, and did not go atonce. The moonlight found bright threads in her wavy hair; it shonecaressingly on her quiet face, and tried to steal under the downcastlashes. 

Joe made a movement to rise with her, when she muttered indistinctlyas if speaking to some one. He remembered then she had once told himthat she talked in her sleep, and how greatly it annoyed her. Hemight hear something more with which to tease her; so he listened. 

"Yes--uncle--I will go--Kate, we must--go. . . "

Another interval of silence, then more murmurings. He distinguishedhis own name, and presently she called clearly, as if answering someinward questioner. 

"I--love him--yes--I love Joe--he has mastered me. Yet I wish hewere--like Jim--Jim who looked at me--so--with his deep eyes--andI. . . . "

Joe lifted her as if she were a baby, and carrying her down to theraft, gently laid her by her sleeping sister. 

The innocent words which he should not have heard were like a blow. What she would never have acknowledged in her waking hours had beenrevealed in her dreams. He recalled the glance of Jim's eyes as ithad rested on Nell many times that day, and now these things weremost significant. 

He found at the end of the island a great, mossy stone. On this heclimbed, and sat where the moonlight streamed upon him. Graduallythat cold bitterness died out from his face, as it passed from hisheart, and once more he became engrossed in the silver sheen on thewater, the lapping of the waves on the pebbly beach, and in thatspeaking, mysterious silence of the woods. 

 * * *

When the first faint rays of red streaked over the easternhill-tops, and the river mist arose from the water in a vaporycloud, Jeff Lynn rolled out of his blanket, stretched his longlimbs, and gave a hearty call to the morning. His cheerful welcomeawakened all the voyagers except Joe, who had spent the night inwatching and the early morning in fishing. 

"Wal, I'll be darned, " ejaculated Jeff as he saw Joe. "Up afore me, an' ketched a string of fish. "

"What are they?" asked Joe, holding up several bronze-backed fish. 

"Bass--black bass, an' thet big feller is a lammin' hefty 'un. How'dye ketch 'em?"

"I fished for them. "

"Wal, so it 'pears, " growled Jeff, once more reluctantly yielding tohis admiration for the lad. "How'd ye wake up so early?"

"I stayed up all night. I saw three deer swim from the mainland, butnothing else came around. "

"Try yer hand at cleanin' 'em fer breakfast, " continued Jeff, beginning to busy himself with preparations for that meal. "Wal, wal, if he ain't surprisin'! He'll do somethin' out here on thefrontier, sure as I'm a born sinner, " he muttered to himself, wagging his head in his quaint manner. 

Breakfast over, Jeff transferred the horses to the smaller raft, which he had cut loose from his own, and, giving a few directions toBill, started down-stream with Mr. Wells and the girls. 

The rafts remained close together for a while, but as the currentquickened and was more skillfully taken advantage of by Jeff, thelarger raft gained considerable headway, gradually widening the gapbetween the two. 

All day they drifted. From time to time Joe and Jim waved theirhands to the girls; but the greater portion of their attention wasgiven to quieting the horses. Mose, Joe's big white dog, retired indisgust to the hut, where he watched and dozed by turns. He did notfancy this kind of voyaging. Bill strained his sturdy arms all dayon the steering-oar. 

About the middle of the afternoon Joe observed that the hills grewmore rugged and precipitous, and the river ran faster. He kept aconstant lookout for the wall of rock which marked the point ofdanger. When the sun had disappeared behind the hills, he saw aheada gray rock protruding from the green foliage. It was ponderous, overhanging, and seemed to frown down on the river. This was ShawneeRock. Joe looked long at the cliff, and wondered if there was now anIndian scout hidden behind the pines that skirted the edge. Prominent on the top of the bluff a large, dead tree projected itshoary, twisted branches. 

Bill evidently saw the landmark, for he stopped in his monotonouswalk to and fro across the raft, and pushing his oar amidships helooked ahead for the other raft. The figure of the tall frontiersmancould be plainly seen as he labored at the helm. 

The raft disappeared round a bend, and as it did so Joe saw a whitescarf waved by Nell. 

Bill worked the clumsy craft over toward the right shore where thecurrent was more rapid. He pushed with all his strength, and whenthe oar had reached its widest sweep, he lifted it and ran backacross the raft for another push. Joe scanned the river ahead. Hesaw no rapids; only rougher water whirling over some rocks. Theywere where the channel narrowed and ran close to the right-handbank. Under a willow-flanked ledge was a sand-bar. To Joe thereseemed nothing hazardous in drifting through this pass. 

"Bad place ahead, " said Bill, observing Joe's survey of the river. 

"It doesn't look so, " replied Joe. 

"A raft ain't a boat. We could pole a boat. You has to hev water tofloat logs, an' the river's run out considerable. I'm only afeerdfer the horses. If we hit or drag, they might plunge around a bit. "

When the raft passed into the head of the bend it struck the rocksseveral times, but finally gained the channel safely, and everythingseemed propitious for an easy passage. 

But, greatly to Bill's surprise, the wide craft was caught directlyin the channel, and swung round so that the steering-oar pointedtoward the opposite shore. The water roared a foot deep over thelogs. 

"Hold hard on the horses!" yelled Bill. "Somethin's wrong. I neverseen a snag here. "

The straining mass of logs, insecurely fastened together, rolled andthen pitched loose again, but the short delay had been fatal to thesteering apparatus. 

Joe would have found keen enjoyment in the situation, had it notbeen for his horse, Lance. The thoroughbred was difficult to hold. As Bill was making strenuous efforts to get in a lucky stroke of theoar, he failed to see a long length of grapevine floating like abrown snake of the water below. In the excitement they heeded notthe barking of Mose. Nor did they see the grapevine straighten andbecome taut just as they drifted upon it; but they felt the raftstrike and hold on some submerged object. It creaked and groaned andthe foamy water surged, gurgling, between the logs. 

Jim's mare snorted with terror, and rearing high, pulled her halterloose and plunged into the river. But Jim still held her, at risk ofbeing drawn overboard. 

"Let go! She'll drag you in!" yelled Joe, grasping him with his freehand. Lance trembled violently and strained at the rope, which hismaster held with a strong grip. 

CRACK!

The stinging report of a rifle rang out above the splashing of thewater. 

Without a cry, Bill's grasp on the oar loosened; he fell over itlimply, his head striking the almost submerged log. A dark-red fluidcolored the water; then his body slipped over the oar and into theriver, where it sank. 

"My God! Shot!" cried Jim, in horrified tones. 

He saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows. Then thebranches parted, revealing the dark forms of several Indianwarriors. From the rifle in the foremost savage's hand a slight veilof smoke rose. With the leap of a panther the redskin sprang fromthe strip of sand to the raft. 

"Hold, Jim! Drop that ax! We're caught!" cried Joe. 

"It's that Indian from the fort!" gasped Jim. 

The stalwart warrior was indeed Silvertip. But how changed! Strippedof the blanket he had worn at the settlement, now standing naked butfor his buckskin breech-cloth, with his perfectly proportioned formdisclosed in all its sinewy beauty, and on his swarthy, evil face anexpression of savage scorn, he surely looked a warrior and a chief. 

He drew his tomahawk and flashed a dark glance at Joe. For a momenthe steadily regarded the young man; but if he expected to see fearin the latter's face he was mistaken, for the look was returnedcoolly. 

"Paleface steal shirt, " he said in his deep voice. "Fool palefaceplay--Silvertip no forget. "

Chapter V. 

Silvertip turned to his braves, and giving a brief command, sprangfrom the raft. The warriors closed in around the brothers; twograsping each by the arms, and the remaining Indian taking care ofthe horse. The captives were then led ashore, where Silvertipawaited them. 

When the horse was clear of the raft, which task necessitatedconsiderable labor on the part of the Indians, the chief seized thegrapevine, that was now plainly in sight, and severed it with oneblow of his tomahawk. The raft dashed forward with a lurch anddrifted downstream. 

In the clear water Joe could see the cunning trap which had causedthe death of Bill, and insured the captivity of himself and hisbrother. The crafty savages had trimmed a six-inch sapling andanchored it under the water. They weighted the heavy end, leavingthe other pointing upstream. To this last had been tied thegrapevine. When the drifting raft reached the sapling, the Indiansconcealed in the willows pulled hard on the improvised rope; the endof the sapling stuck up like a hook, and the aft was caught andheld. The killing of the helmsman showed the Indians' foresight;even had the raft drifted on downstream the brothers would have beenhelpless on a craft they could not manage. After all, Joe thought, he had not been so far wrong when he half fancied that an Indian laybehind Shawnee Rock, and he marveled at this clever trick which hadso easily effected their capture. 

But he had little time to look around at the scene of action. Therewas a moment only in which to study the river to learn if theunfortunate raftsman's body had appeared. It was not to be seen. Theriver ran swiftly and hid all evidence of the tragedy under itssmooth surface. When the brave who had gone back to the raft for thegoods joined his companion the two hurried Joe up the bank after theothers. 

Once upon level ground Joe saw before him an open forest. On theborder of this the Indians stopped long enough to bind theprisoners' wrists with thongs of deerhide. While two of the bravesperformed this office, Silvertip leaned against a tree and took nonotice of the brothers. When they were thus securely tied one oftheir captors addressed the chief, who at once led the way westwardthrough the forest. The savages followed in single file, with Joeand Jim in the middle of the line. The last Indian tried to mountLance; but the thoroughbred would have none of him, and afterseveral efforts the savage was compelled to desist. Mose trottedreluctantly along behind the horse. 

Although the chief preserved a dignified mien, his braves weredisposed to be gay. They were in high glee over their feat ofcapturing the palefaces, and kept up an incessant jabbering. OneIndian, who walked directly behind Joe, continually prodded him withthe stock of a rifle; and whenever Joe turned, the brawny redskingrinned as he grunted, "Ugh!" Joe observed that this huge savage hada broad face of rather a lighter shade of red than his companions. Perhaps he intended those rifle-prods in friendliness, for althoughthey certainly amused him, he would allow no one else to touch Joe;but it would have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship ina gentle manner. This Indian carried Joe's pack, much to his owndelight, especially as his companions evinced an envious curiosity. The big fellow would not, however, allow them to touch it. 

"He's a cheerful brute, " remarked Joe to Jim. 

"Ugh!" grunted the big Indian, jamming Joe with his rifle-stock. 

Joe took heed to the warning and spoke no more. He gave all hisattention to the course over which he was being taken. Here was hisfirst opportunity to learn something of Indians and their woodcraft. It occurred to him that his captors would not have been so gay andcareless had they not believed themselves safe from pursuit, and heconcluded they were leisurely conducting him to one of the Indiantowns. He watched the supple figure before him, wondering at thequick step, light as the fall of a leaf, and tried to walk assoftly. He found, however, that where the Indian readily avoided thesticks and brush, he was unable to move without snapping twigs. Nowand then he would look up and study the lay of the land ahead; andas he came nearer to certain rocks and trees he scrutinized themclosely, in order to remember their shape and general appearance. Hebelieved he was blazing out in his mind this woodland trail, so thatshould fortune favor him and he contrive to escape, he would be ableto find his way back to the river. Also, he was enjoying the wildscenery. 

This forest would have appeared beautiful, even to one indifferentto such charms, and Joe was far from that. Every moment he feltsteal stronger over him a subtle influence which he could notdefine. Half unconsciously he tried to analyze it, but it baffledhim. He could no more explain what fascinated him than he couldunderstand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over theglades and hollows. He had pictured a real forest so differentlyfrom this. Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fencedby bright-green sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted withpale-blue blossoms, over which the giant cottonwoods leaned theirheads, jealously guarding the delicate flowers from the sun. Beechtrees, growing close in clanny groups, spread their straight limbsgracefully; the white birches gleamed like silver wherever a straysunbeam stole through the foliage, and the oaks, monarchs of theforest, rose over all, dark, rugged, and kingly. 

Joe soon understood why the party traveled through such open forest. The chief, seeming hardly to deviate from his direct course, keptclear of broken ground, matted thickets and tangled windfalls. Joegot a glimpse of dark ravines and heard the music of tumblingwaters; he saw gray cliffs grown over with vines, and full of holesand crevices; steep ridges, covered with dense patches of briar andhazel, rising in the way. Yet the Shawnee always found an easy path. 

The sun went down behind the foliage in the west, and shadowsappeared low in the glens; then the trees faded into an indistinctmass; a purple shade settled down over the forest, and night broughtthe party to a halt. 

The Indians selected a sheltered spot under the lee of a knoll, atthe base of which ran a little brook. Here in this inclosed spacewere the remains of a camp-fire. Evidently the Indians had haltedthere that same day, for the logs still smouldered. While one bravefanned the embers, another took from a neighboring branch a haunchof deer meat. A blaze was soon coaxed from the dull coals, more fuelwas added, and presently a cheerful fire shone on the circle ofdusky forms. 

It was a picture which Joe had seen in many a boyish dream; now thathe was a part of it he did not dwell on the hopelessness of thesituation, nor of the hostile chief whose enmity he had incurred. Almost, it seemed, he was glad of this chance to watch the Indiansand listen to them. He had been kept apart from Jim, and it appearedto Joe that their captors treated his brother with a contempt whichthey did not show him. Silvertip had, no doubt, informed them thatJim had been on his way to teach the Indians of the white man's God. 

Jim sat with drooping head; his face was sad, and evidently he tookthe most disheartening view of his capture. When he had eaten theslice of venison given him he lay down with his back to the fire. 

Silvertip, in these surroundings, showed his real character. He hadappeared friendly in the settlement; but now he was the relentlesssavage, a son of the wilds, free as an eagle. His dignity as a chiefkept him aloof from his braves. He had taken no notice of theprisoners since the capture. He remained silent, steadily regardingthe fire with his somber eyes. At length, glancing at the bigIndian, he motioned toward the prisoners and with a single wordstretched himself on the leaves. 

Joe noted the same changelessness of expression in the other darkfaces as he had seen in Silvertip's. It struck him forcibly. Whenthey spoke in their soft, guttural tones, or burst into a low, notunmusical laughter, or sat gazing stolidly into the fire, theirfaces seemed always the same, inscrutable, like the depths of theforest now hidden in night. One thing Joe felt rather thansaw--these savages were fierce and untamable. He was sorry for Jim, because, as he believed, it would be as easy to teach the panthergentleness toward his prey as to instill into one of these wildcreatures a belief in Christ. 

The braves manifested keen pleasure in anticipation as to what theywould get out of the pack, which the Indian now opened. Time andagain the big brave placed his broad hand on the shoulder of acomrade Indian and pushed him backward. 

Finally the pack was opened. It contained a few articles of wearingapparel, a pair of boots, and a pipe and pouch of tobacco. The bigIndian kept the latter articles, grunting with satisfaction, andthrew the boots and clothes to the others. Immediately there was ascramble. One brave, after a struggle with another, got possessionof both boots. He at once slipped off his moccasins and drew on thewhite man's foot-coverings. He strutted around in them a fewmoments, but his proud manner soon changed to disgust. 

Cowhide had none of the soft, yielding qualities of buckskin, andhurt the Indian's feet. Sitting down, he pulled one off, not withoutdifficulty, for the boots were wet; but he could not remove theother. He hesitated a moment, being aware of the subdued merrimentof his comrades, and then held up his foot to the nearest one. Thischanced to be the big Indian, who evidently had a keen sense ofhumor. Taking hold of the boot with both hands, he dragged theluckless brave entirely around the camp-fire. The fun, however, wasnot to be all one-sided. The big Indian gave a more strenuous pull, and the boot came off suddenly. Unprepared for this, he lost hisbalance and fell down the bank almost into the creek. He held on tothe boot, nevertheless, and getting up, threw it into the fire. 

The braves quieted down after that, and soon lapsed into slumber, leaving the big fellow, to whom the chief had addressed his briefcommand, acting, as guard. Observing Joe watching him as he puffedon his new pipe, he grinned, and spoke in broken English that wasintelligible, and much of a surprise to the young man. 

"Paleface--tobac'--heap good. "

Then, seeing that Joe made no effort to follow his brother'sinitiative, for Jim was fast asleep, he pointed to the recumbentfigures and spoke again. 

"Ugh! Paleface sleep--Injun wigwams--near setting sun. "

On the following morning Joe was awakened by the pain in his legs, which had been bound all night. He was glad when the bonds were cutand the party took up its westward march. 

The Indians, though somewhat quieter, displayed the samecarelessness: they did not hurry, nor use particular caution, butselected the most open paths through the forest. They even haltedwhile one of their number crept up on a herd of browsing deer. Aboutnoon the leader stopped to drink from a spring; his braves followedsuit and permitted the white prisoners to quench their thirst. 

When they were about to start again the single note of a bird faraway in the woods sounded clearly on the quiet air. Joe would nothave given heed to it had he been less attentive. He instantlyassociated this peculiar bird-note with the sudden stiffening ofSilvertip's body and his attitude of intense listening. Lowexclamations came from the braves as they bent to catch the lightestsound. Presently, above the murmur of the gentle fall of water overthe stones, rose that musical note once more. It was made by a bird, Joe thought, and yet, judged by the actions of the Indians, howpotent with meaning beyond that of the simple melody of the woodlandsongster! He turned, half expecting to see somewhere in thetree-tops the bird which had wrought so sudden a change in hiscaptors. As he did so from close at hand came the same call, nowlouder, but identical with the one that had deceived him. It was ananswering signal, and had been given by Silvertip. 

It flashed into Joe's mind that other savages were in the forest;they had run across the Shawnees' trail, and were thus communicatingwith them. Soon dark figures could be discerned against the patchesof green thicket; they came nearer and nearer, and now entered theopen glade where Silvertip stood with his warriors. 

Joe counted twelve, and noted that they differed from his captors. He had only time to see that this difference consisted in thehead-dress, and in the color and quantity of paint on their bodies, when his gaze was attracted and riveted to the foremost figures. 

The first was that of a very tall and stately chief, toward whomSilvertip now advanced with every show of respect. In this Indian'scommanding stature, in his reddish-bronze face, stern and powerful, there were readable the characteristics of a king. In his deep-seteyes, gleaming from under a ponderous brow; in his mastiff-like jaw;in every feature of his haughty face were visible all the highintelligence, the consciousness of past valor, and the power andauthority that denote a great chieftain. 

The second figure was equally striking for the remarkable contrastit afforded to the chief's. Despite the gaudy garments, the paint, the fringed and beaded buckskin leggins--all the Indianaccouterments and garments which bedecked this person, he would havebeen known anywhere as a white man. His skin was burned to a darkbronze, but it had not the red tinge which characterizes the Indian. This white man had, indeed, a strange physiognomy. The forehead wasnarrow and sloped backward from the brow, denoting animal instincts. The eyes were close together, yellowish-brown in color, and had apeculiar vibrating movement, as though they were hung on a pivot, like a compass-needle. The nose was long and hooked, and the mouthset in a thin, cruel line. There was in the man's aspect anextraordinary combination of ignorance, vanity, cunning andferocity. 

While the two chiefs held a short consultation, thissavage-appearing white man addressed the brothers. 

"Who're you, an' where you goin'?" he asked gruffly, confrontingJim. 

"My name is Downs. I am a preacher, and was on my way to theMoravian Mission to preach to the Indians. You are a white man; willyou help us?"

If Jim expected the information would please his interrogator, hewas mistaken. 

"So you're one of 'em? Yes, I'll do suthin' fer you when I git backfrom this hunt. I'll cut your heart out, chop it up, an' feed it tothe buzzards, " he said fiercely, concluding his threat by strikingJim a cruel blow on the head. 

Joe paled deathly white at this cowardly action, and his eyes, asthey met the gaze of the ruffian, contracted with theircharacteristic steely glow, as if some powerful force within thedepths of his being were at white heat and only this pale flash cameto the surface. 

"You ain't a preacher?" questioned the man, meeting something inJoe's glance that had been absent from Jim's. 

Joe made no answer, and regarded questioner steadily. 

"Ever see me afore? Ever hear of Jim Girty?" he asked boastfully. 

"Before you spoke I knew you were Girty, " answered Joe quietly. 

"How d'you know? Ain't you afeared?"

"Of what?"

"Me--me?"

Joe laughed in the renegades face. 

"How'd you knew me?" growled Girty. "I'll see thet you hev cause toremember me after this. "

"I figured there was only one so-called white man in these woods whois coward enough to strike a man whose hands are tied. "

"Boy, ye're too free with your tongue. I'll shet off your wind. "Girty's hand was raised, but it never reached Joe's neck. 

The big Indian had an hour or more previous cut Joe's bonds, but hestill retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's leftwrist. This allowed the young man free use of his right arm, which, badly swollen or not, he brought into quick action. 

When the renegade reached toward him Joe knocked up the hand, and, instead of striking, he grasped the hooked nose with all thepowerful grip of his fingers. Girty uttered a frightful curse; hewrithed with pain, but could not free himself from the vise-likeclutch. He drew his tomahawk and with a scream aimed a vicious blowat Joe. He missed his aim, however, for Silvertip had intervened andturned the course of the keen hatchet. But the weapon struck Joe aglancing blow, inflicting a painful, though not dangerous wound. 

The renegade's nose was skinned and bleeding profusely. He wasfrantic with fury, and tried to get at Joe; but Silvertip remainedin front of his captive until some of the braves led Girty into theforest, where the tall chief had already disappeared. 

The nose-pulling incident added to the gayety of the Shawnees, whoevidently were pleased with Girty's discomfiture. They jabberedamong themselves and nodded approvingly at Joe, until a few wordsspoken by Silvertip produced a sudden change. 

What the words were Joe could not understand, but to him theysounded like French. He smiled at the absurdity of imagining he hadheard a savage speak a foreign language. At any rate, whatever hadbeen said was trenchant with meaning. The Indians changed from gayto grave; they picked up their weapons and looked keenly on everyside; the big Indian at once retied Joe, and then all crowded roundthe chief. 

"Did you hear what Silvertip said, and did you notice the effect ithad?" whispered Jim, taking advantage of the moment. 

"It sounded like French, but of course it wasn't, " replied Joe. 

"It was French. 'Le Vent de la Mort. '"

"By Jove, that's it. What does it mean?" asked Joe, who was not ascholar. 

"The Wind of Death. "

"That's English, but I can't apply it here. Can you?"

"No doubt it is some Indian omen. "

The hurried consultation over, Silvertip tied Joe's horse and dog tothe trees, and once more led the way; this time he avoided the openforest and kept on low ground. For a long time he traveled in thebed of the brook, wading when the water was shallow, and alwaysstepping where there was the least possibility of leaving afootprint. Not a word was spoken. If either of the brothers made thelightest splash in the water, or tumbled a stone into the brook, theIndian behind rapped him on the head with a tomahawk handle. 

At certain places, indicated by the care which Silvertip exercisedin walking, the Indian in front of the captives turned and pointedwhere they were to step. They were hiding the trail. Silvertiphurried them over the stony places; went more slowly through thewater, and picked his way carefully over the soft ground it becamenecessary to cross. At times he stopped, remaining motionless manyseconds. 

This vigilance continued all the afternoon. The sun sank; twilightspread its gray mantle, and soon black night enveloped the forest. The Indians halted, but made no fire; they sat close together on astony ridge, silent and watchful. 

Joe pondered deeply over this behavior. Did the Shawnees fearpursuit? What had that Indian chief told Silvertip? To Joe it seemedthat they acted as if believing foes were on all sides. Though theyhid their tracks, it was, apparently, not the fear of pursuit alonewhich made them cautious. 

Joe reviewed the afternoon's march and dwelt upon the possiblemeaning of the cat-like steps, the careful brushing aside ofbranches, the roving eyes, suspicious and gloomy, the eagerwatchfulness of the advance as well as to the rear, and always thestrained effort to listen, all of which gave him the impression ofsome grave, unseen danger. 

And now as he lay on the hard ground, nearly exhausted by the longmarch and suffering from the throbbing wound, his courage lessenedsomewhat, and he shivered with dread. The quiet and gloom of theforest; these fierce, wild creatures, free in the heart of their ownwilderness yet menaced by a foe, and that strange French phrasewhich kept recurring in his mind--all had the effect of conjuring upgiant shadows in Joe's fanciful mind. During all his life, untilthis moment, he had never feared anything; now he was afraid of thedarkness. The spectral trees spread long arms overhead, and phantomforms stalked abroad; somewhere out in that dense gloom stirred thismysterious foe--the "Wind of Death. "

Nevertheless, he finally slept. In the dull-gray light of earlymorning the Indians once more took up the line of march toward thewest. They marched all that day, and at dark halted to eat and rest. Silvertip and another Indian stood watch. 

Some time before morning Joe suddenly awoke. The night was dark, yetit was lighter than when he had fallen asleep. A pale, crescent moonshown dimly through the murky clouds. There was neither movement ofthe air nor the chirp of an insect. Absolute silence prevailed. 

Joe saw the Indian guard leaning against a tree, asleep. Silvertipwas gone. The captive raised his head and looked around for thechief. There were only four Indians left, three on the ground andone against the tree. 

He saw something shining near him. He looked more closely, and madeout the object to be an eagle plume Silvertip had worn, in hishead-dress. It lay on the ground near the tree. Joe made some slightnoise which awakened the guard. The Indian never moved a muscle; buthis eyes roved everywhere. He, too, noticed the absence of thechief. 

At this moment from out of the depths of the woods came a swellingsigh, like the moan of the night wind. It rose and died away, leaving the silence apparently all the deeper. 

A shudder ran over Joe's frame. Fascinated, he watched the guard. The Indian uttered a low gasp; his eyes started and glared wildly;he rose very slowly to his full height and stood waiting, listening. The dark hand which held the tomahawk trembled so that little glintsof moonlight glanced from the bright steel. 

From far back in the forest-deeps came that same low moaning:

"Um-m-mm-woo-o-o-o!"

It rose from a faint murmur and swelled to a deep moan, soft butclear, and ended in a wail like that of a lost soul. 

The break it made in that dead silence was awful. Joe's blood seemedto have curdled and frozen; a cold sweat oozed from his skin, and itwas as if a clammy hand clutched at his heart. He tried to persuadehimself that the fear displayed by the savage was only superstition, and that that moan was but the sigh of the night wind. 

The Indian sentinel stood as if paralyzed an instant after thatweird cry, and then, swift as a flash, and as noiseless, he was goneinto the gloomy forest. He had fled without awakening hiscompanions. 

Once more the moaning cry arose and swelled mournfully on the stillnight air. It was close at hand!

"The Wind of Death, " whispered Joe. 

He was shaken and unnerved by the events of the past two days, anddazed from his wound. His strength deserted him, and he lostconsciousness. 

Chapter VI. 

One evening, several day previous to the capture of the brothers, asolitary hunter stopped before a deserted log cabin which stood onthe bank of a stream fifty miles or more inland from the Ohio River. It was rapidly growing dark; a fine, drizzling rain had set in, anda rising wind gave promise of a stormy night. 

Although the hunter seemed familiar with his surroundings, he movedcautiously, and hesitated as if debating whether he should seek theprotection of this lonely hut, or remain all night under drippingtrees. Feeling of his hunting frock, he found that it was damp andslippery. This fact evidently decided him in favor of the cabin, forhe stooped his tall figure and went in. It was pitch dark inside;but having been there before, the absence of a light did not troublehim. He readily found the ladder leading to the loft, ascended it, and lay down to sleep. 

During the night a noise awakened him. For a moment he heard nothingexcept the fall of the rain. Then came the hum of voices, followedby the soft tread of moccasined feet. He knew there was an Indiantown ten miles across the country, and believed some warriors, belated on a hunting trip, had sought the cabin for shelter. 

The hunter lay perfectly quiet, awaiting developments. If theIndians had flint and steel, and struck a light, he was almostcertain to be discovered. He listened to their low conversation, andunderstood from the language that they were Delawares. 

A moment later he heard the rustling of leaves and twigs, accompanied by the metallic click of steel against some hardsubstance. The noise was repeated, and then followed by a hissingsound, which he knew to be the burning of a powder on a piece of drywood, after which rays of light filtered through cracks of theunstable floor of the loft. 

The man placed his eye to one of these crevices, and counted elevenIndians, all young braves, with the exception of the chief. TheIndians had been hunting; they had haunches of deer and buffalotongues, together with several packs of hides. Some of them busiedthemselves drying their weapons; others sat down listlessly, plainlyshowing their weariness, and two worked over the smouldering fire. The damp leaves and twigs burned faintly, yet there was enough tocause the hunter fear that he might be discovered. He believed hehad not much to worry about from the young braves, but the hawk-eyedchief was dangerous. 

And he was right. Presently the stalwart chief heard, or saw, a dropof water fall from the loft. It came from the hunter's wet coat. Almost any one save an Indian scout would have fancied this camefrom the roof. As the chief's gaze roamed everywhere over theinterior of the cabin his expression was plainly distrustful. Hiseye searched the wet clay floor, but hardly could have discoveredanything there, because the hunter's moccasined tracks had beenobliterated by the footprints of the Indians. The chief's suspicionsseemed to be allayed. 

But in truth this chief, with the wonderful sagacity natural toIndians, had observed matters which totally escaped the youngbraves, and, like a wily old fox, he waited to see which cub wouldprove the keenest. Not one of them, however, noted anything unusual. They sat around the fire, ate their meat and parched corn, andchatted volubly. 

The chief arose and, walking to the ladder, ran his hand along oneof the rungs. 

"Ugh!" he exclaimed. 

Instantly he was surrounded by ten eager, bright-eyed braves. Heextended his open palm; it was smeared with wet clay like that underhis feet. Simultaneously with their muttered exclamations the bravesgrasped their weapons. They knew there was a foe above them. It wasa paleface, for an Indian would have revealed himself. 

The hunter, seeing he was discovered, acted with the unerringjudgment and lightning-like rapidity of one long accustomed toperilous situations. Drawing his tomahawk and noiselessly steppingto the hole in the loft, he leaped into the midst of the astoundedIndians. 

Rising from the floor like the rebound of a rubber ball, his longarm with the glittering hatchet made a wide sweep, and the youngbraves scattered like frightened sheep. 

He made a dash for the door and, incredible as it may seem, hismovements were so quick he would have escaped from their very midstwithout a scratch but for one unforeseen circumstance. The clayfloor was wet and slippery; his feet were hardly in motion beforethey slipped from under him and he fell headlong. 

With loud yells of triumph the band jumped upon him. There was aconvulsive, heaving motion of the struggling mass, one frightful cryof agony, and then hoarse commands. Three of the braves ran to theirpacks, from which they took cords of buckskin. So exceedinglypowerful was the hunter that six Indians were required to hold himwhile the others tied his hands and feet. Then, with grunts andchuckles of satisfaction, they threw him into a corner of the cabin. 

Two of the braves had been hurt in the brief struggle, one having abadly wrenched shoulder and the other a broken arm. So much for thehunter's power in that single moment of action. 

The loft was searched, and found to be empty. Then the excitementdied away, and the braves settled themselves down for the night. Theinjured ones bore their hurts with characteristic stoicism; if theydid not sleep, both remained quiet and not a sigh escaped them. 

The wind changed during the night, the storm abated, and whendaylight came the sky was cloudless. The first rays of the sun shonein the open door, lighting up the interior of the cabin. 

A sleepy Indian who had acted as guard stretched his limbs andyawned. He looked for the prisoner, and saw him sitting up in thecorner. One arm was free, and the other nearly so. He had almostuntied the thongs which bound him; a few moments more and he wouldhave been free. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed the young brave, awakening his chief and pointingto the hunter. 

The chief glanced at his prisoner; then looked more closely, andwith one spring was on his feet, a drawn tomahawk in his hand. Ashort, shrill yell issued from his lips. Roused by that clarioncall, the young braves jumped up, trembling in eager excitement. Thechief's summons had been the sharp war-cry of the Delawares. 

He manifested as intense emotion as could possibly have beenbetrayed by a matured, experienced chieftain, and pointing to thehunter, he spoke a single word. 

 * * *

At noonday the Indians entered the fields of corn which marked theoutskirts of the Delaware encampment. 

"Kol-loo--kol-loo--kol-loo. "

The long signal, heralding the return of the party with importantnews, pealed throughout the quiet valley; and scarcely had theechoes died away when from the village came answering shouts. 

Once beyond the aisles of waving corn the hunter saw over theshoulders of his captors the home of the redmen. A grassy plain, sloping gradually from the woody hill to a winding stream, wasbrightly beautiful with chestnut trees and long, well-formed linesof lodges. Many-hued blankets hung fluttering in the sun, and risinglazily were curling columns of blue smoke. The scene was picturesqueand reposeful; the vivid hues suggesting the Indians love of colorand ornament; the absence of life and stir, his languorous habit ofsleeping away the hot noonday hours. 

The loud whoops, however, changed the quiet encampment into a sceneof animation. Children ran from the wigwams, maidens and bravesdashed here and there, squaws awakened from their slumber, and manya doughty warrior rose from his rest in the shade. French furtraders came curiously from their lodges, and renegades hurriedlyleft their blankets, roused to instant action by the well-knownsummons. 

The hunter, led down the lane toward the approaching crowd, presented a calm and fearless demeanor. When the Indians surroundedhim one prolonged, furious yell rent the air, and then followed anextraordinary demonstration of fierce delight. The young brave'sstaccato yell, the maiden's scream, the old squaw's screech, and thedeep war-cry of the warriors intermingled in a fearful discordance. 

Often had this hunter heard the name which the Indian called him; hehad been there before, a prisoner; he had run the gauntlet down thelane; he had been bound to a stake in front of the lodge where hiscaptors were now leading him. He knew the chief, Wingenund, sachemof the Delawares. Since that time, now five years ago, whenWingenund had tortured him, they had been bitterest foes. 

If the hunter heard the hoarse cries, or the words hissed into hisears; if he saw the fiery glances of hatred, and sudden giving wayto ungovernable rage, unusual to the Indian nature; if he felt intheir fierce exultation the hopelessness of succor or mercy, he gavenot the slightest sign. 

"Atelang! Atelang! Atelang!" rang out the strange Indian name. 

The French traders, like real savages, ran along with theprocession, their feathers waving, their paint shining, their facesexpressive of as much excitement as the Indians' as they cried aloudin their native tongue:

"Le Vent de la Mort! Le Vent de la Mort! La Vent de la Mort!"

The hunter, while yet some paces distant, saw the lofty figure ofthe chieftain standing in front of his principal men. Well he knewthem all. There were the crafty Pipe, and his savage comrade, theHalf King; there was Shingiss, who wore on his forehead a scar--themark of the hunter's bullet; there were Kotoxen, the Lynx, andMisseppa, the Source, and Winstonah, the War-cloud, chiefs ofsagacity and renown. Three renegades completed the circle; and thesethree traitors represented a power which had for ten years left anawful, bloody trail over the country. Simon Girty, the so-calledWhite Indian, with his keen, authoritative face turned expectantly;Elliott, the Tory deserter, from Fort Pitt, a wiry, spider-likelittle man; and last, the gaunt and gaudily arrayed form of thedemon of the frontier--Jim Girty. 

The procession halted before this group, and two brawny bravespushed the hunter forward. Simon Girty's face betrayed satisfaction;Elliott's shifty eyes snapped, and the dark, repulsive face of theother Girty exhibited an exultant joy. These desperadoes had fearedthis hunter. 

Wingenund, with a majestic wave of his arm, silenced the yellinghorde of frenzied savages and stepped before the captive. 

The deadly foes were once again face to face. The chieftain's loftyfigure and dark, sleek head, now bare of plumes, towered over theother Indians, but he was not obliged to lower his gaze in order tolook straight into the hunter's eyes. 

Verily this hunter merited the respect which shone in the greatchieftain's glance. Like a mountain-ash he stood, straight andstrong, his magnificent frame tapering wedge-like from his broadshoulders. The bulging line of his thick neck, the deep chest, theknotty contour of his bared forearm, and the full curves of hislegs--all denoted a wonderful muscular development. 

The power expressed in this man's body seemed intensified in hisfeatures. His face was white and cold, his jaw square and set; hiscoal-black eyes glittered with almost a superhuman fire. And hishair, darker than the wing of a crow, fell far below his shoulders;matted and tangled as it was, still it hung to his waist, and had itbeen combed out, must have reached his knees. 

One long moment Wingenund stood facing his foe, and then over themultitude and through the valley rolled his sonorous voice:

"Deathwind dies at dawn!"

The hunter was tied to a tree and left in view of the Indianpopulace. The children ran fearfully by; the braves gazed long atthe great foe of their race; the warriors passed in gloomy silence. The savages' tricks of torture, all their diabolical ingenuity ofinflicting pain was suppressed, awaiting the hour of sunrise whenthis hated Long Knife was to die. 

Only one person offered an insult to the prisoner; he was a man ofhis own color. Jim Girty stopped before him, his yellowish eyeslighted by a tigerish glare, his lips curled in a snarl, and frombetween them issuing the odor of the fir traders' vile rum. 

"You'll soon be feed fer the buzzards, " he croaked, in his hoarsevoice. He had so often strewed the plains with human flesh for thecarrion birds that the thought had a deep fascination for him. "D'yehear, scalp-hunter? Feed for buzzards!" He deliberately spat in thehunter's face. "D'ye hear?" he repeated. 

There was no answer save that which glittered in the hunter's eye. But the renegade could not read it because he did not meet thatflaming glance. Wild horses could not have dragged him to face thisman had he been free. Even now a chill crept over Girty. For amoment he was enthralled by a mysterious fear, half paralyzed by aforeshadowing of what would be this hunter's vengeance. Then heshook off his craven fear. He was free; the hunter's doom was sure. His sharp face was again wreathed in a savage leer, and he spat oncemore on the prisoner. 

His fierce impetuosity took him a step too far. The hunter's armsand waist were fastened, but his feet were free. His powerful legwas raised suddenly; his foot struck Girty in the pit of thestomach. The renegade dropped limp and gasping. The braves carriedhim away, his gaudy feathers trailing, his long arms hanginginertly, and his face distorted with agony. 

The maidens of the tribe, however, showed for the prisoner aninterest that had in it something of veiled sympathy. Indian girlswere always fascinated by white men. Many records of Indian maidens'kindness, of love, of heroism for white prisoners brighten the darkpages of frontier history. These girls walked past the hunter, averting their eyes when within his range of vision, but stealingmany a sidelong glance at his impressive face and noble proportions. One of them, particularly, attracted the hunter's eye. 

This was because, as she came by with her companions, while they allturned away, she looked at him with her soft, dark eyes. She was ayoung girl, whose delicate beauty bloomed fresh and sweet as that ofa wild rose. Her costume, fringed, beaded, and exquisitely wroughtwith fanciful design, betrayed her rank, she was Wingenund'sdaughter. The hunter had seen her when she was a child, and herecognized her now. He knew that the beauty of Aola, of WhisperingWinds Among the Leaves, had been sung from the Ohio to the GreatLakes. 

Often she passed him that afternoon. At sunset, as the braves untiedhim and led him away, he once more caught the full, intense gaze ofher lovely eyes. 

That night as he lay securely bound in the corner of a lodge, andthe long hours wore slowly away, he strained at his stout bonds, andin his mind revolved different plans of escape. It was not in thisman's nature to despair; while he had life he would fight. From timeto time he expanded his muscles, striving to loosen the wet buckskinthongs. 

The dark hours slowly passed, no sound coming to him save thedistant bark of a dog and the monotonous tread of his guard; a dimgrayness pervaded the lodge. Dawn was close at hand--his hour wasnearly come. 

Suddenly his hearing, trained to a most acute sensibility, caught afaint sound, almost inaudible. It came from without on the otherside of the lodge. There it was again, a slight tearing sound, suchas is caused by a knife when it cuts through soft material. 

Some one was slitting the wall of the lodge. 

The hunter rolled noiselessly over and over until he lay against theskins. In the dim grayness he saw a bright blade moving carefullyupward through the deer-hide. Then a long knife was pushed into theopening; a small, brown hand grasped the hilt. Another little handfollowed and felt of the wall and floor, reaching out with gropingfingers. 

The, hunter rolled again so that his back was against the wall andhis wrists in front of the opening. He felt the little hand on hisarm; then it slipped down to his wrists. The contact of cold steelset a tremor of joy through his heart. The pressure of his bondsrelaxed, ceased; his arms were free. He turned to find thelong-bladed knife on the ground. The little hands were gone. 

In a tinkling he rose unbound, armed, desperate. In another secondan Indian warrior lay upon the ground in his death-throes, while afleeing form vanished in the gray morning mist. 

Chapter VII. 

Joe felt the heavy lethargy rise from him like the removal of ablanket; his eyes became clear, and he saw the trees and the forestgloom; slowly he realized his actual position. 

He was a prisoner, lying helpless among his sleeping captors. Silvertip and the guard had fled into the woods, frightened by theappalling moan which they believed sounded their death-knell. AndJoe believed he might have fled himself had he been free. What couldhave caused that sound? He fought off the numbing chill that onceagain began to creep over him. He was wide-awake now; his head wasclear, and he resolved to retain his senses. He told himself therecould be nothing supernatural in that wind, or wail, or whatever itwas, which had risen murmuring from out the forest-depths. 

Yet, despite his reasoning, Joe could not allay his fears. Thatthrilling cry haunted him. The frantic flight of an Indianbrave--nay, of a cunning, experienced chief--was not to be lightlyconsidered. The savages were at home in these untracked wilds. Trained from infancy to scent danger and to fight when they had anequal chance they surely would not run without good cause. 

Joe knew that something moved under those dark trees. He had no ideawhat. It might be the fretting night wind, or a stealthy, prowling, soft-footed beast, or a savage alien to these wild Indians, andwilder than they by far. The chirp of a bird awoke the stillness. Night had given way to morning. Welcoming the light that was chasingaway the gloom, Joe raised his head with a deep sigh of relief. Ashe did so he saw a bush move; then a shadow seemed to sink into theground. He had seen an object lighter than the trees, darker thanthe gray background. Again, that strange sense of the nearness ofsomething thrilled him. 

Moments, passed--to him long as hours. He saw a tall fern waver andtremble. A rabbit, or perhaps a snake, had brushed it. Other fernsmoved, their tops agitated, perhaps, by a faint breeze. No; thatwavering line came straight toward him; it could not be the wind; itmarked the course of a creeping, noiseless thing. It must be apanther crawling nearer and nearer. 

Joe opened his lips to awaken his captors, but could not speak; itwas as if his heart had stopped beating. Twenty feet away the fernswere parted to disclose a white, gleaming face, with eyes thatseemingly glittered. Brawny shoulders were upraised, and then atall, powerful man stood revealed. Lightly he stepped over theleaves into the little glade. He bent over the sleeping Indians. Once, twice, three times a long blade swung high. One braveshuddered another gave a sobbing gasp, and the third moved twofingers--thus they passed from life to death. 

"Wetzel!" cried Joe. 

"I reckon so, " said the deliverer, his deep, calm voice contrastingstrangely with what might have been expected from his aspect. Then, seeing Joe's head covered with blood, he continued: "Able to getup?"

"I'm not hurt, " answered Joe, rising when his bonds had been cut. 

"Brothers, I reckon?" Wetzel said, bending over Jim. 

"Yes, we're brothers. Wake up, Jim, wake up! We're saved!"

"What? Who's that?" cried Jim, sitting up and staring at Wetzel. 

"This man has saved our lives! See, Jim, the Indians are dead! And, Jim, it's Wetzel, the hunter. You remember, Jeff Lynn said I'd knowhim if I ever saw him and---"

"What happened to Jeff?" inquired Wetzel, interrupting. He hadturned from Jim's grateful face. 

"Jeff was on the first raft, and for all we know he is now safe atFort Henry. Our steersman was shot, and we were captured. "

"Has the Shawnee anythin' ag'inst you boys?"

"Why, yes, I guess so. I played a joke on him--took his shirt andput it on another fellow. "

"Might jes' as well kick an' Injun. What has he ag'in you?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he did not like my talk to him, " answeredJim. "I am a preacher, and have come west to teach the gospel to theIndians. "

"They're good Injuns now, " said Wetzel, pointing to the prostratefigures. 

"How did you find us?" eagerly asked Joe. 

"Run acrost yer trail two days back. "

"And you've been following us?"

The hunter nodded. 

"Did you see anything of another band of Indians? A tall chief andJim Girty were among them. "

"They've been arter me fer two days. I was followin' you whenSilvertip got wind of Girty an' his Delawares. The big chief wasWingenund. I seen you pull Girty's nose. Arter the Delawares went Iturned loose yer dog an' horse an' lit out on yer trail. ''

"Where are the Delawares now?"

"I reckon there nosin' my back trail. We must be gittin'. Silvertip'll soon hev a lot of Injuns here. "

Joe intended to ask the hunter about what had frightened theIndians, but despite his eager desire for information, he refrainedfrom doing so. 

"Girty nigh did fer you, " remarked Wetzel, examining Joe's wound. "He's in a bad humor. He got kicked a few days back, and then hedthe skin pulled offen his nose. Somebody'll hev to suffer. Wal, youfellers grab yer rifles, an' we'll be startin' fer the fort. "

Joe shuddered as he leaned over one of the dusky forms to detachpowder and bullet horn. He had never seen a dead Indian, and thetense face, the sightless, vacant eyes made him shrink. He shudderedagain when he saw the hunter scalp his victims. He shuddered thethird time when he saw Wetzel pick up Silvertip's beautiful whiteeagle plume, dabble it in a pool of blood, and stick it in the barkof a tree. Bereft of its graceful beauty, drooping with its goryburden, the long leather was a deadly message. It had beenSilvertip's pride; it was now a challenge, a menace to the Shawneechief. 

"Come, " said Wetzel, leading the way into the forest. 

 * * *

Shortly after daylight on the second day following the release ofthe Downs brothers the hunter brushed through a thicket of alder andsaid: "Thar's Fort Henry. "

The boys were on the summit of a mountain from which the land slopedin a long incline of rolling ridges and gentle valleys like a green, billowy sea, until it rose again abruptly into a peak higher stillthan the one upon which they stood. The broad Ohio, glistening inthe sun, lay at the base of the mountain. 

Upon the bluff overlooking the river, and under the brow of themountain, lay the frontier fort. In the clear atmosphere it stoodout in bold relief. A small, low structure surrounded by a highstockade fence was all, and yet it did not seem unworthy of itsfame. Those watchful, forbidding loopholes, the blackened walls andtimbers, told the history of ten long, bloody years. The wholeeffect was one of menace, as if the fort sent out a defiance to thewilderness, and meant to protect the few dozen log cabins clusteredon the hillside. 

"How will we ever get across that big river?" asked Jim, practically. 

"Wade--swim, " answered the hunter, laconically, and began thedescent of the ridge. An hour's rapid walking brought the three tothe river. Depositing his rifle in a clump of willows, and directingthe boys to do the same with their guns, the hunter splashed intothe water. His companions followed him into the shallow water, andwaded a hundred yards, which brought them near the island that theynow perceived hid the fort. The hunter swam the remaining distance, and, climbing the bank, looked back for the boys. They were closebehind him. Then he strode across the island, perhaps a quarter of amile wide. 

"We've a long swim here, " said Wetzel, waving his hand toward themain channel of the river. "Good fer it?" he inquired of Joe, sinceJim had not received any injuries during the short captivity andconsequently showed more endurance. 

"Good for anything, " answered Joe, with that coolness Wetzel hadbeen quick to observe in him. 

The hunter cast a sharp glance at the lad's haggard face, hisbruised temple, and his hair matted with blood. In that look he readJoe thoroughly. Had the young man known the result of that scrutiny, he would have been pleased as well as puzzled, for the hunter hadsaid to himself: "A brave lad, an' the border fever's on him. "

"Swim close to me, " said Wetzel, and he plunged into the river. Thetask was accomplished without accident. 

"See the big cabin, thar, on the hillside? Thar's Colonel Zane inthe door, " said Wetzel. 

As they neared the building several men joined the one who had beenpointed out as the colonel. It was evident the boys were the subjectof their conversation. Presently Zane left the group and came towardthem. The brothers saw a handsome, stalwart man, in the prime oflife. 

"Well, Lew, what luck?" he said to Wetzel. 

"Not much. I treed five Injuns, an' two got away, " answered thehunter as he walked toward the fort. 

"Lads, welcome to Fort Henry, " said Colonel Zane, a smile lightinghis dark face. "The others of your party arrived safely. Theycertainly will be overjoyed to see you. "

"Colonel Zane, I had a letter from my uncle to you, " replied Jim;"but the Indians took that and everything else we had with us. "

"Never mind the letter. I knew your uncle, and your father, too. Come into the house and change those wet clothes. And you, my lad, have got an ugly knock on the head. Who gave you that?"

"Jim Girty. "

"What?" exclaimed the colonel. 

"Jim Girty did that. He was with a party of Delawares who ran acrossus. They were searching for Wetzel. "

"Girty with the Delawares! The devil's to pay now. And you sayhunting Wetzel? I must learn more about this. It looks bad. But tellme, how did Girty come to strike you?"

"I pulled his nose. "

"You did? Good! Good!" cried Colonel Zane, heartily. "By George, that's great! Tell me--but wait until you are more comfortable. Yourpacks came safely on Jeff's raft, and you will find them inside. "

As Joe followed the colonel he heard one of the other men say:

"Like as two peas in a pod. "

Farther on he saw an Indian standing a little apart from the others. Hearing Joe's slight exclamation of surprise, he turned, disclosinga fine, manly countenance, characterized by calm dignity. The Indianread the boy's thought. 

"Ugh! Me friend, " he said in English. 

"That's my Shawnee guide, Tomepomehala. He's a good fellow, althoughJonathan and Wetzel declare the only good Indian is a dead one. Comeright in here. There are your packs, and you'll find water outsidethe door. "

Thus saying, Colonel Zane led the brothers into a small room, brought out their packs, and left them. He came back presently witha couple of soft towels. 

"Now you lads fix up a bit; then come out and meet my family andtell us all about your adventure. By that time dinner will beready. "

"Geminy! Don't that towel remind you of home?" said Joe, when thecolonel had gone. "From the looks of things, Colonel Zane means tohave comfort here in the wilderness. He struck me as being a fineman. "

The boys were indeed glad to change the few articles of clothing theIndians had left them, and when they were shaved and dressed theypresented an entirely different appearance. Once more they were twinbrothers, in costume and feature. Joe contrived, by brushing hishair down on his forehead, to conceal the discolored bump. 

"I think I saw a charming girl, " observed Joe. 

"Suppose you did--what then?" asked Jim, severely. 

"Why--nothing--see here, mayn't I admire a pretty girl if I want?"

"No, you may not. Joe, will nothing ever cure you? I should thinkthe thought of Miss Wells---"

"Look here, Jim; she don't care--at least, it's very little shecares. And I'm--I'm not worthy of her. "

"Turn around here and face me, " said the young minister sharply. 

Joe turned and looked in his brother's eyes. 

"Have you trifled with her, as you have with so many others? Tellme. I know you don't lie. "

"No. "

"Then what do you mean?"

"Nothing much, Jim, except I'm really not worthy of her. I'm nogood, you know, and she ought to get a fellow like--like you. "

"Absurd! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. "

"Never mind me. See here; don't you admire her?"

"Why--why, yes, " stammered Jim, flushing a dark, guilty red at thedirect question. "Who could help admiring her?"

"That's what I thought. And I know she admires you for qualitieswhich I lack. Nell's like a tender vine just beginning to creeparound and cling to something strong. She cares for me; but her loveis like the vine. It may hurt her a little to tear that love away, but it won't kill her; and in the end it will be best for her. Youneed a good wife. What could I do with a woman? Go in and win her, Jim. "

"Joe, you're sacrificing yourself again for me, " cried Jim, white tothe lips. "It's wrong to yourself and wrong to her. I tell you---"

"Enough!" Joe's voice cut in cold and sharp. "Usually you influenceme; but sometimes you can't; I say this: Nell will drift into yourarms as surely as the leaf falls. It will not hurt her--will be bestfor her. Remember, she is yours for the winning. "

"You do not say whether that will hurt you, " whispered Jim. 

"Come--we'll find Colonel Zane, " said Joe, opening the door. 

They went out in the hallway which opened into the yard as well asthe larger room through which the colonel had first conducted them. As Jim, who was in advance, passed into this apartment a trim figureentered from the yard. It was Nell, and she ran directly againsthim. Her face was flushed, her eyes were beaming with gladness, andshe seemed the incarnation of girlish joy. 

"Oh, Joe, " was all she whispered. But the happiness and welcome inthat whisper could never have been better expressed in longerspeech. Then slightly, ever so slightly, she tilted her sweet faceup to his. 

It all happened with the quickness of thought. In a single instantJim saw the radiant face, the outstretched hands, and heard the gladwhisper. He knew that she had a again mistaken him for Joe; but forhis life he could not draw back his head. He had kissed her, andeven as his lips thrilled with her tremulous caress he flushed withthe shame of his deceit. 

"You're mistaken again--I'm Jim, " he whispered. 

For a moment they stood staring into each other's eyes, slowlyawakening to what had really happened, slowly conscious of a sweet, alluring power. Then Colonel Zane's cheery voice rang in their ears. 

"Ah, here's Nellie and your brother! Now, lads, tell me which iswhich?'

"That's Jim, and I'm Joe, " answered the latter. He appeared not tonotice his brother, and his greeting to Nell was natural and hearty. For the moment she drew the attention of the others from them. 

Joe found himself listening to the congratulations of a number ofpeople. Among the many names he remembered were those of Mrs. Zane, Silas Zane, and Major McColloch. Then he found himself gazing at themost beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. 

"My only sister, Mrs. Alfred Clarke--once Betty Zane, and theheroine of Fort Henry, " said Colonel Zane proudly, with his armaround the slender, dark-eyed girl. 

"I would brave the Indians and the wilderness again for thispleasure, " replied Joe gallantly, as he bowed low over the littlehand she cordially extended. 

"Bess, is dinner ready?" inquired Colonel Zane of his comely wife. She nodded her head, and the colonel led the way into the adjoiningroom. "I know you boys must be hungry as bears. "

During the meal Colonel Zane questioned his guests about theirjourney, and as to the treatment they had received at the hands ofthe Indians. He smiled at the young minister's earnestness in regardto the conversion of the redmen, and he laughed outright when Joesaid "he guessed he came to the frontier because it was too slow athome. "

"I am sure your desire for excitement will soon be satisfied, ifindeed it be not so already, " remarked the colonel. "But as to therealization of your brother's hopes I am not so sanguine. Undoubtedly the Moravian missionaries have accomplished wonders withthe Indians. Not long ago I visited the Village of Peace--the Indianname for the mission--and was struck by the friendliness andindustry which prevailed there. Truly it was a village of peace. Yetit is almost to early to be certain of permanent success of thiswork. The Indian's nature is one hard to understand. He is naturallyroving and restless, which, however, may be owing to his habit ofmoving from place to place in search of good hunting grounds. Ibelieve--though I must confess I haven't seen any pioneers who sharemy belief--that the savage has a beautiful side to his character. Iknow of many noble deeds done by them, and I believe, if they arehonestly dealt with, they will return good for good. There are badones, of course; but the French traders, and men like the Girtys, have caused most of this long war. Jonathan and Wetzel tell me theShawnees and Chippewas have taken the warpath again. Then the factthat the Girtys are with the Delawares is reason for alarm. We havebeen comparatively quiet here of late. Did you boys learn to whattribe your captors belong? Did Wetzel say?"

"He did not; he spoke little, but I will say he was exceedinglyactive, " answered Joe, with a smile. 

"To have seen Wetzel fight Indians is something you are not likelyto forget, " said Colonel Zane grimly. "Now, tell me, how did thoseIndians wear their scalp-lock?"

"Their heads were shaved closely, with the exception of a littleplace on top. The remaining hair was twisted into a tuft, tiedtightly, and into this had been thrust a couple of painted pins. When Wetzel scalped the Indians the pins fell out. I picked one up, and found it to be bone. "

"You will make a woodsman, that's certain, " replied Colonel Zane. "The Indians were Shawnee on the warpath. Well, we will not borrowtrouble, for when it comes in the shape of redskins it usually comesquickly. Mr. Wells seemed anxious to resume the journey down theriver; but I shall try to persuade him to remain with us awhile. Indeed, I am sorry I cannot keep you all here at Fort Henry, andmore especially the girls. On the border we need young people, and, while I do not want to frighten the women, I fear there will be morethan Indians fighting for them. "

"I hope not; but we have come prepared for anything, " said Kate, with a quiet smile. "Our home was with uncle, and when he announcedhis intention of going west we decided our duty was to go with him. "

"You were right, and I hope you will find a happy home, " rejoinedColonel Zane. "If life among the Indians, proves to be too hard, weshall welcome you here. Betty, show the girls your pets and Indiantrinkets. I am going to take the boys to Silas' cabin to see Mr. Wells, and then show them over the fort. "

As they went out Joe saw the Indian guide standing in exactly thesame position as when they entered the building. 

"Can't that Indian move?" he asked curiously. 

"He can cover one hundred miles in a day, when he wants to, " repliedColonel Zane. "He is resting now. An Indian will often stand or sitin one position for many hours. "

"He's a fine-looking chap, " remarked Joe, and then to himself: "butI don't like him. I guess I'm prejudiced. "

"You'll learn to like Tome, as we call him. "

"Colonel Zane, I want a light for my pipe. I haven't had a smokesince the day we were captured. That blamed redskin took my tobacco. It's lucky I had some in my other pack. I'd like to meet him again;also Silvertip and that brute Girty. "

"My lad, don't make such wishes, " said Colonel Zane, earnestly. "Youwere indeed fortunate to escape, and I can well understand yourfeelings. There is nothing I should like better than to see Girtyover the sights of my rifle; but I never hunt after danger, and tolook for Girty is to court death. "

"But Wetzel---"

"Ah, my lad, I know Wetzel goes alone in the woods; but then, he isdifferent from other men. Before you leave I will tell you all abouthim. "

Colonel Zane went around the corner of the cabin and returned with alive coal on a chip of wood, which Joe placed in the bowl of hispipe, and because of the strong breeze stepped close to the cabinwall. Being a keen observer, he noticed many small, round holes inthe logs. They were so near together that the timbers had an odd, speckled appearance, and there was hardly a place where he couldhave put his thumb without covering a hole. At first he thought theywere made by a worm or bird peculiar to that region; but finally lieconcluded that they were bullet-holes. He thrust his knife bladeinto one, and out rolled a leaden ball. 

"I'd like to have been here when these were made, " he said. 

"Well, at the time I wished I was back on the Potomac, " repliedColonel Zane. 

They found the old missionary on the doorstep of the adjacent cabin. He appeared discouraged when Colonel Zane interrogated him, and saidthat he was impatient because of the delay. 

"Mr. Wells, is it not possible that you underrate the danger of yourenterprise?"

"I fear naught but the Lord, " answered the old man. 

"Do you not fear for those with you?" went on the colonel earnestly. "I am heart and soul with you in your work, but want to impress uponyou that the time is not propitious. It is a long journey to thevillage, and the way is beset with dangers of which you have noidea. Will you not remain here with me for a few weeks, or, atleast, until my scouts report?"

"I thank you; but go I will. "

"Then let me entreat you to remain here a few days, so that I maysend my brother Jonathan and Wetzel with you. If any can guide yousafely to the Village of Peace it will be they. "

At this moment Joe saw two men approaching from the fort, andrecognized one of them as Wetzel. He doubted not that the other wasLord Dunmore's famous guide and hunter, Jonathan Zane. In featureshe resembled the colonel, and was as tall as Wetzel, although not somuscular or wide of chest. 

Joe felt the same thrill he had experienced while watching thefrontiersmen at Fort Pitt. Wetzel and Jonathan spoke a word toColonel Zane and then stepped aside. The hunters stood lithe anderect, with the easy, graceful poise of Indians. 

"We'll take two canoes, day after to-morrow, " said Jonathan, decisively, to Colonel Zane. "Have you a rifle for Wetzel? TheDelawares got his. "

Colonel Zane pondered over the question; rifles were not scarce atthe fort, but a weapon that Wetzel would use was hard to find. 

"The hunter may have my rifle, " said the old missionary. "I have nouse for a weapon with which to destroy God's creatures. My brotherwas a frontiersman; he left this rifle to me. I remember hearing himsay once that if a man knew exactly the weight of lead and powderneeded, it would shoot absolutely true. "

He went into the cabin, and presently came out with a long objectwrapped in linsey cloths. Unwinding the coverings, he brought toview a rifle, the proportions of which caused Jonathan's eyes toglisten, and brought an exclamation from Colonel Zane. Wetzelbalanced the gun in his hands. It was fully six feet long; thebarrel was large, and the dark steel finely polished; the stock wasblack walnut, ornamented with silver trimmings. Using Jonathan'spowder-flask and bullet-pouch, Wetzel proceeded to load the weapon. He poured out a quantity of powder into the palm of his hand, performing the action quickly and dexterously, but was so slow whilemeasuring it that Joe wondered if he were counting the grains. Nexthe selected a bullet out of a dozen which Jonathan held toward him. He examined it carefully and tried it in the muzzle of the rifle. Evidently it did not please him, for he took another. Finally hescraped a bullet with his knife, and placing it in the center of asmall linsey rag, deftly forced it down. He adjusted the flint, dropped a few grains of powder in the pan, and then looked aroundfor a mark at which to shoot. 

Joe observed that the hunters and Colonel Zane were as seriousregarding the work as if at that moment some important issuedepended upon the accuracy of the rifle. 

"There, Lew; there's a good shot. It's pretty far, even for you, when you don't know the gun, " said Colonel Zane, pointing toward theriver. 

Joe saw the end of a log, about the size of a man's head, stickingout of the water, perhaps an hundred and fifty yards distant. Hethought to hit it would be a fine shot; but was amazed when he heardColonel Zane say to several men who had joined the group that Wetzelintended to shoot at a turtle on the log. By straining his eyes Joesucceeded in distinguishing a small lump, which he concluded was theturtle. 

Wetzel took a step forward; the long, black rifle was raised with astately sweep. The instant it reached a level a thread of flameburst forth, followed by a peculiarly clear, ringing report. 

"Did he hit?" asked Colonel Zane, eagerly as a boy. 

"I allow he did, " answered Jonathan. 

"I'll go and see, " said Joe. He ran down the bank, along the beach, and stepped on the log. He saw a turtle about the size of anordinary saucer. Picking it up, he saw a bullet-hole in the shellnear the middle. The bullet had gone through the turtle, and it wasquite dead. Joe carried it to the waiting group. 

"I allowed so, " declared Jonathan. 

Wetzel examined the turtle, and turning to the old missionary, said:

"Your brother spoke the truth, an' I thank you fer the rifle. "

Chapter VIII. 

"So you want to know all about Wetzel?" inquired Colonel Zane ofJoe, when, having left Jim and Mr. Wells, they returned to thecabin. 

"I am immensely interested in him, " replied Joe. 

"Well, I don't think there's anything singular in that. I knowWetzel better, perhaps, than any man living; but have seldom talkedabout him. He doesn't like it. He is by birth a Virginian; I shouldsay, forty years old. We were boys together, and and I am a littlebeyond that age. He was like any of the lads, except that heexcelled us all in strength and agility. When he was nearly eighteenyears old a band if Indians--Delawares, I think--crossed the borderon a marauding expedition far into Virginia. They burned the oldWetzel homestead and murdered the father, mother, two sisters, and ababy brother. The terrible shock nearly killed Lewis, who for a timewas very ill. When he recovered he went in search of his brothers, Martin and John Wetzel, who were hunting, and brought them back totheir desolated home. Over the ashes of the home and the graves ofthe loved ones the brothers swore sleepless and eternal vengeance. The elder brothers have been devoted all these twenty years and moreto the killing of Indians; but Lewis has been the great foe of theredman. You have already seen an example of his deeds, and will hearof more. His name is a household word on the border. Scores of timeshe has saved, actually saved, this fort and settlement. Hisknowledge of savage ways surpasses by far Boone's, MajorMcColloch's, Jonathan's, or any of the hunters'. "

"Then hunting Indians is his sole occupation?"

"He lives for that purpose alone. He is very seldom in thesettlement. Sometimes he stays here a few days, especially if he isneeded; but usually he roams the forests. "

"What did Jeff Lynn mean when he said that some people think Wetzelis crazy?"

"There are many who think the man mad; but I do not. When thepassion for Indian hunting comes upon him he is fierce, almostfrenzied, yet perfectly sane. While here he is quiet, seldom speaksexcept when spoken to, and is taciturn with strangers. He oftencomes to my cabin and sits beside the fire for hours. I think hefinds pleasure in the conversation and laughter of friends. He isfond of the children, and would do anything for my sister Betty. "

"His life must be lonely and sad, " remarked Joe. 

"The life of any borderman is that; but Wetzel's is particularlyso. "

"What is he called by the Indians?"

"They call him Atelang, or, in English, Deathwind. "

"By George! That's what Silvertip said in French--'Le Vent de laMort. '"

"Yes; you have it right. A French fur trader gave Wetzel that nameyears ago, and it has clung to him. The Indians say the Deathwindblows through the forest whenever Wetzel stalks on their trail. "

"Colonel Zane, don't you think me superstitious, " whispered Joe, leaning toward the colonel, "but I heard that wind blow through theforest. "

"What!" ejaculated Colonel Zane. He saw that Joe was in earnest, forthe remembrance of the moan had more than once paled his cheek andcaused beads of perspiration to collect on his brow. 

Joe related the circumstances of that night, and at the end of hisnarrative Colonel Zane sat silent and thoughtful. 

"You don't really think it was Wetzel who moaned?" he asked, atlength. 

"No, I don't, " replied Joe quickly; "but, Colonel Zane, I heard thatmoan as plainly as I can hear your voice. I heard it twice. Now, what was it?"

"Jonathan said the same thing to me once. He had been out huntingwith Wetzel; they separated, and during the night Jonathan heard thewind. The next day he ran across a dead Indian. He believes Wetzelmakes the noise, and so do the hunters; but I think it is simply themoan of the night wind through the trees. I have heard it at times, when my very blood seemingly ran cold. "

"I tried to think it was the wind soughing through the pines, but amafraid I didn't succeed very well. Anyhow, I knew Wetzel instantly, just as Jeff Lynn said I would. He killed those Indians in aninstant, and he must have an iron arm. "

"Wetzel excels in strength and speed any man, red or white, on thefrontier. He can run away from Jonathan, who is as swift as anIndian. He's stronger than any of the other men. I remember one dayold Hugh Bennet's wagon wheels stuck in a bog down by the creek. Hugh tried, as several others did, to move the wheels; but theycouldn't be made to budge. Along came Wetzel, pushed away the men, and lifted the wagon unaided. It would take hours to tell you abouthim. In brief, among all the border scouts and hunters Wetzel standsalone. No wonder the Indians fear him. He is as swift as an eagle, strong as mountain-ash, keen as a fox, and absolutely tireless andimplacable. "

"How long have you been here, Colonel Zane?"

"More than twelve years, and it has been one long fight. "

"I'm afraid I'm too late for the fun, " said Joe, with his quietlaugh. 

"Not by about twelve more years, " answered Colonel Zane, studyingthe expression on Joe's face. "When I came out here years ago I hadthe same adventurous spirit which I see in you. It has beenconsiderably quelled, however. I have seen many a daring youngfellow get the border fever, and with it his death. Let me adviseyou to learn the ways of the hunters; to watch some one skilled inwoodcraft. Perhaps Wetzel himself will take you in hand. I don'tmind saying that he spoke of you to me in a tone I never heard Lewuse before. "

"He did?" questioned Joe, eagerly, flushing with pleasure. "Do youthink he'd take me out? Dare I ask him?"

"Don't be impatient. Perhaps I can arrange it. Come over here now toMetzar's place. I want to make you acquainted with him. These boyshave all been cutting timber; they've just come in for dinner. Beeasy and quiet with them; then you'll get on. "

Colonel Zane introduced Joe to five sturdy boys and left him intheir company. Joe sat down on a log outside a cabin and leisurelysurveyed the young men. They all looked about the same: strongwithout being heavy, light-haired and bronze-faced. In their turnthey carefully judged Joe. A newcomer from the East was alwaysregarded with some doubt. If they expected to hear Joe talk muchthey were mistaken. He appeared good-natured, but not too friendly. 

"Fine weather we're havin', " said Dick Metzar. 

"Fine, " agreed Joe, laconically. 

"Like frontier life?"

"Sure. "

A silence ensued after this breaking of the ice. The boys wereawaiting their turn at a little wooden bench upon which stood abucket of water and a basin. 

"Hear ye got ketched by some Shawnees?" remarked another youth, ashe rolled up his shirt-sleeves. They all looked at Joe now. It wasnot improbably their estimate of him would be greatly influenced bythe way he answered this question. 

"Yes; was captive for three days. "

"Did ye knock any redskins over?" This question was artfully put todraw Joe out. Above all things, the bordermen detested boastfulness;tried on Joe the ruse failed signally. 

"I was scared speechless most of the time, " answered Joe, with hispleasant smile. 

"By gosh, I don't blame ye!" burst out Will Metzar. "I hed thatexperience onct, an' onct's enough. "

The boys laughed and looked in a more friendly manner at Joe. Thoughhe said he had been frightened, his cool and careless manner beliedhis words. In Joe's low voice and clear, gray eye there wassomething potent and magnetic, which subtly influenced those withwhom he came in contact. 

While his new friends were at dinner Joe strolled over to whereColonel Zane sat on the doorstep of his home. 

"How did you get on with the boys?" inquired the colonel. 

"All right, I hope. Say, Colonel Zane, I'd like to talk to yourIndian guide. "

Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide, who left his post and came over to them. The colonel then had ashort conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointedtoward Joe. 

"How do--shake, " said Tome, extending his hand. 

Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure. 

"Shawnee--ketch'um?" asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligibleEnglish. 

Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee, explaining the cause of Silvertip's emnity. 

"Shawnee--chief--one--bad--Injun, " replied Tome, seriously. "Silvertip--mad--thunder-mad. Ketch'um paleface--scalp'um sure. "

After giving this warning the chief returned to his former positionnear the corner of the cabin. 

"He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawneebrave who talked with me the other day, " observed Joe. 

"Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently, " saidColonel Zane. "You could hardly have distinguished Logan's speechfrom a white man's. Corn-planter uses good English, as also does mybrother's wife, a Wyandot girl. "

"Did your brother marry an Indian?" and Joe plainly showed hissurprise. 

"Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is. I'll tell youIsaac's story some time. He was a captive among the Wyandots for tenyears. The chief's daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from beingtortured, and finally saved him from the stake. "

"Well, that floors me, " said Joe; "yet I don't see why it should. I'm just surprised. Where is your brother now?"

"He lives with the tribe. He and Myeerah are working hard for peace. We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, orHurons, as we call them, than ever before. "

"Who is this big man coming from the the fort?" asked Joe, suddenlyobserving a stalwart frontiersman approaching. 

"Major Sam McColloch. You have met him. He's the man who jumped hishorse from yonder bluff. "

"Jonathan and he have the same look, the same swing, " observed Joe, as he ran his eye over the major. His faded buckskin costume, beaded, fringed, and laced, was similar to that of the colonel'sbrother. Powder-flask and bullet-pouch were made from cow-horns andslung around his neck on deerhide strings. The hunting coat wasunlaced, exposing, under the long, fringed borders, a tunic of thesame well-tanned, but finer and softer, material. As he walked, theflaps of his coat fell back, showing a belt containing two knives, sheathed in heavy buckskin, and a bright tomahawk. He carried a longrifle in the hollow of his arm. 

"These hunters have the same kind of buckskin suits, " continued Joe;"still, it doesn't seem to me the clothes make the resemblance toeach other. The way these men stand, walk and act is what strikes meparticularly, as in the case of Wetzel. "

"I know what you mean. The flashing eye, the erect poise ofexpectation, and the springy step--those, my lad, come from a lifespent in the woods. Well, it's a grand way to live. "

"Colonel, my horse is laid up, " said Major McColloch, coming to thesteps. He bowed pleasantly to Joe. 

"So you are going to Short Creek? You can have one of my horses; butfirst come inside and we'll talk over you expedition. "

The afternoon passed uneventfully for Joe. His brother and Mr. Wellswere absorbed in plans for their future work, and Nell and Kate wereresting; therefore he was forced to find such amusement oroccupation as was possible in or near the stockade. 

Chapter IX. 

Joe went to bed that night with a promise to himself to rise earlynext morning, for he had been invited to take part in a "raising, "which term meant that a new cabin was to be erected, and such taskwas ever an event in the lives of the settlers. 

The following morning Joe rose early, dressing himself in a completebuckskin suit, for which he had exchanged his good garments ofcloth. Never before had he felt so comfortable. He wanted to hop, skip and jump. The soft, undressed buckskin was as warm and smoothas silk-plush; the weight so light, the moccasins so well-fittingand springy, that he had to put himself under considerable restraintto keep from capering about like a frolicsome colt. 

The possession of this buckskin outfit, and the rifle andaccouterments which went with the bargain, marked the last stage inJoe's surrender to the border fever. The silent, shaded glens, themystery of the woods, the breath of this wild, free life claimed himfrom this moment entirely and forever. 

He met the others, however, with a serene face, showing no trace ofthe emotion which welled up strongly from his heart. Nell glancedshyly at him; Kate playfully voiced her admiration; Jim met him witha brotherly ridicule which bespoke his affection as well as hisamusement; but Colonel Zane, having once yielded to the sameburning, riotous craving for freedom which now stirred in the boy'sheart, understood, and felt warmly drawn toward the lad. He saidnothing, though as he watched Joe his eyes were grave and kind. Inhis long frontier life, where many a day measured the life and fireof ordinary years, he had seen lad after lad go down before thisforest fever. It was well, he thought, because the freedom of thesoil depended on these wild, light-footed boys; yet it always madehim sad. How many youths, his brother among them, lay under thefragrant pine-needle carpet of the forest, in their last earthlysleep!

The "raising" brought out all the settlement--the women to look onand gossip, while the children played; the men to bend their backsin the moving of the heavy timbers. They celebrated the erection ofa new cabin as a noteworthy event. As a social function it had aprominent place in the settlers' short list of pleasures. 

Joe watched the proceeding with the same pleasure and surprise hehad felt in everything pertaining to border life. 

To him this log-raising appeared the hardest kind of labor. Yet itwas plain these hardy men, these low-voiced women, and merrychildren regarded the work as something far more significant thanthe mere building of a cabin. After a while he understood themeaning of the scene. A kindred spirit, the spirit of the pioneer, drew them all into one large family. This was another cabin; anotherhome; another advance toward the conquering of the wilderness, forwhich these brave men and women were giving their lives. In thebright-eyed children's glee, when they clapped their little hands atthe mounting logs, Joe saw the progress, the march of civilization. 

"Well, I'm sorry you're to leave us to-night, " remarked Colonel Zaneto Joe, as the young man came over to where he, his wife, and sisterwatched the work. "Jonathan said all was ready for your departure atsundown. "

"Do we travel by night?"

"Indeed, yes, my lad. There are Indians everywhere on the river. Ithink, however, with Jack and Lew handling the paddles, you willslip by safely. The plan is to keep along the south shore all night;then cross over at a place called Girty's Point, where you are toremain in hiding during daylight. From there you paddle up YellowCreek; then portage across country to the head of the Tuscarwawas. Another night's journey will then bring you to the Village ofPeace. "

Jim and Mr. Wells, with his nieces, joined the party now, and allstood watching as the last logs were put in place. 

"Colonel Zane, my first log-raising is an education to me, " said theyoung minister, in his earnest manner. "This scene is so full oflife. I never saw such goodwill among laboring men. Look at thatbrawny-armed giant standing on the topmost log. How he whistles ashe swings his ax! Mr. Wells, does it not impress you?"

"The pioneers must be brothers because of their isolation and peril;to be brothers means to love one another; to love one another is tolove God. What you see in this fraternity is God. And I want to seethis same beautiful feeling among the Indians. "

"I have seen it, " said Colonel Zane, to the old missionary. "When Icame out here alone twelve years ago the Indians were peaceable. Ifthe pioneers had paid for land, as I paid Cornplanter, there wouldnever have been a border war. But no; the settlers must grasp everyacre they could. Then the Indians rebelled; then the Girtys andtheir allies spread discontent, and now the border is a bloodywarpath. "

"Have the Jesuit missionaries accomplished anything with these wartribes?" inquired Jim. 

"No; their work has been chiefly among the Indians near Detroit andnorthward. The Hurons, Delawares, Shawnees and other western tribeshave been demoralized by the French traders' rum, and incited tofierce hatred by Girty and his renegades. Your work at Gnaddenhuttenmust be among these hostile tribes, and it is surely a hazardousundertaking. "

"My life is God's, " murmured the old minister. No fear could assailhis steadfast faith. 

"Jim, it strikes me you'd be more likely to impress these IndiansColonel Zane spoke of if you'd get a suit like mine and wear a knifeand tomahawk, " interposed Joe, cheerfully. "Then, if you couldn'tconvert, you could scalp them. "

"Well, well, let us hope for the best, " said Colonel Zane, when thelaughter had subsided. "We'll go over to dinner now. Come, all ofyou. Jonathan, bring Wetzel. Betty, make him come, if you can. "

As the party slowly wended its way toward the colonel's cabin Jimand Nell found themselves side by side. They had not exchanged aword since the evening previous, when Jim had kissed her. Unable tolook at each other now, and finding speech difficult, they walked inembarrassed silence. 

"Doesn't Joe look splendid in his hunting suit?" asked Jim, presently. 

"I hadn't noticed. Yes; he looks well, " replied Nell, carelessly. She was too indifferent to be natural. 

"Are you angry with him?"

"Certainly not. "

Jim was always simple and frank in his relations with women. He hadnone of his brother's fluency of speech, with neither confidence, boldness nor understanding of the intricate mazes of a woman'smoods. 

"But--you are angry with--me?" he whispered. 

Nell flushed to her temples, yet she did not raise her eyes norreply. 

"It was a terrible thing for me to do, " went on Jim, hesitatingly. "I don't know why I took advantage--of--of your mistaking me forJoe. If you only hadn't held up your mouth. No--I don't meanthat--of course you didn't. But--well, I couldn't help it. I'mguilty. I have thought of little else. Some wonderful feeling haspossessed me ever since--since---"

"What has Joe been saying about me?" demanded Nell, her eyes burninglike opals. 

"Why, hardly anything, " answered Jim, haltingly. "I took him to taskabout--about what I considered might be wrong to you. Joe has neverbeen very careful of young ladies' feelings, and I thought--well, itwas none of my business. He said he honestly cared for you, that youhad taught him how unworthy he was of a good woman. But he's wrongthere. Joe is wild and reckless, yet his heart is a well of gold. Heis a diamond in the rough. Just now he is possessed by wild notionsof hunting Indians and roaming through the forests; but he'll comeround all right. I wish I could tell you how much he has done forme, how much I love him, how I know him! He can be made worthy ofany woman. He will outgrow this fiery, daring spirit, andthen--won't you help him?"

"I will, if he will let me, " softly whispered Nell, irresistiblydrawn by the strong, earnest love thrilling in his voice. 

Chapter X. 

Once more out under the blue-black vault of heaven, with its myriadsof twinkling stars, the voyagers resumed their westward journey. Whispered farewells of new but sincere friends lingered in theirears. Now the great looming bulk of the fort above them faded intothe obscure darkness, leaving a feeling as if a protector hadgone--perhaps forever. Admonished to absolute silence by the sternguides, who seemed indeed to have embarked upon a dark and deadlymission, the voyagers lay back in the canoes and thought andlistened. The water eddied with soft gurgles in the wake of theracing canoes; but that musical sound was all they heard. Thepaddles might have been shadows, for all the splash they made; theycut the water swiftly and noiselessly. Onward the frail barks glidedinto black space, side by side, close under the overhanging willows. Long moments passed into long hours, as the guides paddledtirelessly as if their sinews were cords of steel. 

With gray dawn came the careful landing of the canoes, a coldbreakfast eaten under cover of a willow thicket, and the beginningof a long day while they were lying hidden from the keen eyes ofIndian scouts, waiting for the friendly mantle of night. 

The hours dragged until once more the canoes were launched, thistime not on the broad Ohio, but on a stream that mirrored no shiningstars as it flowed still and somber under the dense foliage. 

The voyagers spoke not, nor whispered, nor scarcely moved, somenacing had become the slow, listening caution of Wetzel and Zane. Snapping of twigs somewhere in the inscrutable darkness delayed themfor long moments. Any movement the air might resound with thehorrible Indian war-whoop. Every second was heavy with fear. Howmarvelous that these scouts, penetrating the wilderness of gloom, glided on surely, silently, safely! Instinct, or the eyes of thelynx, guide their course. But another dark night wore on to thetardy dawn, and each of its fearful hours numbered miles past andgone. 

The sun was rising in ruddy glory when Wetzel ran his canoe into thebank just ahead of a sharp bend in the stream. 

"Do we get out here?" asked Jim, seeing Jonathan turn his canoetoward Wetzel's. 

"The village lies yonder, around the bend, " answered the guide. "Wetzel cannot go there, so I'll take you all in my canoe. "

"There's no room; I'll wait, " replied Joe, quietly. Jim noted hislook--a strange, steady glance it was--and then saw him fix his eyesupon Nell, watching her until the canoe passed around thegreen-bordered bend in the stream. 

Unmistakable signs of an Indian town were now evident. Dozens ofgraceful birchen canoes lay upon the well-cleared banks; a logbridge spanned the stream; above the slight ridge of rising groundcould be seen the poles of Indian teepees. 

As the canoe grated upon the sandy beach a little Indian boy, whowas playing in the shallow water, raised his head and smiled. 

"That's an Indian boy, " whispered Kate. 

"The dear little fellow!" exclaimed Nell. 

The boy came running up to them, when they were landed, withpleasure and confidence shining in his dusky eyes. Save for tinybuckskin breeches, he was naked, and his shiny skin gleamedgold-bronze in the sunlight. He was a singularly handsome child. 

"Me--Benny, " he lisped in English, holding up his little hand toNell. 

The action was as loving and trusting as any that could have beenmanifested by a white child. Jonathan Zane stared with a curiouslight in his dark eyes; Mr. Wells and Jim looked as though theydoubted the evidence of their own sight. Here, even in an Indianboy, was incontestable proof that the savage nature could be tamedand civilized. 

With a tender exclamation Nell bent over the child and kissed him. 

Jonathan Zane swung his canoe up-stream for the purpose of bringingJoe. The trim little bark slipped out of sight round the bend. Presently its gray, curved nose peeped from behind the willows; thenthe canoe swept into view again. There was only one person in it, and that the guide. 

"Where is my brother?" asked Jim, in amazement. 

"Gone, " answered Zane, quietly. 

"Gone! What do you mean? Gone? Perhaps you have missed the spotwhere you left him. "

"They're both gone. "

Nell and Jim gazed at each other with slowly whitening faces. 

"Come, I'll take you up to the village, " said Zane, getting out ofhis canoe. All noticed that he was careful to take his weapons withhim. 

"Can't you tell us what it means--this disappearance?" asked Jim, his voice low and anxious. 

"They're gone, canoe and all. I knew Wetzel was going, but I didn'tcalkilate on the lad. Mebbe he followed Wetzel, mebbe he didn't, "answered the taciturn guide, and he spoke no more. 

In his keen expectation and wonder as to what the village would belike, Jim momentarily forgot his brother's disappearance, and whenhe arrived at the top of the bank he surveyed the scene witheagerness. What he saw was more imposing than the Village of Peacewhich he had conjured up in his imagination. Confronting him was alevel plain, in the center of which stood a wide, low structuresurrounded by log cabins, and these in turn encircled by Indianteepees. A number of large trees, mostly full-foliaged maples, shaded the clearing. The settlement swarmed with Indians. A fewshrill halloes uttered by the first observers of the newcomersbrought braves, maidens and children trooping toward the party withfriendly curiosity. 

Jonathan Zane stepped before a cabin adjoining the large structure, and called in at the open door. A short, stoop-shouldered white man, clad in faded linsey, appeared on the threshold. His serious, linedface had the unmistakable benevolent aspect peculiar to mostteachers of the gospel. 

"Mr. Zeisberger, I've fetched a party from Fort Henry, " said Zane, indicating those he had guided. Then, without another word, neverturning his dark face to the right or left, he hurried down the lanethrough the throng of Indians. 

Jim remembered, as he saw the guide vanish over the bank of thecreek, that he had heard Colonel Zane say that Jonathan, as well asWetzel, hated the sight of an Indian. No doubt long years of war andbloodshed had rendered these two great hunters callous. To themthere could be no discrimination--an Indian was an Indian. 

"Mr. Wells, welcome to the Village of Peace!" exclaimed Mr. Zeisberger, wringing the old missionary's hand. "The years have notbeen so long but that I remember you. "

"Happy, indeed, am I to get here, after all these dark, dangerousjourneys, " returned Mr. Wells. "I have brought my nieces, Nell andKate, who were children when you left Williamsburg, and this youngman, James Downs, a minister of God, and earnest in his hope for ourwork. "

"A glorious work it is! Welcome, young ladies, to our peacefulvillage. And, young man, I greet you with heartfelt thankfulness. Weneed young men. Come in, all of your, and share my cabin. I'll haveyour luggage brought up. I have lived in this hut alone. With somelittle labor, and the magic touch women bring to the making of ahome, we can be most comfortable here. "

Mr. Zeisberger gave his own room to the girls, assuring them with asmile that it was the most luxurious in the village. The apartmentcontained a chair, a table, and a bed of Indian blankets and buffalorobes. A few pegs driven in the chinks between the logs completedthe furnishings. Sparse as were the comforts, they appealed warmlyto the girls, who, weary from their voyage, lay down to rest. 

"I am not fatigued, " said Mr. Wells, to his old friend. "I want tohear all about your work, what you have done, and what you hope todo. "

"We have met with wonderful success, far beyond our wildest dreams, "responded Mr. Zeisberger. "Certainly we have been blessed of God. "

Then the missionary began a long, detailed account of the MoravianMission's efforts among the western tribes. The work lay chieflyamong the Delawares, a noble nation of redmen, intelligent, andwonderfully susceptible to the teaching of the gospel. Among theeastern Delawares, living on the other side of the AlleghenyMountains, the missionaries had succeeded in converting many; and itwas chiefly through the western explorations of Frederick Post thathis Church decided the Indians of the west could as well be taughtto lead Christian lives. The first attempt to convert the westernredmen took place upon the upper Allegheny, where many Indians, including Allemewi, a blind Delaware chief, accepted the faith. Themission decided, however, it would be best to move farther west, where the Delawares had migrated and were more numerous. 

In April, 1770, more than ten years before, sixteen canoes, filledwith converted Indians and missionaries, drifted down the Alleghenyto Fort Pitt; thence down the Ohio to the Big Beaver; up that streamand far into the Ohio wilderness. 

Upon a tributary of the Muskingong, called the Tuscarwawas, asettlement was founded. Near and far the news was circulated. Redmenfrom all tribes came flocking to the new colony. Chiefs andwarriors, squaws and maidens, were attracted by the new doctrine ofthe converted Indians. They were astonished at the missionaries'teachings. Many doubted, some were converted, all listened. Greatexcitement prevailed when old Glickhican, one of the wisest chiefsof the Turtle tribe of the Delawares, became a convert to thepalefaces' religion. 

The interest widened, and in a few years a beautiful, prosperoustown arose, which was called Village of Peace. The Indians of thewarlike tribes bestowed the appropriate name. The vast forests wererich in every variety of game; the deep, swift streams were teemingwith fish. Meat and grain in abundance, buckskin for clothing, andsoft furs for winter garments were to be had for little labor. Atfirst only a few wigwams were erected. Soon a large log structurewas thrown up and used as a church. Then followed a school, a mill, and a workshop. The verdant fields were cultivated and surrounded byrail fences. Horses and cattle grazed with the timid deer on thegrassy plains. 

The Village of Peace blossomed as a rose. The reports of the loveand happiness existing in this converted community spread from mouthto mouth, from town to town, with the result that inquisitivesavages journeyed from all points to see this haven. Peaceful andhostile Indians were alike amazed at the change in their brethren. The good-fellowship and industry of the converts had a widespreadand wonderful influence. More, perhaps, than any other thing, thegreat fields of waving corn, the hills covered with horses andcattle, those evidences of abundance, impressed the visitors withthe well-being of the Christians. Bands of traveling Indians, whether friendly or otherwise, were treated with hospitality, andnever sent away empty-handed. They were asked to partake of theabundance and solicited to come again. 

A feature by no means insignificant in the popularity of the villagewas the church bell. The Indians loved music, and this bell charmedthem. On still nights the savages in distant towns could hear atdusk the deep-toned, mellow notes of the bell summoning theworshipers to the evening service. Its ringing clang, so strange, sosweet, so solemn, breaking the vast dead wilderness quiet, hauntedthe savage ear as though it were a call from a woodland god. 

"You have arrived most opportunely, " continued Mr. Zeisberger. "Mr. Edwards and Mr. Young are working to establish other missionaryposts. Heckewelder is here now in the interest of this branchingout. "

"How long will it take me to learn the Delaware language?" inquiredJim. 

"Not long. You do not, however, need to speak the Indian tongue, forwe have excellent interpreters. "

"We heard much at Fort Pitt and Fort Henry about the danger, as wellas uselessness, of our venture, " Jim continued. "The frontiersmendeclared that every rod of the way was beset with savage foes, andthat, even in the unlikely event of our arriving safely at theVillage of Peace, we would then be hemmed in by fierce, vengefultribes. "

"Hostile savages abound here, of course; but we do not fear them. Weinvite them. Our work is to convert the wicked, to teach them tolead good, useful lives. We will succeed. "

Jim could not help warming to the minister for his unswervablefaith, his earnest belief that the work of God could not fail;nevertheless, while he felt no fear and intended to put all hisheart in the work, he remembered with disquietude Colonel Zane'swarnings. He thought of the wonderful precaution and eternalvigilance of Jonathan and Wetzel--men of all men who most understoodIndian craft and cunning. It might well be possible that these goodmissionaries, wrapped up in saving the souls of these children ofthe forest, so full of God's teachings as to have little mind foraught else, had no knowledge of the Indian nature beyond what thenarrow scope of their work invited. If what these frontiersmenasserted was true, then the ministers' zeal had struck them blind. 

Jim had a growing idea of the way in which the savages could be besttaught. He resolved to go slowly; to study the redmen's natures; notto preach one word of the gospel to them until he had mastered theirlanguage and could convey to their simple minds the real truth. Hewould make Christianity as clear to them as were the deer-trails onthe moss and leaves of the forest. 

"Ah, here you are. I hope you have rested well, " said Mr. Zeisberger, when at the conclusion of this long recital Nell andKate came into the room. 

"Thank you, we feel much better, " answered Kate. The girls certainlylooked refreshed. The substitution of clean gowns for their formertravel-stained garments made a change that called forth theminister's surprise and admiration. 

"My! My! Won't Edwards and Young beg me to keep them here now!" heexclaimed, his pleased eyes resting on Nell's piquant beauty andKate's noble proportions and rich coloring. "Come; I will show youover the Village of Peace. "

"Are all these Indians Christians?" asked Jim. 

"No, indeed. These Indians you see here, and out yonder under theshade, though they are friendly, are not Christians. Our convertsemploy themselves in the fields or shops. Come; take a peep in here. This is where we preach in the evenings and during inclementweather. On pleasant days we use the maple grove yonder. "

Jim and the others looked in at the door of the large log structure. They saw an immense room, the floor covered with benches, and araised platform at one end. A few windows let in the light. Spaciousand barn-like was this apartment; but undoubtedly, seen through thebeaming eyes of the missionary, it was a grand amphitheater forworship. The hard-packed clay floor was velvet carpet; the rudeseats soft as eiderdown; the platform with its white-oak cross, analtar of marble and gold. 

"This is one of our shops, " said Mr. Zeisberger, leading them to acabin. "Here we make brooms, harness for the horses, farmingimplements--everything useful that we can. We have a forge here. Behold an Indian blacksmith!"

The interior of the large cabin presented a scene of bustlingactivity. Twenty or more Indians bent their backs in earnestemployment. In one corner a savage stood holding a piece of red-hotiron on an anvil, while a brawny brave wielded a sledge-hammer. Thesparks flew; the anvil rang. In another corner a circle of bravessat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were twisting andfashioning these materials into baskets. At a bench three Indiancarpenters were pounding and sawing. Young braves ran back andforth, carrying pails, rough-hewn boards and blocks of wood. 

Instantly struck by two things, Jim voiced his curiosity:

"Why do these Indians all wear long hair, smooth and shiny, withoutadornment?"

"They are Christians. They wear neither headdress, war-bonnet, norscalp-lock, " replied Mr. Zeisberger, with unconscious pride. 

"I did not expect to see a blacksmith's anvil out here in thewilderness. Where did you procure these tools?"

"We have been years getting them here. Some came by way of the OhioRiver; others overland from Detroit. That anvil has a history. Itwas lost once, and lay for years in the woods, until some Indiansfound it again. It is called the Ringing Stone, and Indians comefrom miles around to see and hear it. "

The missionary pointed out wide fields of corn, now growing yellow, and hillsides doted with browsing cattle, droves of sturdy-limbedhorses, and pens of fat, grunting pigs--all of which attested to thegrowing prosperity of the Village of Peace. 

On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to andquestioned Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for histhoughts reverted to his brother. 

Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spokeof Joe. 

"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surelyhe will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving foradventure. Do you not think so?"

There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. Whathe so much hoped for--that no harm had befallen Joe, and that hewould return--he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope. 

"Never, " answered Nell, solemnly. 

"Oh, why--why do you say that?"

"I saw him look at you--a strange, intent glance. He gazed long atme as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never comeback. "

"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately--because, oh!I cannot say it. "

"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than lovefor you or--me. "

"No, no, " returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. Hereally loved you--I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He hasgone because--I can't tell you. "

"Oh, Jim, I hope--he loved--me, " sobbed Nell, bursting into tears. "His coldness--his neglect those--last few days--hurt me--so. If hecared--as you say--I won't be--so--miserable. "

"We are both right--you when you say he will never return, and Iwhen I say he loved us both, " said Jim sadly, as the bittercertainty forced itself into his mind. 

As she sobbed softly, and he gazed with set, stern face into thedarkening forest, the deep, mellow notes of the church bell pealedout. So thrilled, so startled were they by this melody wondrouslybreaking the twilight stillness, that they gazed mutely at eachother. Then they remembered. It was the missionary's bell summoningthe Christian Indians to the evening service. 

Chapter XI. 

The, sultry, drowsy, summer days passed with no untoward event tomar their slumbering tranquillity. Life for the newcomers to theVillage of Peace brought a content, the like of which they had neverdreamed of. Mr. Wells at once began active work among the Indians, preaching to them through an interpreter; Nell and Kate, in hoursapart from household duties, busied themselves brightening their newabode, and Jim entered upon the task of acquainting himself with themodes and habits of the redmen. Truly, the young people might havefound perfect happiness in this new and novel life, if only Joe hadreturned. His disappearance and subsequent absence furnished a themefor many talks and many a quiet hour of dreamy sadness. Thefascination of his personality had been so impelling that long afterit was withdrawn a charm lingered around everything which remindedthem of him; a subtle and sweet memory, with perverse and halfbitter persistence, returned hauntingly. No trace of Joe had beenseen by any of the friendly Indian runners. He was gone into themazes of deep-shadowed forests, where to hunt for him would be likestriving to trail the flight of a swallow. Two of those he had leftbehind always remembered him, and in their thoughts followed him inhis wanderings. 

Jim settled down to his study of Indians with single-heartedness ofpurpose. He spent part of every morning with the interpreters, withwhose assistance he rapidly acquired the Delaware language. He wentfreely among the Indians, endeavoring to win their good-will. Therewere always fifty to an hundred visiting Indians at the village;sometimes, when the missionaries had advertised a special meeting, there were assembled in the shady maple grove as many as fivehundred savages. Jim had, therefore, opportunities to practice hisoffices of friendliness. 

Fortunately for him, he at once succeeded in establishing himself inthe good graces of Glickhican, the converted Delaware chief. Thewise old Indian was of inestimable value to Jim. Early in theiracquaintance he evinced an earnest regard for the young minister, and talked with him for hours. 

From Glickhican Jim learned the real nature of the redmen. TheIndian's love of freedom and honor, his hatred of subjection anddeceit, as explained by the good old man, recalled to Jim ColonelZane's estimate of the savage character. Surely, as the colonel hadsaid, the Indians had reason for their hatred of the pioneers. Truly, they were a blighted race. 

Seldom had the rights of the redmen been thought of. The settlerpushed onward, plodding, as it were, behind his plow with a rifle. He regarded the Indian as little better than a beast; he was easierto kill than to tame. How little the settler knew the proudindependence, the wisdom, the stainless chastity of honor, whichbelonged so truly to many Indian chiefs!

The redmen were driven like hounded deer into the untrodden wilds. From freemen of the forests, from owners of the great boundlessplains, they passed to stern, enduring fugitives on their own lands. Small wonder that they became cruel where once they had been gentle!Stratagem and cunning, the night assault, the daylight ambush tookthe place of their one-time open warfare. Their chivalrous courage, that sublime inheritance from ancestors who had never known thepaleface foe, degenerated into a savage ferocity. 

Interesting as was this history to Jim, he cared more forGlickhican's rich portrayal of the redmen's domestic life, for thebeautiful poetry of his tradition and legends. He heard with delightthe exquisite fanciful Indian lore. From these romantic legends, beautiful poems, and marvelous myths he hoped to get ideas of theIndian's religion. Sweet and simple as childless dreams were thesequaint tales--tales of how the woodland fairies dwelt infern-carpeted dells; how at sunrise they came out to kiss open theflowers; how the forest walks were spirit-haunted paths; how theleaves whispered poetry to the winds; how the rocks harbored Indiangods and masters who watched over their chosen ones. 

Glickhican wound up his long discourses by declaring he had neverlied in the whole course of his seventy years, had never stolen, never betrayed, never murdered, never killed, save in self-defence. Gazing at the chief's fine features, now calm, yet showing traces ofpast storms, Jim believed he spoke the truth. 

When the young minister came, however, to study the hostile Indiansthat flocked to the village, any conclusive delineation ofcharacter, or any satisfactory analysis of their mental state inregard to the paleface religion, eluded him. Their passive, silent, sphinx-like secretiveness was baffling. Glickhican had taught himhow to propitiate the friendly braves, and with these he wassuccessful. Little he learned, however, from the unfriendly ones. When making gifts to these redmen he could never be certain that hisofferings were appreciated. The jewels and gold he had brought westwith him went to the French traders, who in exchange gave himtrinkets, baubles, bracelets and weapons. Jim made hundreds ofpresents. Boldly going up to befeathered and befringed chieftains, he offered them knives, hatchets, or strings of silvery beads. Sometimes his kindly offerings were repelled with a haughty stare;at other times they would be accepted coldly, suspiciously, as ifthe gifts brought some unknown obligation. 

For a white man it was a never-to-be-forgotten experience to seeeight or ten of these grim, slowly stepping forest kings, arrayed inall the rich splendor of their costume, stalking among the teepeesof the Village of Peace. Somehow, such a procession always made Jimshiver. The singing, praying and preaching they heard unmoved. Noemotion was visible on their bronzed faces; nothing changed theirunalterable mien. Had they not moved, or gazed with burning eyes, they would have been statues. When these chieftains looked at theconverted Indians, some of whom were braves of their nations, thecontempt in their glances betrayed that they now regarded theseChristian Indians as belonging to an alien race. 

Among the chiefs Glickhican pointed out to Jim were Wingenund, theDelaware; Tellane, the Half-King; Shingiss and Kotoxen--all of theWolf tribe of the Delawares. 

Glickhican was careful to explain that the Delaware nation had beendivided into the Wolf and Turtle tribes, the former warlike people, and the latter peaceable. Few of the Wolf tribe had gone over to thenew faith, and those who had were scorned. Wingenund, the greatpower of the Delawares--indeed, the greatest of all the westerntribes--maintained a neutral attitude toward the Village of Peace. But it was well known that his right-hand war-chiefs, Pipe andWishtonah, remained coldly opposed. 

Jim turned all he had learned over and over in his mind, trying toconstruct part of it to fit into a sermon that would be differentfrom any the Indians had ever heard. He did not want to preach farover their heads. If possible, he desired to keep to theirideals--for he deemed them more beautiful than his own--and toconduct his teaching along the simple lines of their belief, so thatwhen he stimulated and developed their minds he could pass from whatthey knew to the unknown Christianity of the white man. 

His first address to the Indians was made one day during theindisposition of Mr. Wells--who had been over-working himself--andthe absence of the other missionaries. He did not consider himselfat all ready for preaching, and confined his efforts to simple, earnest talk, a recital of the thoughts he had assimilated whileliving here among the Indians. 

Amazement would not have described the state of his feelings when helearned that he had made a powerful impression. The converts wereloud in his praise; the unbelievers silent and thoughtful. In spiteof himself, long before he had been prepared, he was launched on histeaching. Every day he was called upon to speak; every day onesavage, at least, was convinced; every day the throng of interestedIndians was augmented. The elder missionaries were quite overcomewith joy; they pressed him day after day to speak, until at lengthhe alone preached during the afternoon service. 

The news flew apace; the Village of Peace entertained more redmenthan ever before. Day by day the faith gained a stronger foothold. Akind of religious trance affected some of the converted Indians, andthis greatly influenced the doubting ones. Many of them halfbelieved the Great Manitou had come. 

Heckewelder, the acknowledged leader of the western MoravianMission, visited the village at this time, and, struck by the youngmissionary's success, arranged a three days' religious festival. Indian runners were employed to carry invitations to all the tribes. The Wyandots in the west, the Shawnees in the south, and theDelawares in the north were especially requested to come. Nodeception was practiced to lure the distant savages to the Villageof Peace. They were asked to come, partake of the feasts, and listento the white man's teaching. 

Chapter XII. 

"The Groves Were God's First Temples. "

From dawn until noon on Sunday bands of Indians arrived at theVillage of Peace. Hundreds of canoes glided down the swift streamand bumped their prows into the pebbly beach. Groups of mountedwarriors rode out of the forests into the clearing; squaws withpapooses, maidens carrying wicker baskets, and children playing withrude toys, came trooping along the bridle-paths. 

Gifts were presented during the morning, after which the visitorswere feasted. In the afternoon all assembled in the grove to hearthe preaching. 

The maple grove wherein the service was to be conducted might havebeen intended by Nature for just such a purpose as it now fulfilled. These trees were large, spreading, and situated far apart. Mossystones and the thick carpet of grass afforded seats for thecongregation. 

Heckewelder--a tall, spare, and kindly appearing man--directed thearranging of the congregation. He placed the converted Indians justbehind the knoll upon which the presiding minister was to stand. Ina half circle facing the knoll he seated the chieftains andimportant personages of the various tribes. He then made a shortaddress in the Indian language, speaking of the work of the mission, what wonders it had accomplished, what more good work it hoped todo, and concluded by introducing the young missionary. 

While Heckewelder spoke, Jim, who stood just behind, employed thefew moments in running his eye over the multitude. The sight whichmet his gaze was one he thought he would never forget. Aninvoluntary word escaped him. 

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed. 

The shady glade had been transformed into a theater, from whichgazed a thousand dark, still faces. A thousand eagle plumes waved, and ten thousand bright-hued feathers quivered in the soft breeze. The fantastically dressed scalps presented a contrast to the smooth, unadorned heads of the converted redmen. These proud plumes anddefiant feathers told the difference between savage and Christian. 

In front of the knoll sat fifty chiefs, attentive and dignified. Representatives of every tribe as far west as the Scioto River werenumbered in that circle. There were chiefs renowned for war, forcunning, for valor, for wisdom. Their stately presence gave themeeting tenfold importance. Could these chiefs be interested, moved, the whole western world of Indians might be civilized. 

Hepote, a Maumee chief, of whom it was said he had never listened towords of the paleface, had the central position in this circle. Onhis right and left, respectively, sat Shaushoto and Pipe, implacablefoes of all white men. The latter's aspect did not belie hisreputation. His copper-colored, repulsive visage compelled fear; itbreathed vindictiveness and malignity. A singular action of his wasthat he always, in what must have been his arrogant vanity, turnedhis profile to those who watched him, and it was a remarkable one;it sloped in an oblique line from the top of his forehead to hisprotruding chin, resembling somewhat the carved bowl of his pipe, which was of flint and a famed inheritance from his ancestors. Fromit he took his name. One solitary eagle plume, its tip stainedvermilion, stuck from his scalp-lock. It slated backward on a linewith his profile. 

Among all these chiefs, striking as they were, the figure ofWingenund, the Delaware, stood out alone. 

His position was at the extreme left of the circle, where he leanedagainst a maple. A long, black mantle, trimmed with spotless white, enveloped him. One bronzed arm, circled by a heavy bracelet of gold, held the mantle close about his lofty form. His headdress, whichtrailed to the ground, was exceedingly beautiful. The eagle plumeswere of uniform length and pure white, except the black-pointedtips. 

At his feet sat his daughter, Whispering Winds. Her maidens weregathered round her. She raised her soft, black eyes, shining with awondrous light of surprise and expectation, to the youngmissionary's face. 

Beyond the circle the Indians were massed together, even beyond thelimits of the glade. Under the trees on every side sat warriorsastride their steeds; some lounged on the green turf; many reclinedin the branches of low-spreading maples. 

As Jim looked out over the sea of faces he started in surprise. Thesudden glance of fiery eyes had impelled his gaze. He recognizedSilvertip, the Shawnee chief. The Indian sat motionless on apowerful black horse. Jim started again, for the horse was Joe'sthoroughbred, Lance. But Jim had no further time to think of Joe'senemy, for Heckewelder stepped back. 

Jim took the vacated seat, and, with a far-reaching, resonant voicebegan his discourse to the Indians. 

"Chieftains, warriors, maidens, children of the forest, listen, andyour ears shall hear no lie. I am come from where the sun rises totell you of the Great Spirit of the white man. 

"Many, many moons ago, as many as blades of grass grow on yonderplain, the Great Spirit of whom I shall speak created the world. Hemade the sparkling lakes and swift rivers, the boundless plains andtangled forests, over which He caused the sun to shine and the rainto fall. He gave life to the kingly elk, the graceful deer, therolling bison, the bear, the fox--all the beasts and birds andfishes. But He was not content; for nothing He made was perfect inHis sight. He created the white man in His own image, and from thisfirst man's rib He created his mate--a woman. He turned them free ina beautiful forest. 

"Life was fair in the beautiful forest. The sun shone always, thebirds sang, the waters flowed with music, the flowers cast sweetfragrance on the air. In this forest, where fruit bloomed always, was one tree, the Tree of Life, the apple of which they must noteat. In all this beautiful forest of abundance this apple alone wasforbidden them. 

"Now evil was born with woman. A serpent tempted her to eat of theapple of Life, and she tempted the man to eat. For their sin theGreat Spirit commanded the serpent to crawl forever on his belly, and He drove them from the beautiful forest. The punishment fortheir sin was to be visited on their children's children, always, until the end of time. The two went afar into the dark forest, tolearn to live as best they might. From them all tribes descended. The world is wide. A warrior might run all his days and not reachthe setting sun, where tribes of yellow-skins live. He might travelhalf his days toward the south-wind, where tribes of black-skinsabound. People of all colors inhabited the world. They lived inhatred toward one another. They shed each other's blood; they stoleeach other's lands, gold, and women. They sinned. 

"Many moons ago the Great Spirit sorrowed to see His chosen tribe, the palefaces, living in ignorance and sin. He sent His only Son toredeem them, and said if they would listen and believe, and teachthe other tribes, He would forgive their sin and welcome them to thebeautiful forest. 

"That was moons and moons ago, when the paleface killed his brotherfor gold and lands, and beat his women slaves to make them plant hiscorn. The Son of the Great Spirit lifted the cloud from thepalefaces' eyes, and they saw and learned. So pleased was the GreatSpirit that He made the palefaces wiser and wiser, and master of theworld. He bid them go afar to teach the ignorant tribes. 

"To teach you is why the young paleface journeyed from the risingsun. He wants no lands or power. He has given all that he had. Hewalks among you without gun or knife. He can gain nothing but thehappiness of opening the redmen's eyes. 

"The Great Spirit of whom I teach and the Great Manitou, your idol, are the same; the happy hunting ground of the Indian and thebeautiful forest of the paleface are the same; the paleface and theredman are the same. There is but one Great Spirit, that is God; butone eternal home, that is heaven; but one human being, that is man. 

"The Indian knows the habits of the beaver; he can follow the pathsof the forests; he can guide his canoe through the foaming rapids;he is honest, he is brave, he is great; but he is not wise. Hiswisdom is clouded with the original sin. He lives in idleness; hepaints his face; he makes his squaw labor for him, instead oflaboring for her; he kills his brothers. He worships the trees androcks. If he were wise he would not make gods of the swift arrow andbounding canoe; of the flowering ash and the flaming flint. Forthese things have not life. In his dreams he sees his arrow speed tothe reeling deer; in his dreams he sees his canoe shoot over thecrest of shining waves; and in his mind he gives them life. When hiseyes are opened he will see they have no spirit. The spirit is inhis own heart. It guides the arrow to the running deer, and steersthe canoe over the swirling current. The spirit makes him find theuntrodden paths, and do brave deeds, and love his children and hishonor. It makes him meet his foe face to face, and if he is to dieit gives him strength to die--a man. The spirit is what makes himdifferent from the arrow, the canoe, the mountain, and all the birdsand beasts. For it is born of the Great Spirit, the creator of all. Him you must worship. 

"Redmen, this worship is understanding your spirit and teaching itto do good deeds. It is called Christianity. Christianity is love. If you will love the Great Spirit you will love your wives, yourchildren, your brothers, your friends, your foes--you will love thepalefaces. No more will you idle in winter and wage wars in summer. You will wear your knife and tomahawk only when you hunt for meat. You will be kind, gentle, loving, virtuous--you will have grownwise. When your days are done you will meet all your loved ones inthe beautiful forest. There, where the flowers bloom, the fruitsripen always, where the pleasant water glides and the summer windswhisper sweetly, there peace will dwell forever. 

"Comrades, be wise, think earnestly. Forget the wicked paleface; forthere are many wicked palefaces. They sell the serpent firewater;they lie and steal and kill. These palefaces' eyes are stillclouded. If they do not open they will never see the beautifulforest. You have much to forgive, but those who forgive please theGreat Spirit; you must give yourselves to love, but those who loveare loved; you must work, but those who work are happy. 

"Behold the Village of Peace! Once it contained few; now there aremany. Where once the dark forest shaded the land, see the cabins, the farms, the horses, the cattle! Field on field of waving, goldengrain shine there under your eyes. The earth has blossomedabundance. Idling and fighting made not these rich harvests. Beliefmade love; love made wise eyes; wise eyes saw, and lo! there cameplenty. 

"The proof of love is happiness. These Christian Indians are happy. They are at peace with the redman and the paleface. They till thefields and work in the shops. In days to come cabins and farms andfields of corn will be theirs. They will bring up their children, not to hide in the forest to slay, but to walk hand in hand with thepalefaces as equals. 

"Oh, open your ears! God speaks to you; peace awaits you! Cast thebitterness from your hearts; it is the serpent-poison. While youhate, God shuts His eyes. You are great on the trail, in thecouncil, in war; now be great in forgiveness. Forgive the palefaceswho have robbed you of your lands. Then will come peace. If you donot forgive, the war will go on; you will lose lands and homes, tofind unmarked graves under the forest leaves. Revenge is sweet; butit is not wise. The price of revenge is blood and life. Root it outof your hearts. Love these Christian Indians; love the missionariesas they love you; love all living creatures. Your days are but few;therefore, cease the the strife. Let us say, 'Brothers, that isGod's word, His law; that is love; that is Christianity!' If youwill say from your heart, brother, you are a Christian. 

"Brothers, the paleface teacher beseeches you. Think not of thislong, bloody war, of your dishonored dead, of your silenced wigwams, of your nameless graves, of your homeless children. Think of thefuture. One word from you will make peace over all this broad land. The paleface must honor a Christian. He can steal no Christian'sland. All the palefaces, as many as the stars of the great whitepath, dare not invade the Village of Peace. For God smiles here. Listen to His words: 'Come unto me all that are weary and heavyladen, and I will give you rest. '"

Over the multitude brooded an impressive, solemn silence. Then anaged Delaware chief rose, with a mien of profound thought, andslowly paced before the circle of chiefs. Presently he stopped, turned to the awaiting Indians, and spoke:

"Netawatwees is almost persuaded to be a Christian. " He resumed hisseat. 

Another interval of penetrating quiet ensued. At length avenerable-looking chieftain got up:

"White Eyes hears the rumbling thunder in his ears. The smoke blowsfrom his eyes. White Eyes is the oldest chief of the Lenni-Lenape. His days are many; they are full; they draw near the evening of hislife; he rejoices that wisdom is come before his sun is set. 

"White Eyes believes the young White Father. The ways of the GreatSpirit are many as the fluttering leaves; they are strange andsecret as the flight of a loon; White Eyes believes the redman'shappy hunting grounds need not be forgotten to love the palefaces'God. As a young brave pants and puzzles over his first trail, so thegrown warrior feels in his understanding of his God. He gropesblindly through dark ravines. 

"White Eyes speaks few words to-day, for he is learning wisdom; hebids his people hearken to the voice of the White Father. War iswrong; peace is best. Love is the way to peace. The palefaceadvances one step nearer his God. He labors for his home; he keepsthe peace; he asks but little; he frees his women. That is well. White Eyes has spoken. "

The old chief slowly advanced toward the Christian Indians. He laidaside his knife and tomahawk, and then his eagle plumes andwar-bonnet. Bareheaded, he seated himself among the convertedredmen. They began chanting in low, murmuring tones. 

Amid the breathless silence that followed this act of such greatsignificance, Wingenund advanced toward the knoll with slow, statelystep. His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn; his glancealone revealed the passion that swayed him. 

"Wingenund's ears are keen; they have heard a feather fall in thestorm; now they hear a soft-voiced thrush. Wingenund thunders to hispeople, to his friends, to the chiefs of other tribes: 'Do not burythe hatchet!' The young White Father's tongue runs smooth like thegliding brook; it sings as the thrush calls its mate. Listen; butwait, wait! Let time prove his beautiful tale; let the moons go byover the Village of Peace. 

"Wingenund does not flaunt his wisdom. He has grown old among hiswarriors; he loves them; he fears for them. The dream of thepalefaces' beautiful forest glimmers as the rainbow glows over thelaughing falls of the river. The dream of the paleface is toobeautiful to come true. In the days of long ago, when Wingenund'sforefathers heard not the paleface's ax, they lived in love andhappiness such as the young White Father dreams may come again. Theywaged no wars. A white dove sat in every wigwam. The lands weretheirs and they were rich. The paleface came with his leaden death, his burning firewater, his ringing ax, and the glory of the redmenfaded forever. 

"Wingenund seeks not to inflame his braves to anger. He is sick ofblood-spilling--not from fear; for Wingenund cannot feel fear. Buthe asks his people to wait. Remember, the gifts of the paleface evercontained a poisoned arrow. Wingenund's heart is sore. The day ofthe redman is gone. His sun is setting. Wingenund feels already thegray shades of evening. "

He stopped one long moment as if to gather breath for his finalcharge to his listeners. Then with a magnificent gesture hethundered:

"Is the Delaware a fool? When Wingenund can cross unarmed to the BigWater he shall change his mind. When Deathwind ceases to blow hisbloody trail over the fallen leaves Wingenund will believe. "

Chapter XIII. 

As the summer waned, each succeeding day, with its melancholy calm, its changing lights and shades, its cool, damp evening winds, growing more and more suggestive of autumn, the little colony ofwhite people in the Village of Peace led busy, eventful lives. 

Upwards of fifty Indians, several of them important chiefs, hadbecome converted since the young missionary began preaching. Heckewelder declared that this was a wonderful showing, and if itcould be kept up would result in gaining a hold on the Indian tribeswhich might not be shaken. Heckewelder had succeeded in interestingthe savages west of the Village of Peace to the extent of permittinghim to establish missionary posts in two other localities--one nearGoshhocking, a Delaware town; and one on the Muskingong, theprincipal river running through central Ohio. He had, with hishelpers, Young and Edwards, journeyed from time to time to thesepoints, preaching, making gifts, and soliciting help from chiefs. 

The most interesting feature, perhaps, of the varied life of themissionary party was a rivalry between Young and Edwards for theelder Miss Wells. Usually Nell's attractiveness appealed more to menthan Kate's; however, in this instance, although the sober teachersof the gospel admired Nell's winsome beauty, they fell in love withKate. The missionaries were both under forty, and good, honest men, devoted to the work which had engrossed them for years. Althoughthey were ardent lovers, certainly they were not picturesque. Twohomelier men could hardly have been found. Moreover, the sacrificeof their lives to missionary work had taken them far from thecompanionship of women of their own race, so that they lacked theease of manner which women like to see in men. Young and Edwardswere awkward, almost uncouth. Embarrassment would not have donejustice to their state of feeling while basking in the shine ofKate's quiet smile. They were happy, foolish, and speechless. 

If Kate shared in the merriment of the others--Heckewelder could notconceal his, and Nell did not try very hard to hide hers--she neverallowed a suspicion of it to escape. She kept the easy, even tenorof her life, always kind and gracious in her quaint way, andprecisely the same to both her lovers. No doubt she well knew thateach possessed, under all his rough exterior, a heart of gold. 

One day the genial Heckewelder lost, or pretended to lose, hispatience. 

"Say, you worthy gentlemen are becoming ornamental instead ofuseful. All this changing of coats, trimming of mustaches, andeloquent sighing doesn't seem to have affected the young lady. I'vea notion to send you both to Maumee town, one hundred miles away. This young lady is charming, I admit, but if she is to keep onseriously hindering the work of the Moravian Mission I must object. As for that matter, I might try conclusions myself. I'm as young aseither of you, and, I flatter myself, much handsomer. You'll have adangerous rival presently. Settle it! You can't both have her;settle it!"

This outburst from their usually kind leader placed the earnest butawkward gentlemen in a terrible plight. 

On the afternoon following the crisis Heckewelder took Mr. Wells toone of the Indian shops, and Jim and Nell went canoeing. Young andEdwards, after conferring for one long, trying hour, determined onsettling the question. 

Young was a pale, slight man, very homely except when he smiled. Hissmile not only broke up the plainness of his face, but seemed tochase away a serious shadow, allowing his kindly, gentle spirit toshine through. He was nervous, and had a timid manner. Edwards washis opposite, being a man of robust frame, with a heavy face, and amanner that would have suggested self-confidence in another man. 

They were true and tried friends. 

"Dave, I couldn't ask her, " said Young, trembling at the verythought. "Besides, there's no hope for me. I know it. That's why I'mafraid, why I don't want to ask her. What'd such a glorious creaturesee in a poor, puny little thing like me?"

"George, you're not over-handsome, " admitted Dave, shaking his head. "But you can never tell about women. Sometimes they like evenlittle, insignificant fellows. Don't be too scared about asking her. Besides, it will make it easier for me. You might tell her aboutme--you know, sort of feel her out, so I'd---"

Dave's voice failed him here; but he had said enough, and that wasmost discouraging to poor George. Dave was so busy screwing up hiscourage that he forgot all about his friend. 

"No; I couldn't, " gasped George, falling into a chair. He wasghastly pale. "I couldn't ask her to accept me, let alone do anotherman's wooing. She thinks more of you. She'll accept you. "

"You really think so?" whispered Dave, nervously. 

"I know she will. You're such a fine, big figure of a man. She'lltake you, and I'll be glad. This fever and fretting has aboutfinished me. When she's yours I'll not be so bad. I'll be happy inyour happiness. But, Dave, you'll let me see her occasionally, won'tyou? Go! Hurry--get it over!"

"Yes; we must have it over, " replied Dave, getting up with a brave, effort. Truly, if he carried that determined front to his lady-lovehe would look like a masterful lover. But when he got to the door hedid not at all resemble a conqueror. 

"You're sure she--cares for me?" asked Dave, for the hundredth time. This time, as always, his friend was faithful and convincing. 

"I know she does. Go--hurry. I tell you I can't stand this anylonger, " cried George, pushing Dave out of the door. 

"You won't go--first?" whispered Dave, clinging to the door. 

"I won't go at all. I couldn't ask her--I don't want her--go! Getout!"

Dave started reluctantly toward the adjoining cabin, from the openwindow of which came the song of the young woman who was responsiblefor all this trouble. George flung himself on his bed. What a reliefto feel it was all over! He lay there with eves shut for hours, asit seemed. After a time Dave came in. George leaped to his feet andsaw his friend stumbling over a chair. Somehow, Dave did not look asusual. He seemed changed, or shrunken, and his face wore adiscomfited, miserable expression. 

"Well?" cried George, sharply. Even to his highly excitedimagination this did not seem the proper condition for a victoriouslover. 

"She refused--refused me, " faltered Dave. "She was very sweet andkind; said something about being my sister--I don't remember justwhat--but she wouldn't have me. "

"What did you say to her?" whispered George, a paralyzing hopealmost rendering him speechless. 

"I--I told her everything I could think of, " replied Dave, despondently; "even what you said. "

"What I said? Dave, what did you tell her I said?"

"Why, you know--about she cared for me--that you were sure of it, and that you didn't want her---"

"Jackass!" roared George, rising out of his meekness like a lionroused from slumber. 

"Didn't you--say so?" inquired Dave, weakly. 

"No! No! No! Idiot!"

As one possessed, George rushed out of the cabin, and a moment laterstood disheveled and frantic before Kate. 

"Did that fool say I didn't love you?" he demanded. 

Kate looked up, startled; but as an understanding of George's wildaspect and wilder words dawned upon her, she resumed her usual calmdemeanor. Looking again to see if this passionate young man wasindeed George, she turned her face as she said:

"If you mean Mr. Edwards, yes; I believe he did say as much. Indeed, from his manner, he seemed to have monopolized all the love near theVillage of Peace. "

"But it's not true. I do love you. I love you to distraction. I haveloved you ever since I first saw you. I told Dave that. Heckewelderknows it; even the Indians know it, " cried George, protestingvehemently against the disparaging allusion to his affections. Hedid not realize he was making a most impassioned declaration oflove. When he was quite out of breath he sat down and wiped hismoist brow. 

A pink bloom tinged Kate's cheeks, and her eyes glowed with a happylight; but George never saw these womanly evidences of pleasure. 

"Of course I know you don't care for me---"

"Did Mr. Edwards tell you so?" asked Kate, glancing up quickly. 

"Why, yes, he has often said he thought that. Indeed, he alwaysseemed to regard himself as the fortunate object of your affections. I always believed he was. "

"But it wasn't true. "

"What?"

"It's not true. "

"What's not true?"

"Oh--about my--not caring. "

"Kate!" cried George, quite overcome with rapture. He fell over twochairs getting to her; but he succeeded, and fell on his knees tokiss her hand. 

"Foolish boy! It has been you all the time, " whispered Kate, withher quiet smile. 

 * * *

"Look here, Downs; come to the door. See there, " said Heckewelder toJim. 

Somewhat surprised at Heckewelder's grave tone, Jim got up from thesupper-table and looked out of the door. He saw two tall Indianspacing to and fro under the maples. It was still early twilight andlight enough to see clearly. One Indian was almost naked; the lithe, graceful symmetry of his dark figure standing out in sharp contrastto the gaunt, gaudily-costumed form of the other. 

"Silvertip! Girty!" exclaimed Jim, in a low voice. 

"Girty I knew, of course; but I was not sure the other was theShawnee who captured you and your brother, " replied Heckewelder, drawing Jim into another room. 

"What do they mean by loitering around the village? Inquired Jim, apprehensively. Whenever he heard Girty's name mentioned, or eventhought of him, he remembered with a shudder the renegade's allusionto the buzzards. Jim never saw one of these carrion birds soaringoverhead but his thoughts instantly reverted to the frontier ruffianand his horrible craving. 

"I don't know, " answered Heckewelder. "Girty has been here severaltimes of late. I saw him conferring with Pipe at Goshhocking. I hopethere's no deviltry afoot. Pipe is a relentless enemy of allChristians, and Girty is a fiend, a hyena. I think, perhaps, it willbe well for you and the girls to stay indoors while Girty andSilvertip are in the village. "

That evening the entire missionary party were gathered in Mr. Wells'room. Heckewelder told stories of Indian life; Nell sang severalsongs, and Kate told many amusing things said and done by the littleIndian boys in her class at the school. Thus the evening passedpleasantly for all. 

"So next Wednesday I am to perform the great ceremony, " remarkedHeckewelder, laying his hand kindly on Young's knee. "We'llcelebrate the first white wedding in the Village of Peace. "

Young looked shyly down at his boots; Edwards crossed one leg overthe other, and coughed loudly to hide his embarrassment. Kate wore, as usual, her pensive smile; Nell's eyes twinkled, and she was aboutto speak, when Heckewelder's quizzical glance in her direction madeher lips mute. 

"I hope I'll have another wedding on my hands soon, " he saidplacidly. 

This ordinary remark had an extraordinary effect. Nell turned withburning cheeks and looked out of the window. Jim frowned fiercelyand bit his lips. Edwards began to laugh, and even Mr. Wells'serious face lapsed into a smile. 

"I mean I've picked out a nice little Delaware squaw for Dave, " saidHeckewelder, seeing his badinage had somehow gone amiss. 

"Oh-h!" suddenly cried Nell, in shuddering tones. 

They all gazed at her in amazement. Every vestige of color hadreceded from her face, leaving it marblelike. Her eves were fixed instartled horror. Suddenly she relaxed her grasp on the windowsilland fell back limp and senseless. 

Heckewelder ran to the door to look out, while the others bent overthe unconscious girl, endeavoring to revive her. Presently afluttering breath and a quivering of her dark lashes noted a returnof suspended life. Then her beautiful eyes opened wide to gaze withwonder and fear into the grave faces bent so anxiously over her. 

"Nell, dearest, you are safe. What was it? What frightened you so?"said Kate, tenderly. 

"Oh, it was fearful!" gasped Nell, sitting up. She clung to hersister with one hand, while the other grasped Jim's sleeve. 

"I was looking out into the dark, when suddenly I beheld a face, aterrible face!" cried Nell. Those who watched her marveled at theshrinking, awful fear in her eyes. "It was right by the window. Icould have touched it. Such a greedy, wolfish face, with a long, hooked nose! The eyes, oh! the eyes! I'll never forget them. Theymade me sick; they paralyzed me. It wasn't an Indian's face. Itbelonged to that white man, that awful white man! I never saw himbefore; but I knew him. "

"Girty!" said Heckewelder, who had come in with his quiet step. "Helooked in at the window. Calm yourself, Nellie. The renegade hasgone. "

The incident worried them all at the time, and made Nell nervous forseveral days; but as Girty had disappeared, and nothing more washeard of him, gradually they forgot. Kate's wedding day dawned withall the little party well and happy. Early in the afternoon Jim andNell, accompanied by Kate and her lover, started out into the woodsjust beyond the clearing for the purpose of gathering wild flowersto decorate the cabin. 

"We are both thinking of--him, " Jim said, after he and Nell hadwalked some little way in silence. 

"Yes, " answered Nell, simply. 

"I hope--I pray Joe comes back, but if he doesn't--Nell--won't youcare a little for me?"

He received no answer. But Nell turned her face away. 

"We both loved him. If he's gone forever our very love for himshould bring us together. I know--I know he would have wished that. "

"Jim, don't speak of love to me now, " she whispered. Then she turnedto the others. "Come quickly; here are great clusters of wildclematis and goldenrod. How lovely! Let us gather a quantity. "

The young men had almost buried the girls under huge masses of thebeautiful flowers, when the soft tread of moccasined feet causedthem all to turn in surprise. Six savages stood waist-deep in thebushes, where they had lain concealed. Fierce, painted visagesscowled from behind leveled rifles. 

"Don't yell!" cried a hoarse voice in English. Following the voicecame a snapping of twigs, and then two other figures came into view. They were Girty and Silvertip. 

"Don't yell, er I'll leave you layin' here fer the buzzards, " saidthe renegade. He stepped forward and grasped Young, at the same timespeaking in the Indian language and pointing to a nearby tree. Strange to relate, the renegade apparently wanted no bloodshed. While one of the savages began to tie Young to the tree, Girtyturned his gaze on the girls. His little, yellow eyes glinted; hestroked his chin with a bony hand, and his dark, repulsive face waswreathed in a terrible, meaning smile. 

"I've been layin' fer you, " he croaked, eyeing Nell. "Ye're thepurtiest lass, 'ceptin' mebbe Bet Zane, I ever seed on the border. Igot cheated outen her, but I've got you; arter I feed yer Injunpreacher to ther buzzards mebbe ye'll larn to love me. "

Nell gazed one instant into the monster's face. Her terror-strickeneyes were piteous to behold. She tried to speak; but her voicefailed. Then, like stricken bird, she fell on the grass. 

Chapter XIV. 

Not many miles from the Village of Peace rose an irregular chain ofhills, the first faint indications of the grand Appalachian Mountainsystem. These ridges were thickly wooded with white oak, poplar andhickory, among which a sentinel pine reared here and there itsevergreen head. There were clefts in the hills, passes lined bygray-stoned cliffs, below which ran clear brooks, tumbling overrocks in a hurry to meet their majestic father, the Ohio. 

One of these valleys, so narrow that the sun seldom brightened themerry brook, made a deep cut in the rocks. The head of this valleytapered until the walls nearly met; it seemed to lose itself in theshade of fern-faced cliffs, shadowed as they were by fir treesleaning over the brink, as though to search for secrets of theravine. So deep and dark and cool was this sequestered nook thathere late summer had not dislodged early spring. Everywhere was asoft, fresh, bright green. The old gray cliffs were festooned withferns, lichens and moss. Under a great, shelving rock, damp andstained by the copper-colored water dripping down its side, was adewy dell into which the sunshine had never peeped. Here the swiftbrook tarried lovingly, making a wide turn under the cliff, asthough loth to leave this quiet nook, and then leaped once more toenthusiasm in its murmuring flight. 

Life abounded in this wild, beautiful, almost inaccessible spot. Little brown and yellow birds flitted among the trees; thrushes ranalong the leaf-strewn ground; orioles sang their melancholy notes;robins and flickers darted beneath the spreading branches. Squirrelsscurried over the leaves like little whirlwinds, and leaped daringlyfrom the swinging branches or barked noisily from woody perches. Rabbits hopped inquisitively here and there while nibbling at thetender shoots of sassafras and laurel. 

Along this flower-skirted stream a tall young man, carrying a riflecautiously stepped, peering into the branches overhead. A gray flashshot along a limb of a white oak; then the bushy tail of a squirrelflitted into a well-protected notch, from whence, no doubt, a keenlittle eye watched the hunter's every movement. 

The rifle was raised; then lowered. The hunter walked around thetree. Presently up in the tree top, snug under a knotty limb, hespied a little ball of gray fur. Grasping a branch of underbush, heshook it vigorously. The thrashing sound worried the gray squirrel, for he slipped from his retreat and stuck his nose over the limb. CRACK! With a scratching and tearing of bark the squirrel loosenedhis hold and then fell; alighting with a thump. As the hunter pickedup his quarry a streak of sunshine glinting through the tree topbrightened his face. 

The hunter was Joe. 

He was satisfied now, for after stowing the squirrel in the pocketof his hunting coat he shouldered his rifle and went back up theravine. Presently a dull roar sounded above the babble of the brook. It grew louder as he threaded his way carefully over the stones. Spots of white foam flecked the brook. Passing under the gray, stained cliff, Joe turned around a rocky corner, and came to anabrupt end of the ravine. A waterfall marked the spot where thebrook entered. The water was brown as it took the leap, light greenwhen it thinned out; and below, as it dashed on the stones, itbecame a beautiful, sheeny white. 

Upon a flat rock, so near the cascade that spray flew over him, satanother hunter. The roaring falls drowned all other sounds, yet theman roused from his dreamy contemplation of the waterfall when Joerounded the corner. 

"I heerd four shots, " he said, as Joe came up. 

"Yes; I got a squirrel for every shot. "

Wetzel led the way along a narrow foot trail which gradually woundtoward the top of the ravine. This path emerged presently, somedistance above the falls, on the brink of a bluff. It ran along theedge of the precipice a few yards, then took a course back intodensely wooded thickets. Just before stepping out on the open cliffWetzel paused and peered keenly on all sides. There was no livingthing to be seen; the silence was the deep, unbroken calm of thewilderness. 

Wetzel stepped to the bluff and looked over. The stony wall oppositewas only thirty feet away, and somewhat lower. From Wetzel's actionit appeared as if he intended to leap the fissure. In truth, many aband of Indians pursuing the hunter into this rocky fastness hadcome out on the bluff, and, marveling at what they thought Wetzel'sprowess, believed he had made a wonderful leap, thus eluding them. But he had never attempted that leap, first, because he knew it waswell-nigh impossible, and secondly, there had never been anynecessity for such risk. 

Any one leaning over this cliff would have observed, perhaps tenfeet below, a narrow ledge projecting from the face of the rock. Hewould have imagined if he were to drop on that ledge there would beno way to get off and he would be in a worse predicament. 

Without a moment's hesitation Wetzel swung himself over the ledge. Joe followed suit. At one end of this lower ledge grew a hardy shrubof the ironwood species, and above it a scrub pine leanedhorizontally out over the ravine. Laying his rifle down, Wetzelgrasped a strong root and cautiously slid over the side. When all ofhis body had disappeared, with the exception of his sinewy fingers, they loosened their hold on the root, grasped the rifle, and draggedit down out of sight. Quietly, with similar caution, Joe took holdof the same root, let himself down, and when at full length swunghimself in under the ledge. His feet found a pocket in the cliff. Letting go of the root, he took his rifle, and in another second wassafe. 

Of all Wetzel's retreats--for he had many--he considered this onethe safest. The cavern under the ledge he had discovered byaccident. One day, being hotly pursued by Shawnees, he had beenheaded off on this cliff, and had let himself down on the ledge, intending to drop from it to the tops of the trees below. Takingadvantage of every little aid, he hung over by means of the shrub, and was in the act of leaping when he saw that the cliff shelvedunder the ledge, while within reach of his feet was the entrance toa cavern. He found the cave to be small with an opening at the backinto a split in the rock. Evidently the place had been entered fromthe rear by bears, who used the hole for winter sleeping quarters. By crawling on his hands and knees, Wetzel found the rear opening. Thus he had established a hiding place where it was almostimpossible to locate him. He provisioned his retreat, which healways entered by the cliff and left by the rear. 

An evidence of Wetzel's strange nature, and of his love for thiswild home, manifested itself when he bound Joe to secrecy. It wasunlikely, even if the young man ever did get safely out of thewilderness, that any stories he might relate would reveal thehunter's favorite rendezvous. But Wetzel seriously demanded thissecrecy, as earnestly as if the forest were full of Indians andwhite men, all prowling in search of his burrow. 

Joe was in the seventh heaven of delight, and took to the free lifeas a wild gosling takes to the water. No place had ever appealed tohim as did this dark, silent hole far up on the side of a steepcliff. His interest in Wetzel soon passed into a great admiration, and from that deepened to love. 

This afternoon, when they were satisfied that all was well withintheir refuge, Joe laid aside his rifle, and, whistling softly, beganto prepare supper. The back part of the cave permitted him to standerect, and was large enough for comparative comfort. There was aneat, little stone fireplace, and several cooking utensils andgourds. From time to time Wetzel had brought these things. A pile ofwood and a bundle of pine cones lay in one corner. Haunches of driedbeef, bear and buffalo meat hung from pegs; a bag of parched corn, another of dried apples lay on a rocky shelf. Nearby hung apowder-horn filled with salt and pepper. In the cleft back of thecave was a spring of clear, cold water. 

The wants of woodsmen are few and simple. Joe and Wetzel, withappetites whetted by their stirring outdoor life, relished thefrugal fare as they could never have enjoyed a feast. As the shadowsof evening entered the cave, they lighted their pipes to partake ofthe hunter's sweetest solace, a quiet smoke. 

Strange as it may appear, this lonely, stern Indian-hunter and thereckless, impulsive boy were admirably suited for companionship. Wetzel had taken a liking to the young man when he led the brothersto Fort Henry. Subsequent events strengthened his liking, and now, many days after, Joe having followed him into the forest, a strongattachment had been insensibly forged between them. 

Wetzel understood Joe's burning desire to roam the forests; but hehalf expected the lad would soon grow tired of this roving life, butexactly the opposite symptoms were displayed. The hunter hadintended to take his comrade on a hunting trip, and to return withhim, after that was over, to Fort Henry. They had now been in thewoods for weeks and every day in some way had Joe showed his mettle. Wetzel finally admitted him into the secrets of his most cherishedhiding place. He did not want to hurt the lad's feelings by takinghim back to the settlement; he could not send him back. So the dayswore on swiftly; full of heart-satisfying incident and life, withman and boy growing closer in an intimacy that was as warm as it wasunusual. 

Two reasons might account for this: First, there is no sane humanbeing who is not better off for companionship. An exile would findsomething of happiness in one who shared his misery. And, secondly, Joe was a most acceptable comrade, even for a slayer of Indians. Wedded as Wetzel was to the forest trails, to his lonely life, tothe Nemesis-pursuit he had followed for eighteen long years, he wasstill a white man, kind and gentle in his quiet hours, and becauseof this, though he knew it not, still capable of affection. He hadnever known youth; his manhood had been one pitiless warfare againsthis sworn foes; but once in all those years had his sore, cold heartwarmed; and that was toward a woman who was not for him. His lifehad held only one purpose--a bloody one. Yet the man had a heart, and he could not prevent it from responding to another. In hissimple ignorance he rebelled against this affection for anythingother than his forest homes. Man is weak against hate; what can heavail against love? The dark caverns of Wetzel's great heart opened, admitting to their gloomy depths this stranger. So now a new lovewas born in that cheerless heart, where for so long a lonely inmate, the ghost of old love, had dwelt in chill seclusion. 

The feeling of comradeship which Wetzel had for Joe was somethingaltogether new in the hunter's life. True he had hunted withJonathan Zane, and accompanied expeditions where he was forced tosleep with another scout; but a companion, not to say friend, he hadnever known. Joe was a boy, wilder than an eagle, yet he was a man. He was happy and enthusiastic, still his good spirits never jarredon the hunter; they were restrained. He never asked questions, aswould seem the case in any eager lad; he waited until he was spokento. He was apt; he never forgot anything; he had the eye of a bornwoodsman, and lastly, perhaps what went far with Wetzel, he was asstrong and supple as a young lynx, and absolutely fearless. 

On this evening Wetzel and Joe followed their usual custom; theysmoked a while before lying down to sleep. Tonight the hunter waseven more silent than usual, and the lad, tired out with his day'stramp, lay down on a bed of fragrant boughs. 

Wetzel sat there in the gathering gloom while he pulled slowly onhis pipe. The evening was very quiet; the birds had ceased theirtwittering; the wind had died away; it was too early for the bay ofa wolf, the wail of a panther, or hoot of an owl; there was simplyperfect silence. 

The lad's deep, even breathing caught Wetzel's ear, and he foundhimself meditating, as he had often of late, on this new somethingthat had crept into his life. For Joe loved him; he could not failto see that. The lad had preferred to roam with the lonelyIndian-hunter through the forests, to encounter the perils andhardships of a wild life, rather than accept the smile of fortuneand of love. Wetzel knew that Colonel Zane had taken a liking to theboy, and had offered him work and a home; and, also, the hunterremembered the warm light he had seen in Nell's hazel eyes. Musingthus, the man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent thatit was unfamiliar. The Avenger forgot, for a moment his broodingplans. He felt strangely softened. When he laid his head on the rudepillow it was with some sense of gladness that, although he hadalways desired a lonely life, and wanted to pass it in thefulfillment of his vow, his loneliness was now shared by a lad wholoved him. 

Joe was awakened by the merry chirp of a chipmunk that every morningran along the seamy side of the opposite wall of the gorge. Gettingup, he went to the back of the cave, where he found Wetzel combingout his long hair. The lad thrust his hands into the cold pool, andbathed his face. The water was icy cold, and sent an invigoratingthrill through him. Then he laughed as he took a rude comb Wetzelhanded to him. 

"My scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous, is it?" saidhe, eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell overthe hunter's shoulders. 

"It'll grow, " answered Wetzel. 

Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair, nor did hemisunderstand the hunter's simple pride. Wetzel was very careful ofhis rifle, he was neat and clean about his person, he brushed hisbuckskin costume, he polished his knife and tomahawk; but his hairreceived more attention than all else. It required much care. Whencombed out it reached fully to his knees. Joe had seen him, after hereturned from a long hunt, work patiently for an hour with hiswooden comb, and not stop until every little burr was gone, ortangle smoothed out. Then he would comb it again in themorning--this, of course, when time permitted--and twist and tie itup so as to offer small resistance to his slipping through theunderbush. Joe knew the hunter's simplicity was such, that if he cutoff his hair it would seem he feared the Indians--for that streamingblack hair the Indians had long coveted and sworn to take. It wouldmake any brave a famous chief, and was the theme of many a savagewar tale. 

After breakfast Wetzel said to Joe:

"You stay here, an' I'll look round some; mebbe I'll come back soon, and we'll go out an' kill a buffalo. Injuns sometimes foller up abuffalo trail, an' I want to be sure none of the varlets are chasin'that herd we saw to-day. "

Wetzel left the cave by the rear. It took him fifteen minutes tocrawl to the head of the tortuous, stony passage. Lifting the stonewhich closed up the aperture, he looked out and listened. Then, rising, he replaced the stone, and passed down the wooded hillside. 

It was a beautiful morning; the dew glistened on the green leaves, the sun shone bright and warm, the birds warbled in the trees. Thehunter's moccasins pressed so gently on the moss and leaves thatthey made no more sound than the soft foot of a panther. His trainedear was alert to catch any unfamiliar noise; his keen eyes soughtfirst the remoter open glades and glens, then bent their gaze on themossy bluff beneath his feet. Fox squirrels dashed from before himinto bushy retreats; grouse whirred away into the thickets; startleddeer whistled, and loped off with their white-flags upraised. Wetzelknew from the action of these denizens of the woods that he was theonly creature, not native to these haunts, who had disturbed themthis morning. Otherwise the deer would not have been grazing, butlying low in some close thicket; fox squirrels seldom or never weredisturbed by a hunter twice in one day, for after being frightenedthese little animals, wilder and shyer than gray squirrels, remainedhidden for hours, and grouse that have been flushed a little whilebefore, always get up unusually quick, and fly very far beforealighting. 

Wetzel circled back over the hill, took a long survey from a rockyeminence, and then reconnoitered the lowland for several miles. Helocated the herd of buffalo, and satisfying himself there were noIndians near--for the bison were grazing quietly--he returned to thecave. A soft whistle into the back door of the rocky home told Joethat the hunter was waiting. 

"Coast clear?" whispered the lad, thrusting his head out of theentrance. His gray eyes gleamed brightly, showing his eager spirit. 

The hunter nodded, and, throwing his rifle in the hollow of his arm, proceeded down the hill. Joe followed closely, endeavoring, asWetzel had trained him, to make each step precisely in the hunter'sfootprints. The lad had soon learned to step nimbly and softly as acat. When half way down the bill Wetzel paused. 

"See anythin'?" he whispered. 

Joe glanced on all sides. Many mistakes had taught him to becautious. He had learned from experience that for every woodlandcreature he saw, there were ten watching his every move. Just now hecould not see even a little red squirrel. Everywhere were sturdyhickory and oak trees, thickets and hazelnuts, slender ash saplings, and, in the open glades, patches of sumach. Rotting trees lay on theground, while ferns nodded long, slender heads over the fallenmonarchs. Joe could make out nothing but the colors of the woods, the gray of the tree trunks, and, in the openings through theforest-green, the dead purple haze of forests farther on. He smiled, and, shaking his head at the hunter, by his action admitted failure. 

"Try again. Dead ahead, " whispered Wetzel. 

Joe bent a direct gaze on the clump of sassafras one hundred feetahead. He searched the open places, the shadows--even the branches. Then he turned his eyes slowly to the right. Whatever wasdiscernible to human vision he studied intently. Suddenly his eyebecame fixed on a small object protruding from behind a beech tree. It was pointed, and in color darker than the gray bark of the beech. It had been a very easy matter to pass over this little thing; butnow that the lad saw it, he knew to what it belonged. 

"That's a buck's ear, " he replied. 

Hardly had he finished speaking when Wetzel intentionally snapped atwig. There was a crash and commotion in the thicket; branches movedand small saplings waved; then out into the open glade bounded alarge buck with a whistle of alarm. Throwing his rifle to a level, Joe was trying to cover the bounding deer, when the hunter struck uphis piece. 

"Lad, don't kill fer the sake of killin, " he said, quietly. "We haveplenty of venison. We'll go arter a buffalo. I hev a hankerin' fer agood rump steak. "

Half an hour later, the hunters emerged from the forest into a wideplain of waving grass. It was a kind of oval valley, encircled byhills, and had been at one time, perhaps, covered with water. Joesaw a herd of large animals browsing, like cattle, in a meadow. Hisheart beat high, for until that moment the only buffalo he had seenwere the few which stood on the river banks as the raft passed downthe Ohio. He would surely get a shot at one of these huge fellows. 

Wetzel bade Joe do exactly as he did, whereupon he dropped on hishands and knees and began to crawl through the long grass. This waseasy for the hunter, but very bard for the lad to accomplish. Still, he managed to keep his comrade in sight, which was a matter forcongratulation, because the man crawled as fast as he walked. Atlength, after what to Joe seemed a very long time, the hunterpaused. 

"Are we near enough?" whispered Joe, breathlessly. 

"Nope. We're just circlin' on 'em. The wind's not right, an' I'mafeered they'll get our scent. "

Wetzel rose carefully and peeped over the top of the grass; then, dropping on all fours, he resumed the advance. 

He paused again, presently and waited for Joe to come up. 

"See here, young fellar, remember, never hurry unless the biznesscalls fer speed, an' then act like lightnin'. "

Thus admonishing the eager lad, Wetzel continued to crawl. It waseasy for him. Joe wondered how those wide shoulders got between theweeds and grasses without breaking, or, at least, shaking them. Butso it was. 

"Flat now, " whispered Wetzel, putting his broad hand on Joe's backand pressing him down. "Now's yer time fer good practice. Trail yerrifle over yer back--if yer careful it won't slide off--an' reachout far with one arm an' dig yer fingers in deep. Then pull yerselfforrard. "

Wetzel slipped through the grass like a huge buckskin snake. Hislong, lithe body wormed its way among the reeds. But for Joe, evenwith the advantage of having the hunter's trail to follow, it wasdifficult work. The dry reeds broke under him, and the stalks ofsaw-grass shook. He worked persistently at it, learning all thewhile, and improving with every rod. He was surprised to hear aswish, followed by a dull blow on the ground. Raising his head, helooked forward. He saw the hunter wipe his tomahawk on the grass. 

"Snake, " whispered Wetzel. 

Joe saw a huge blacksnake squirming in the grass. Its head had beensevered. He caught glimpses of other snakes gliding away, and glossyround moles darting into their holes. A gray rabbit started off witha leap. 

"We're near enough, " whispered Wetzel, stopping behind a bush. Herose and surveyed the plain; then motioned Joe to look. 

Joe raised himself on his knees. As his gaze reached the level ofthe grassy plain his heart leaped. Not fifty yards away was a great, shaggy, black buffalo. He was the king of the herd; but ill at ease, for he pawed the grass and shook his huge head. Near him wereseveral cows and a half-grown calf. Beyond was the main herd, extending as far as Joe could see--a great sea of black humps! Thelad breathed hard as he took in the grand sight. 

"Pick out the little fellar--the reddish-brown one--an' plug himbehind the shoulder. Shoot close now, fer if we miss, mebbe I can'thit one, because I'm not used to shootin' at sich small marks. "

Wetzel's rare smile lighted up his dark face. Probably he could haveshot a fly off the horn of the bull, if one of the big flies orbees, plainly visible as they swirled around the huge head, hadalighted there. 

Joe slowly raised his rifle. He had covered the calf, and was aboutto pull the trigger, when, with a sagacity far beyond his experienceas hunter, he whispered to Wetzel:

"If I fire they may run toward us. "

"Nope; they'll run away, " answered Wetzel, thinking the lad was askeen as an Indian. 

Joe quickly covered the calf again, and pulled the trigger. Bellowing loud the big bull dashed off. The herd swung around towardthe west, and soon were galloping off with a lumbering roar. Theshaggy humps bobbed up and down like hot, angry waves on astorm-blackened sea. 

Upon going forward, Wetzel and Joe found the calf lying dead in thegrass. 

"You might hev did better'n that, " remarked the hunter, as he sawwhere the bullet had struck. "You went a little too fer back, butmebbe thet was 'cause the calf stepped as you shot. "

Chapter XV. 

So the days passed swiftly, dreamily, each one bringing Joe a keenerdelight. In a single month he was as good a woodsman as manypioneers who had passed years on the border, for he had theadvantage of a teacher whose woodcraft was incomparable. Besides, hewas naturally quick in learning, and with all his interest centeredupon forest lore, it was no wonder he assimilated much of Wetzel'sknowledge. He was ever willing to undertake anything whereby hemight learn. Often when they were miles away in the dense forest, far from their cave, he asked Wetzel to let him try to lead the wayback to camp. And he never failed once, though many times he got offa straight course, thereby missing the easy travelling. 

Joe did wonderfully well, but he lacked, as nearly all white men do, the subtler, intuitive forest-instinct, which makes the Indian asmuch at home in the woods as in his teepee. Wetzel had thisdeveloped to a high degree. It was born in him. Years of training, years of passionate, unrelenting search for Indians, had given him aknowledge of the wilds that was incomprehensible to white men, andappalling to his red foes. 

Joe saw how Wetzel used this ability, but what it really was baffledhim. He realized that words were not adequate to explain fully thisgreat art. Its possession required a marvelously keen vision, an eyeperfectly familiar with every creature, tree, rock, shrub and thingbelonging in the forest; an eye so quick in flight as to detectinstantly the slightest change in nature, or anything unnatural tothat environment. The hearing must be delicate, like that of a deer, and the finer it is, the keener will be the woodsman. Lastly, thereis the feeling that prompts the old hunter to say: "No game to-day. "It is something in him that speaks when, as he sees a night-hawkcircling low near the ground, he says: "A storm to-morrow. " It iswhat makes an Indian at home in any wilderness. The clouds may hidethe guiding star; the northing may be lost; there may be no moss onthe trees, or difference in their bark; the ridges may be flat orlost altogether, and there may be no water-courses; yet the Indianbrave always goes for his teepee, straight as a crow flies. It wasthis voice which rightly bade Wetzel, when he was baffled by anIndian's trail fading among the rocks, to cross, or circle, oradvance in the direction taken by his wily foe. 

Joe had practiced trailing deer and other hoofed game, until he wastrue as a hound. Then he began to perfect himself in the art offollowing a human being through the forest. Except a few old Indiantrails, which the rain had half obliterated, he had no tracks todiscover save Wetzel's, and these were as hard to find as the airycourse of a grosbeak. On soft ground or marshy grass, which Wetzelavoided where he could, he left a faint trail, but on a hardsurface, for all the traces he left, he might as well not have goneover the ground at all. 

Joe's persistence stood him in good stead; he hung on, and the morehe failed, the harder he tried. Often he would slip out of the caveafter Wetzel had gone, and try to find which way he had taken. Inbrief, the lad became a fine marksman, a good hunter, and a close, persevering student of the wilderness. He loved the woods, and allthey contained. He learned the habits of the wild creatures. Eachdeer, each squirrel, each grouse that he killed, taught him somelesson. 

He was always up with the lark to watch the sun rise red and grandover the eastern hills, and chase away the white mist from thevalleys. Even if he was not hunting, or roaming the woods, if it wasnecessary for him to lie low in camp awaiting Wetzel's return, hewas always content. Many hours he idled away lying on his back, withthe west wind blowing softly over him, his eye on the distant hills, where the cloud shadows swept across with slow, majestic movement, like huge ships at sea. 

If Wetzel and Joe were far distant from the cave, as was often thecase, they made camp in the open woods, and it was here that Joe'scontentment was fullest. Twilight shades stealing down over thecamp-fire; the cheery glow of red embers; the crackling of drystocks; the sweet smell of wood smoke, all had for the lad a subtle, potent charm. 

The hunter would broil a venison steak, or a partridge, on thecoals. Then they would light their pipes and smoke while twilightdeepened. The oppressive stillness of the early evening hour alwaysbrought to the younger man a sensation of awe. At first heattributed this to the fact that he was new to this life; however, as the days passed and the emotion remained, nay, grew stronger, heconcluded it was imparted by this close communion with nature. Deepsolemn, tranquil, the gloaming hour brought him no ordinary fullnessof joy and clearness of perception. 

"Do you ever feel this stillness?" he asked Wetzel one evening, asthey sat near their flickering fire. 

The hunter puffed his pipe, and, like an Indian, seemed to let thequestion take deep root. 

"I've scalped redskins every hour in the day, 'ceptin' twilight, " hereplied. 

Joe wondered no longer whether the hunter was too hardened to feelthis beautiful tranquillity. That hour which wooed Wetzel from hisimplacable pursuit was indeed a bewitching one. 

There was never a time, when Joe lay alone in camp waiting forWetzel, that he did not hope the hunter would return withinformation of Indians. The man never talked about the savages, andif he spoke at all it was to tell of some incident of his day'stravel. One evening he came back with a large black fox that he hadkilled. 

"What beautiful, glossy fur!" said Joe. "I never saw a black foxbefore. "

"I've been layin' fer this fellar some time, " replied Wetzel, as hebegan his first evening task, that of combing his hair. "Jest backhere in a clump of cottonwoods there's a holler log full of leaves. Happenin' to see a blacksnake sneakin' round, I thought mebbe he wasup to somethin', so I investigated, an' found a nest full of youngrabbits. I killed the snake, an' arter that took an interest in 'em. Every time I passed I'd look in at the bunnies, an' each time I seensigns that some tarnal varmint had been prowlin' round. One day Imissed a bunny, an' next day another; so on until only one was left, a peart white and gray little scamp. Somethin' was stealin' of 'em, an' it made me mad. So yistidday an' to-day I watched, an' finally Iplugged this black thief. Yes, he's got a glossy coat; but he's abad un fer all his fine looks. These black foxes are bigger, stronger an' cunniner than red ones. In every litter you'll find adark one, the black sheep of the family. Because he grows so muchfaster, an' steals all the food from the others, the mother jesttakes him by the nape of the neck an' chucks him out in the world toshift fer hisself. An' it's a good thing. "

The next day Wetzel told Joe they would go across country to seeknew game fields. Accordingly the two set out, and trampedindustriously until evening. They came upon a country no lessbeautiful than the one they had left, though the picturesque cliffsand rugged hills had given way to a rolling land, the luxuriance ofwhich was explained by the abundant springs and streams. Forests andfields were thickly interspersed with bubbling springs, narrow anddeep streams, and here and there a small lake with a running outlet. 

Wetzel had said little concerning this region, but that little wasenough to rouse all Joe's eagerness, for it was to the effect thatthey were now in a country much traversed by Indians, especiallyrunners and hunting parties travelling from north to south. Thehunter explained that through the center of this tract ran a buffaloroad; that the buffalo always picked out the straightest, lowest anddryest path from one range to another, and the Indians followedthese first pathfinders. 

Joe and Wetzel made camp on the bank of a stream that night, and asthe lad watched the hunter build a hidden camp-fire, he peeredfurtively around half expecting to see dark forms scurrying throughthe forest. Wetzel was extremely cautious. He stripped pieces ofbark from fallen trees and built a little hut over his firewood. Herubbed some powder on a piece of punk, and then with flint and steeldropped two or three sparks on the inflammable substance. Soon hehad a blaze. He arranged the covering so that not a ray of lightescaped. When the flames had subsided, and the wood had burned downto a glowing bed of red, he threw aside the bark, and broiled thestrips of venison they had brought with them. 

They rested on a bed of boughs which they had cut and arrangedalongside a huge log. For hours Joe lay awake, he could not sleep. He listened to the breeze rustling the leaves, and shivered at thethought of the sighing wind he had once heard moan through theforest. Presently he turned over. The slight noise instantlyawakened Wetzel who lifted his dark face while he listened intently. He spoke one word: "Sleep, " and lay back again on the leaves. Joeforced himself to be quiet, relaxed all his muscles and soonslumbered. 

On the morrow Wetzel went out to look over the hunting prospects. About noon he returned. Joe was surprised to find some slight changein the hunter. He could not tell what it was. 

"I seen Injun sign, " said Wetzel. "There's no tellin' how soon wemay run agin the sneaks. We can't hunt here. Like as not there'sHurons and Delawares skulkin' round. I think I'd better take youback to the village. "

"It's all on my account you say that, " said Joe. 

"Sure, " Wetzel replied. 

"If you were alone what would you do?"

"I calkilate I'd hunt fer some red-skinned game. "

The supreme moment had come. Joe's heart beat hard. He could notmiss this opportunity; he must stay with the hunter. He lookedclosely at Wetzel. 

"I won't go back to the village, " he said. 

The hunter stood in his favorite position, leaning on his longrifle, and made no response. 

"I won't go, " continued Joe, earnestly. "Let me stay with you. If atany time I hamper you, or can not keep the pace, then leave me toshift for myself; but don't make me go until I weaken. Let me stay. "

Fire and fearlessness spoke in Joe's every word, and his gray eyescontracted with their peculiar steely flash. Plain it was that, while he might fail to keep pace with Wetzel, he did not fear thisdangerous country, and, if it must be, would face it alone. 

Wetzel extended his broad hand and gave his comrade's a viselikesqueeze. To allow the lad to remain with him was more than he wouldhave done for any other person in the world. Far better to keep thelad under his protection while it was possible, for Joe was takingthat war-trail which had for every hunter, somewhere along itsbloody course, a bullet, a knife, or a tomahawk. Wetzel knew thatJoe was conscious of this inevitable conclusion, for it showed inhis white face, and in the resolve in his big, gray eyes. 

So there, in the shade of a towering oak, the Indian-killer admittedthe boy into his friendship, and into a life which would no longerbe play, but eventful, stirring, hazardous. 

"Wal, lad, stay, " he said, with that rare smile which brightened hisdark face like a ray of stray sunshine. "We'll hang round thesediggins a few days. First off, we'll take in the lay of the land. You go down stream a ways an' scout round some, while I go up, an'then circle down. Move slow, now, an' don't miss nothin'. "

Joe followed the stream a mile or more. He kept close in the shadeof willows, and never walked across an open glade without firstwaiting and watching. He listened to all sounds; but none wereunfamiliar. He closely examined the sand along the stream, and themoss and leaves under the trees. When he had been separated fromWetzel several hours, and concluded he would slowly return to camp, he ran across a well-beaten path winding through the forest. Thiswas, perhaps, one of the bridle-trails Wetzel had referred to. Hebent over the worn grass with keen scrutiny. 

CRACK!

The loud report of a heavily charged rifle rang out. Joe felt thezip of a bullet as it fanned his cheek. With an agile leap he gainedthe shelter of a tree, from behind which he peeped to see who hadshot at him. He was just in time to detect the dark form of anIndian dart behind the foliage an hundred yards down the path. Joeexpected to see other Indians, and to hear more shots, but he wasmistaken. Evidently the savage was alone, for the tree Joe had takenrefuge behind was scarcely large enough to screen his body, whichdisadvantage the other Indians would have been quick to note. 

Joe closely watched the place where his assailant had disappeared, and presently saw a dark hand, then a naked elbow, and finally theramrod of a rifle. The savage was reloading. Soon a rifle-barrelprotruded from behind the tree. With his heart beating like atrip-hammer, and the skin tightening on his face, Joe screened hisbody as best he might. The tree was small, but it served as apartial protection. Rapidly he revolved in his mind plans to outwitthe enemy. The Indian was behind a large oak with a low limb overwhich he could fire without exposing his own person to danger. 

"Bang!" The Indian's rifle bellowed; the bullet crumbled the barkclose to Joe's face. The lad yelled loudly, staggered to his knees, and then fell into the path, where he lay quiet. 

The redskin gave an exultant shout. Seeing that the fallen figureremained quite motionless he stepped forward, drawing his knife ashe came. He was a young brave, quick and eager in his movements, andcame nimbly up the path to gain his coveted trophy, the paleface'sscalp. 

Suddenly Joe sat up, raised his rifle quickly as thought, and firedpoint-blank at the Indian. 

But he missed. 

The redskin stopped aghast when he saw the lad thus seemingly comeback to life. Then, realizing that Joe's aim had been futile, hebounded forward, brandishing his knife, and uttering infuriatedyells. 

Joe rose to his feet with rifle swung high above his head. 

When the savage was within twenty feet, so near that his dark face, swollen with fierce passion, could be plainly discerned, a peculiarwhistling noise sounded over Joe's shoulder. It was accompanied, rather than followed, by a clear, ringing rifleshot. 

The Indian stopped as if he had encountered a heavy shock from atree or stone barring his way. Clutching at his breast, he uttered aweird cry, and sank slowly on the grass. 

Joe ran forward to bend over the prostrate figure. The Indian, aslender, handsome young brave, had been shot through the breast. Heheld his hand tightly over the wound, while bright red bloodtrickled between his fingers, flowed down his side, and stained thegrass. 

The brave looked steadily up at Joe. Shot as he was, dying as heknew himself to be, there was no yielding in the dark eye--only anunquenchable hatred. Then the eyes glazed; the fingers ceasedtwitching. 

Joe was bending over a dead Indian. 

It flashed into his mind, of course, that Wetzel had come up in timeto save his life, but he did not dwell on the thought; he shrankfrom this violent death of a human being. But it was from the aspectof the dead, not from remorse for the deed. His heart beat fast, hisfingers trembled, yet he felt only a strange coldness in all hisbeing. The savage had tried to kill him, perhaps, even now, had itnot been for the hunter's unerring aim, would have been gloatingover a bloody scalp. 

Joe felt, rather than heard, the approach of some one, and he turnedto see Wetzel coming down the path. 

"He's a lone Shawnee runner, " said the hunter, gazing down at thedead Indian. "He was tryin' to win his eagle plumes. I seen you bothfrom the hillside. "

"You did!" exclaimed Joe. Then he laughed. "It was lucky for me. Itried the dodge you taught me, but in my eagerness I missed. "

"Wal, you hadn't no call fer hurry. You worked the trick clever, butyou missed him when there was plenty of time. I had to shoot overyour shoulder, or I'd hev plugged him sooner. "

"Where were you?" asked Joe. 

"Up there by that bit of sumach!" and Wetzel pointed to an openridge on a hillside not less than one hundred and fifty yardsdistant. 

Joe wondered which of the two bullets, the death-seeking one firedby the savage, or the life-saving missile from Wetzel's fatalweapon, had passed nearest to him. 

"Come, " said the hunter, after he had scalped the Indian. 

"What's to be done with this savage?" inquired Joe, as Wetzelstarted up the path. 

"Let him lay. "

They returned to camp without further incident. While the hunterbusied himself reinforcing their temporary shelter--for the cloudslooked threatening--Joe cut up some buffalo meat, and then went downto the brook for a gourd of water. He came hurriedly back to whereWetzel was working, and spoke in a voice which he vainly endeavorsto hold steady:

"Come quickly. I have seen something which may mean a good deal. "

He led the way down to the brookside. 

"Look!" Joe said, pointing at the water. 

Here the steam was about two feet deep, perhaps twenty wide, and hadjust a noticeable current. Shortly before, it had been as clear as abright summer sky; it was now tinged with yellow clouds that slowlyfloated downstream, each one enlarging and becoming fainter as theclear water permeated and stained. Grains of sand glided along withthe current, little pieces of bark floated on the surface, andminnows darted to and fro nibbling at these drifting particles. 

"Deer wouldn't roil the water like that. What does it mean?" askedJoe. 

"Injuns, an' not fer away. "

Wetzel returned to the shelter and tore it down. Then he bent thebranch of a beech tree low over the place. He pulled down anotherbranch over the remains of the camp-fire. These precautions made thespot less striking. Wetzel knew that an Indian scout never glancescasually; his roving eyes survey the forest, perhaps quickly, butthoroughly. An unnatural position of bush or log always leads to anexamination. 

This done, the hunter grasped Joe's hand and led him up the knoll. Making his way behind a well-screened tree, which had been uprooted, he selected a position where, hidden themselves, they could see thecreek. 

Hardly had Wetzel, admonished Joe to lie perfectly still, when froma short distance up the stream came the sound of splashing water;but nothing could be seen above the open glade, as in that directionwillows lined the creek in dense thickets. The noise grew moreaudible. 

Suddenly Joe felt a muscular contraction pass over the powerfulframe lying close beside him. It was a convulsive thrill such aspasses through a tiger when he is about to spring upon his quarry. So subtle and strong was its meaning, so clearly did it convey tothe lad what was coming, that he felt it himself; save that in hiscase it was a cold, chill shudder. 

Breathless suspense followed. Then into the open space along thecreek glided a tall Indian warrior. He was knee-deep in the water, where he waded with low, cautious steps. His garish, befrilledcostume seemed familiar to Joe. He carried a rifle at a low trail, and passed slowly ahead with evident distrust. The lad believed herecognized that head, with its tangled black hair, and when he sawthe swarthy, villainous countenance turned full toward him, heexclaimed:

"Girty! by---"

Wetzel's powerful arm forced him so hard against the log that hecould not complete the exclamation; but he could still see. Girtyhad not heard that stifled cry, for he continued his slow wading, and presently his tall, gaudily decorated form passed out of sight. 

Another savage appeared in the open space, and then another. Closebetween them walked a white man, with hands bound behind him. Theprisoner and guards disappeared down stream among the willows. 

The splashing continued--grew even louder than before. A warriorcame into view, then another, and another. They walked closetogether. Two more followed. They were wading by the side of a raftmade of several logs, upon which were two prostrate figures thatclosely resembled human beings. 

Joe was so intent upon the lithe forms of the Indians that he barelygot a glimpse of their floating prize, whatever it might have been. Bringing up the rear was an athletic warrior, whose broad shoulders, sinewy arms, and shaved, polished head Joe remembered well. It wasthe Shawnee chief, Silvertip. 

When he, too, passed out of sight in the curve of willows, Joe foundhimself trembling. He turned eagerly to Wetzel; but instantlyrecoiled. 

Terrible, indeed, had been the hunter's transformation. All calmnessof facial expression was gone; he was now stern, somber. An intenseemotion was visible in his white face; his eyes seemed reduced totwo dark shining points, and they emitted so fierce, so piercing aflash, so deadly a light, that Joe could not bear their glitteringgaze. 

"Three white captives, two of 'em women, " uttered the hunter, as ifweighing in his mind the importance of this fact. 

"Were those women on the raft?" questioned Joe, and as Wetzel onlynodded, he continued, "A white man and two women, six warriors, Silvertip, and that renegade, Jim Girty!"

Wetzel deigned not to answer Joe's passionate outburst, butmaintained silence and his rigid posture. Joe glanced once more atthe stern face. 

"Considering we'd go after Girty and his redskins if they werealone, we're pretty likely to go quicker now that they've got whitewomen prisoners, eh?" and Joe laughed fiercely between his teeth. 

The lad's heart expanded, while along every nerve tingled anexquisite thrill of excitement. He had yearned for wild, borderlife. Here he was in it, with the hunter whose name alone was to thesavages a symbol for all that was terrible. 

Wetzel evidently decided quickly on what was to be done, for in fewwords he directed Joe to cut up so much of the buffalo meat as theycould stow in their pockets. Then, bidding the lad to follow, heturned into the woods, walking rapidly, and stopping now and thenfor a brief instant. Soon they emerged from the forest into moreopen country. They faced a wide plain skirted on the right by along, winding strip of bright green willows which marked the courseof the stream. On the edge of this plain Wetzel broke into a run. Hekept this pace for a distance of an hundred yards, then stopped tolisten intently as he glanced sharply on all sides, after which hewas off again. 

Half way across this plain Joe's wind began to fail, and hisbreathing became labored; but he kept close to the hunter's heels. Once he looked back to see a great wide expanse of waving grass. They had covered perhaps four miles at a rapid pace, and werenearing the other side of the plain. The lad felt as if his head wasabout to burst; a sharp pain seized upon his side; a blood-red filmobscured his sight. He kept doggedly on, and when utterly exhaustedfell to the ground. 

When, a few minutes later, having recovered his breath, he got up, they had crossed the plain and were in a grove of beeches. Directlyin front of him ran a swift stream, which was divided at the rockyhead of what appeared to be a wooded island. There was only a slightripple and fall of the water, and, after a second glance, it wasevident that the point of land was not an island, but a portion ofthe mainland which divided the stream. The branches took almostopposite courses. 

Joe wondered if they had headed off the Indians. Certainly they hadrun fast enough. He was wet with perspiration. He glanced at Wetzel, who was standing near. The man's broad breast rose and fell a littlefaster; that was the only evidence of exertion. The lad had apainful feeling that he could never keep pace with the hunter, ifthis five-mile run was a sample of the speed he would be forced tomaintain. 

"They've got ahead of us, but which crick did they take?" queriedWetzel, as though debating the question with himself. 

"How do you know they've passed?"

"We circled, " answered Wetzel, as he shook his head and pointed intothe bushes. Joe stepped over and looked into the thicket. He found aquantity of dead leaves, sticks, and litter thrown aside, exposingto light a long, hollowed place on the ground. It was what would beseen after rolling over a log that had lain for a long time. Littlefurrows in the ground, holes, mounds, and curious winding passagesshowed where grubs and crickets had made their homes. The frightenedinsects were now running round wildly. 

"What was here? A log?"

"A twenty-foot canoe was hid under thet stuff. The Injuns has takenone of these streams. "

"How can we tell which one?"

"Mebbe we can't; but we'll try. Grab up a few of them bugs, go belowthet rocky point, an' crawl close to the bank so you can jest peepover. Be keerful not to show the tip of your head, an' don't knocknothin' off'en the bank into the water. Watch fer trout. Lookeverywheres, an' drop in a bug now and then. I'll do the same ferthe other stream. Then we'll come back here an' talk over what thefish has to say about the Injuns. "

Joe walked down stream a few paces, and, dropping on his knees, crawled carefully to the edge of the bank. He slightly parted thegrass so he could peep through, and found himself directly over apool with a narrow shoal running out from the opposite bank. Thewater was so clear he could see the pebbly bottom in all parts, except a dark hole near a bend in the shore close by. He did not seea living thing in the water, not a crawfish, turtle, nor even afrog. He peered round closely, then flipped in one of the bugs hehad brought along. A shiny yellow fish flared up from the depths ofthe deep hole and disappeared with the cricket; but it was a bass ora pike, not a trout. Wetzel had said there were a few trout livingnear the cool springs of these streams. The lad tried again to coaxone to the surface. This time the more fortunate cricket swam andhopped across the stream to safety. 

When Joe's eyes were thoroughly accustomed to the clear water, withits deceiving lights and shades, he saw a fish lying snug under theside of a stone. The lad thought he recognized the snub-nose, thehooked, wolfish jaw, but he could not get sufficient of a view toclassify him. He crawled to a more advantageous position fartherdown stream, and then he peered again through the woods. Yes, sureenough, he had espied a trout. He well knew those spotted silversides, that broad, square tail. Such a monster! In his admirationfor the fellow, and his wish for a hook and line to try conclusionswith him, Joe momentarily forgot his object. Remembering, he tossedout a big, fat cricket, which alighted on the water just above thefish. The trout never moved, nor even blinked. The lad tried again, with no better success. The fish would not rise. Thereupon Joereturned to the point where he had left Wetzel. 

"I couldn't see nothin' over there, " said the hunter, who waswaiting. "Did you see any?'

"One, and a big fellow. "

"Did he see you?"

"No. "

"Did he rise to a bug?"

"No, he didn't; but then maybe he wasn't hungry" answered Joe, whocould not understand what Wetzel was driving at. 

"Tell me exactly what he did. "

"That's just the trouble; he didn't do anything, " replied Joe, thoughtfully. "He just lay low, stifflike, under a stone. He neverbatted an eye. But his side-fins quivered like an aspen leaf. "

"Them side-fins tell us the story. Girty, an' his redskins hev tookthis branch, " said Wetzel, positively. "The other leads to the Hurontowns. Girty's got a place near the Delaware camp somewheres. I'vetried to find it a good many times. He's took more'n one white lassthere, an' nobody ever seen her agin. "

"Fiend! To think of a white woman, maybe a girl like Nell Wells, atthe mercy of those red devils!"

"Young fellar, don't go wrong. I'll allow Injuns is bad enough; butI never hearn tell of one abusin' a white woman, as mayhap you mean. Injuns marry white women sometimes; kill an' scalp 'em often, butthat's all. It's men of our own color, renegades like this Girty, asdo worse'n murder. "

Here was the amazing circumstance of Lewis Wetzel, the acknowledgedunsatiable foe of all redmen, speaking a good word for his enemies. Joe was so astonished he did not attempt to answer. 

"Here's where they got in the canoe. One more look, an' then we'reoff, " said Wetzel. He strode up and down the sandy beach; examinedthe willows, and scrutinized the sand. Suddenly he bent over andpicked up an object from the water. His sharp eyes had caught theglint of something white, which, upon being examined, proved to be asmall ivory or bone buckle with a piece broken out. He showed it toJoe. 

"By heavens! Wetzel, that's a buckle off Nell Well's shoe. I've seenit too many times to mistake it. "

"I was afeared Girty hed your friends, the sisters, an' mebbe yourbrother, too. Jack Zane said the renegade was hangin' round thevillage, an' that couldn't be fer no good. "

"Come on. Let's kill the fiend!" cried Joe, white to the lips. 

"I calkilate they're about a mile down stream, makin' camp fer thenight. I know the place. There's a fine spring, an, look! D'ye seethem crows flyin' round thet big oak with the bleached top? Hearthem cawin'? You might think they was chasin' a hawk, or king-birdswere arter 'em, but thet fuss they're makin' is because they seeInjuns. "

"Well?" asked Joe, impatiently. 

"It'll be moonlight a while arter midnight. We'll lay low an' wait, an' then---"

The sharp click of his teeth, like the snap of a steel trap, completed the sentence. Joe said no more, but followed the hunterinto the woods. Stopping near a fallen tree, Wetzel raked up abundle of leaves and spread them on the ground. Then he cut a fewspreading branches from a beech, and leaned them against a log. Bidding the lad crawl in before he took one last look around andthen made his way under the shelter. 

It was yet daylight, which seemed a strange time to creep into thislittle nook; but, Joe thought, it was not to sleep, only to wait, wait, wait for the long hours to pass. He was amazed once more, because, by the time twilight had given place to darkness, Wetzelwas asleep. The lad said then to himself that he would never againbe surprised at the hunter. He assumed once and for all that Wetzelwas capable of anything. Yet how could he lose himself in slumber?Feeling, as he must, over the capture of the girls; eager to draw abead on the black-hearted renegade; hating Indians with all his souland strength, and lying there but a few hours before what he knewwould be a bloody battle, Wetzel calmly went to sleep. Knowing thehunter to be as bloodthirsty as a tiger, Joe had expected he wouldrush to a combat with his foes; but, no, this man, with his keensagacity, knew when to creep upon his enemy; he bided that time, and, while he waited, slept. 

Joe could not close his eyes in slumber. Through the interstices inthe branches he saw the stars come out one by one, the darknessdeepened, and the dim outline of tall trees over the dark hill cameout sharply. The moments dragged, each one an hour. He heard awhippoorwill call, lonely and dismal; then an owl hoot monotonously. A stealthy footed animal ran along the log, sniffed at the boughs, and then scurried away over the dry leaves. By and by the deadsilence of night fell over all. Still Joe lay there wide awake, listening--his heart on fire. He was about to rescue Nell; to killthat hawk-nosed renegade; to fight Silvertip to the death. 

The hours passed, but not Joe's passionate eagerness. When at lasthe saw the crescent moon gleam silver-white over the black hilltophe knew the time was nigh, and over him ran thrill on thrill. 

Chapter XVI. 

When the waning moon rose high enough to shed a pale light overforest and field, two dark figures, moving silently from the shadeof the trees, crossed the moonlit patches of ground, out to the openplain where low on the grass hung silver mists. 

A timber wolf, gray and gaunt, came loping along with lowered nose. A new scent brought the animal to a standstill. His nose went up, his fiery eyes scanned the plain. Two men had invaded his domain, and, with a short, dismal bark, he dashed away. 

Like spectres, gliding swiftly with noiseless tread, the twovanished. The long grass had swallowed them. 

Deserted once again seemed the plain. It became unutterably lonely. No stir, no sound, no life; nothing but a wide expanse bathed insad, gray light. 

The moon shone steadily; the silver radiance mellowed; the starspaled before this brighter glory. 

Slowly the night hours wore away. 

On the other side of the plain, near where the adjoining forestloomed darkling, the tall grass parted to disclose a black form. Wasit only a deceiving shade cast by a leafy branch--only a shadow?Slowly it sank, and was lost. Once more the gray, unwavering line ofsilver-crested grass tufts was unbroken. 

Only the night breeze, wandering caressingly over the grass, mighthave told of two dark forms gliding, gliding, gliding so softly, sosurely, so surely toward the forest. Only the moon and the palestars had eyes to see these creeping figures. 

Like avengers they moved, on a mission to slay and to save!

On over the dark line where plain merged into forest they crawled. No whispering, no hesitating; but a silent, slow, certain progressshowed their purpose. In single file they slipped over the moss, theleader clearing the path. Inch by inch they advanced. Tedious wasthis slow movement, difficult and painful this journey which mustend in lightninglike speed. They rustled no leaf, nor snapped atwig, nor shook a fern, but passed onward slowly, like the approachof Death. The seconds passed as minutes; minutes as hours; an entirehour was spent in advancing twenty feet!

At last the top of the knoll was reached. The Avenger placed hishand on his follower's shoulder. The strong pressure was meant toremind, to warn, to reassure. Then, like a huge snake, the firstglided away. 

He who was left behind raised his head to look into the open placecalled the glade of the Beautiful Spring. An oval space lay beforehim, exceedingly lovely in the moonlight; a spring, as if a pearl, gemmed the center. An Indian guard stood statuelike against a stone. Other savages lay in a row, their polished heads shining. Oneslumbering form was bedecked with feathers and frills. Near him layan Indian blanket, from the border of which peered two faces, gleaming white and sad in the pitying moonlight. 

The watcher quivered at the sight of those pale faces; but he mustwait while long moments passed. He must wait for the Avenger tocreep up, silently kill the guard, and release the prisoners withoutawakening the savages. If that plan failed, he was to rush into theglade, and in the excitement make off with one of the captives. 

He lay there waiting, listening, wrought up to the intensest pitchof fierce passion. Every nerve was alert, every tendon strung, andevery muscle strained ready for the leap. 

Only the faint rustling of leaves, the low swish of swayingbranches, the soft murmur of falling water, and over all the sigh ofthe night wind, proved to him that this picture was not an evildream. His gaze sought the quiet figures, lingered hopefully on thecaptives, menacingly on the sleeping savages, and glowered over thegaudily arrayed form. His glance sought the upright guard, as hestood a dark blot against the gray stone. He saw the Indian's plume, a single feather waving silver-white. Then it became riveted on thebubbling, refulgent spring. The pool was round, perhaps five feetacross, and shone like a burnished shield. It mirrored the moon, thetwinkling stars, the spectre trees. 

An unaccountable horror suddenly swept over the watching man. Hishair stood straight up; a sensation as of cold stole chillingly overhim. Whether it was the climax of this long night's excitement, oranticipation of the bloody struggle soon to come, he knew not. Didthis boiling spring, shimmering in the sliver moon-rays, hold in itsmurky depths a secret? Did these lonesome, shadowing trees, withtheir sad drooping branches, harbor a mystery? If a future tragedywas to be enacted here in this quiet glade, could the murmuringwater or leaves whisper its portent? No; they were only silent, onlyunintelligible with nature's mystery. 

The waiting man cursed himself for a craven coward; he fought backthe benumbing sense; he steeled his heart. Was this his vauntedwillingness to share the Avenger's danger? His strong spirit rose upin arms; once more he was brave and fierce. 

He fastened a piercing gaze on the plumed guard. The Indian'slounging posture against the rock was the same as it had beenbefore, yet now it seemed to have a kind of strained attention. Thesavage's head was poised, like that of a listening deer. The waryIndian scented danger. 

A faint moan breathed low above the sound of gently splashing watersomewhere beyond the glade. 

"Woo-o-oo. "

The guard's figure stiffened, and became rigidly erect; his blanketslowly slid to his feet. 

"Ah-oo-o, " sighed the soft breeze in the tree tops. 

Louder then, with a deep wail, a moan arose out of the dark grayshadows, swelled thrilling on the still air, and died awaymournfully. 

"Um-m-mmwoo-o-o-o!"

The sentinel's form melted into the shade. He was gone like aphantom. 

Another Indian rose quickly, and glanced furtively around the glade. He bent over a comrade and shook him. Instantly the second Indianwas on his feet. Scarcely had he gained a standing posture when anobject, bounding like a dark ball, shot out of the thicket andhurled both warriors to the earth. A moonbeam glinted upon somethingbright. It flashed again on a swift, sweeping circle. A short, choking yell aroused the other savages. Up they sprang, alarmed, confused. 

The shadow-form darted among them. It moved with inconceivablerapidity; it became a monster. Terrible was the convulsive conflict. Dull blows, the click of steel, angry shouts, agonized yells, andthrashing, wrestling sounds mingled together and half drowned by anawful roar like that of a mad bull. The strife ceased as suddenly asit had begun. Warriors lay still on the grass; others writhed inagony. For an instant a fleeting shadow crossed the open laneleading out of the glade; then it vanished. 

Three savages had sprung toward their rifles. A blinding flash, aloud report burst from the thicket overhead. The foremost savagesank lifelessly. The others were intercepted by a giant shadow withbrandished rifle. The watcher on the knoll had entered the glade. Hestood before the stacked rifles and swung his heavy gun. Crash! AnIndian went down before that sweep, but rose again. The savagesbacked away from this threatening figure, and circled around it. 

The noise of the other conflict ceased. More savages joined thethree who glided to and fro before their desperate foe. They closedin upon him, only to be beaten back. One savage threw a glitteringknife, another hurled a stone, a third flung his tomahawk, whichstruck fire from the swinging rifle. 

He held them at bay. While they had no firearms he was master of thesituation. With every sweep of his arms he brought the long rifledown and knocked a flint from the firelock of an enemy's weapon. Soon the Indians' guns were useless. Slowly then he began to edgeaway from the stone, toward the opening where he had seen thefleeting form vanish. 

His intention was to make a dash for life, for he had heard a noisebehind the rock, and remembered the guard. He saw the savages glancebehind him, and anticipated danger from that direction, but he mustnot turn. A second there might be fatal. He backed defiantly alongthe rock until he gained its outer edge. But too late! The Indiansglided before him, now behind him; he was surrounded. He turnedaround and around, with the ever-circling rifle whirling in thefaces of the baffled foe. 

Once opposite the lane leading from the glade he changed histactics, and plunged with fierce impetuosity into the midst of thepainted throng. Then began a fearful conflict. The Indians fellbefore the sweep of his powerful arms; but grappled with him fromthe ground. He literally plowed his way through the struggling mass, warding off an hundred vicious blows. Savage after savage he flungoff, until at last he had a clear path before him. Freedom laybeyond that shiny path. Into it he bounded. 

As he left the glade the plumed guard stepped from behind a treenear the entrance of the path, and cast his tomahawk. 

A white, glittering flash, it flew after the fleeing runner; its aimwas true. 

Suddenly the moonlight path darkened in the runner's sight; he saw amillion flashing stars; a terrible pain assailed him; he sankslowly, slowly down; then all was darkness. 

Chapter XVII. 

Joe awoke as from a fearsome nightmare. Returning consciousnessbrought a vague idea that he had been dreaming of clashing weapons, of yelling savages, of a conflict in which he had been clutched bysinewy fingers. An acute pain pulsed through his temples; a bloodymist glazed his eyes; a sore pressure cramped his arms and legs. Surely he dreamed this distress, as well as the fight. The red filmcleared from his eyes. His wandering gaze showed the stern reality. 

The bright sun, making the dewdrops glisten on the leaves, lightedup a tragedy. Near him lay an Indian whose vacant, sightless eyeswere fixed in death. Beyond lay four more savages, the peculiar, inert position of whose limbs, the formlessness, as it were, as ifthey had been thrown from a great height and never moved again, attested that here, too, life had been extinguished. Joe took inonly one detail--the cloven skull of the nearest--when he turnedaway sickened. He remembered it all now. The advance, the rush, thefight--all returned. He saw again Wetzel's shadowy form darting likea demon into the whirl of conflict; he heard again that hoarse, booming roar with which the Avenger accompanied his blows. Joe'sgaze swept the glade, but found no trace of the hunter. 

He saw Silvertip and another Indian bathing a wound on Girty's head. The renegade groaned and writhed in pain. Near him lay Kate, withwhite face and closed eyes. She was unconscious, or dead. Jim satcrouched under a tree to which he was tied. 

"Joe, are you badly hurt?" asked the latter, in deep solicitude. 

"No, I guess not; I don't know, " answered Joe. "Is poor Kate dead?"

"No, she has fainted. "

"Where's Nell?"

"Gone, " replied Jim, lowering his voice, and glancing at theIndians. They were too busy trying to bandage Girty's head to payany attention to their prisoners. "That whirlwind was Wetzel, wasn'tit?"

"Yes; how'd you know?"

"I was awake last night. I had an oppressive feeling, perhaps apresentiment. Anyway, I couldn't sleep. I heard that wind blowthrough the forest, and thought my blood would freeze. The moan isthe same as the night wind, the same soft sigh, only louder andsomehow pregnant with superhuman power. To speak of it in broaddaylight one seems superstitious, but to hear it in the darkness ofthis lonely forest, it is fearful! I hope I am not a coward; Icertainly know I was deathly frightened. No wonder I was scared!Look at these dead Indians, all killed in a moment. I heard themoan; I saw Silvertip disappear, and the other two savages rise. Then something huge dropped from the rock; a bright object seemed tocircle round the savages; they uttered one short yell, and sank torise no more. Somehow at once I suspected that this shadowy form, with its lightninglike movements, its glittering hatchet, wasWetzel. When he plunged into the midst of the other savages Idistinctly recognized him, and saw that he had a bundle, possiblyhis coat, wrapped round his left arm, and his right hand held theglittering tomahawk. I saw him strike that big Indian there, the onelying with split skull. His wonderful daring and quickness seemed tomake the savages turn at random. He broke through the circle, swungNell under his arm, slashed at my bonds as he passed by, and thenwas gone as he had come. Not until after you were struck, andSilvertip came up to me, was I aware my bonds were cut. Wetzel'shatchet had severed them; it even cut my side, which was bleeding. Iwas free to help, to fight, and I did not know it. Fool that I am!"

"I made an awful mess of my part of the rescue, " groaned Joe. "Iwonder if the savages know it was Wetzel. "

"Do they? Well, I rather think so. Did you not hear them scream thatFrench name? As far as I am able to judge, only two Indians werekilled instantly. The others died during the night. I had to sithere, tied and helpless, listening as they groaned and called thename of their slayer, even in their death-throes. Deathwind! Theyhave named him well. "

"I guess he nearly killed Girty. "

"Evidently, but surely the evil one protects the renegade. "

"Jim Girty's doomed, " whispered Joe, earnestly. "He's as good asdead already. I've lived with Wetzel, and know him. He told me Girtyhad murdered a settler, a feeble old man, who lived near Fort Henrywith his son. The hunter has sworn to kill the renegade; but, mindyou, he did not tell me that. I saw it in his eyes. It wouldn'tsurprise me to see him jump out of these bushes at any moment. I'mlooking for it. If he knows there are only three left, he'll beafter them like a hound on a trail. Girty must hurry. Where's hetaking you?"

"To the Delaware town. "

"I don't suppose the chiefs will let any harm befall you; but Kateand I would be better off dead. If we can only delay the march, Wetzel will surely return. "

"Hush! Girty's up. "

The renegade staggered to an upright position, and leaned on theShawnee's arm. Evidently he had not been seriously injured, onlystunned. Covered with blood from a swollen, gashed lump on histemple, he certainly presented a savage appearance. 

"Where's the yellow-haired lass?" he demanded, pushing awaySilvertip's friendly arm. He glared around the glade. The Shawneeaddressed him briefly, whereupon he raged to and fro under the tree, cursing with foam-flecked lips, and actually howling with baffledrage. His fury was so great that he became suddenly weak, and wascompelled to sit down. 

"She's safe, you villainous renegade!" cried Joe. 

"Hush, Joe! Do not anger him. It can do no good, " interposed Jim. 

"Why not? We couldn't be worse off, " answered Joe. 

"I'll git her, I'll git her agin, " panted Girty. "I'll keep her, an'she'll love me. "

The spectacle of this perverted wretch speaking as if he had beencheated out of love was so remarkable, so pitiful, so monstrous, that for a moment Joe was dumbfounded. 

"Bah! You white-livered murderer!" Joe hissed. He well knew it wasnot wise to give way to his passion; but he could not help it. Thisbeast in human guise, whining for love, maddened him. "Any whitewoman on earth would die a thousand deaths and burn for a millionyears afterward rather than love you!"

"I'll see you killed at the stake, beggin' fer mercy, an' be feedfer buzzards, " croaked the renegade. 

"Then kill me now, or you may slip up on one of your cherishedbuzzard-feasts, " cried Joe, with glinting eye and taunting voice. "Then go sneaking back to your hole like a hyena, and stay there. Wetzel is on your trail! He missed you last night; but it wasbecause of the girl. He's after you, Girty; he'll get you one ofthese days, and when he does--My God!---"

Nothing could be more revolting than that swarthy, evil face turnedpale with fear. Girty's visage was a ghastly, livid white. Soearnest, so intense was Joe's voice, that it seemed to all as ifWetzel was about to dart into the glade, with his avenging tomahawkuplifted to wreak an awful vengeance on the abductor. The renegade'swhite, craven heart contained no such thing as courage. If he everfought it was like a wolf, backed by numbers. The resemblance ceasedhere, for even a cornered wolf will show his teeth, and Girty, driven to bay, would have cringed and cowered. Even now at themention of Wetzel's enmity he trembled. 

"I'll shet yer wind, " he cried, catching up his tomahawk and makingfor Joe. 

Silvertip intervened, and prevented the assault. He led Girty backto his seat and spoke low, evidently trying to soothe the renegade'sfeelings. 

"Silvertip, give me a tomahawk, and let me fight him, " implored Joe. 

"Paleface brave--like Injun chief. Paleface Shawnee's prisoner--nospeak more, " answered Silvertip, with respect in his voice. 

"Oh, where's Nellie?"

A grief-stricken whisper caught Jim's ear. He turned to see Kate'swide, questioning eyes fixed upon him. 

"Nell was rescued. "

"Thank God!" murmured the girl. 

"Come along, " shouted Girty, in his harsh voice, as, grasping Kate'sarm, he pulled the girl violently to her feet. Then, picking up hisrifle, he led her into the forest. Silvertip followed with Joe, while the remaining Indian guarded Jim. 

 * * *

The great council-lodge of the Delawares rang with savage and fieryeloquence. Wingenund paced slowly before the orators. Wise as hewas, he wanted advice before deciding what was to be done with themissionary. The brothers had been taken to the chief, whoimmediately called a council. The Indians sat in a half circlearound the lodge. The prisoners, with hands bound, guarded by twobrawny braves, stood in one corner gazing with curiosity andapprehension at this formidable array. Jim knew some of the braves, but the majority of those who spoke bitterly against the palefaceshad never frequented the Village of Peace. Nearly all were of theWolf tribe of Delawares. Jim whispered to Joe, interpreting thatpart of the speeches bearing upon the disposal to be made of them. Two white men, dressed in Indian garb, held prominent positionsbefore Wingenund. The boys saw a resemblance between one of thesemen and Jim Girty, and accordingly concluded he was the famousrenegade, or so-called white Indian, Simon Girty. The other man wasprobably Elliott, the Tory, with whom Girty had deserted from FortPitt. Jim Girty was not present. Upon nearing the encampment he hadtaken his captive and disappeared in a ravine. 

Shingiss, seldom in favor of drastic measures with prisoners, eloquently urged initiating the brothers into the tribe. Severalother chiefs were favorably inclined, though not so positive asShingiss. Kotoxen was for the death penalty; the implacable Pipe fornothing less than burning at the stake. Not one was for returningthe missionary to his Christian Indians. Girty and Elliott, thoughrequested to speak, maintained an ominous silence. 

Wingenund strode with thoughtful mien before his council. He hadheard all his wise chiefs and his fiery warriors. Supreme was hispower. Freedom or death for the captives awaited the wave of hishand. His impassive face gave not the slightest inkling of what toexpect. Therefore the prisoners were forced to stand there withthrobbing hearts while the chieftain waited the customary dignifiedinterval before addressing the council. 

"Wingenund has heard the Delaware wise men and warriors. The whiteIndian opens not his lips; his silence broods evil for thepalefaces. Pipe wants the blood of the white men; the Shawnee chiefdemands the stake. Wingenund says free the white father who harms noIndian. Wingenund hears no evil in the music of his voice. The whitefather's brother should die. Kill the companion of Deathwind!"

A plaintive murmur, remarkable when coming from an assembly ofstern-browed chiefs, ran round the circle at the mention of thedread appellation. 

"The white father is free, " continued Wingenund. "Let one of myrunners conduct him to the Village of Peace. "

A brave entered and touched Jim on the shoulder. 

Jim shook his head and pointed to Joe. The runner touched Joe. 

"No, no. I am not the missionary, " cried Joe, staring aghast at hisbrother. "Jim, have you lost your senses?"

Jim sadly shook his head, and turning to Wingenund made known in abroken Indian dialect that his brother was the missionary, and wouldsacrifice himself, taking this opportunity to practice theChristianity he had taught. 

"The white father is brave, but he is known, " broke in Wingenund'sdeep voice, while he pointed to the door of the lodge. "Let him goback to his Christian Indians. "

The Indian runner cut Joe's bonds, and once more attempted to leadhim from the lodge. Rage and misery shown in the lad's face. Hepushed the runner aside. He exhausted himself trying to explain, tothink of Indian words enough to show he was not the missionary. Heeven implored Girty to speak for him. When the renegade sat therestolidly silent Joe's rage burst out. 

"Curse you all for a lot of ignorant redskins. I am not amissionary. I am Deathwind's friend. I killed a Delaware. I was thecompanion of Le Vent de la Mort!"

Joe's passionate vehemence, and the truth that spoke from hisflashing eyes compelled the respect, if not the absolute belief ofthe Indians. The savages slowly shook their heads. They beheld thespectacle of two brothers, one a friend, the other an enemy of allIndians, each willing to go to the stake, to suffer an awful agony, for love of the other. Chivalrous deeds always stir an Indian'sheart. It was like a redman to die for his brother. Theindifference, the contempt for death, won their admiration. 

"Let the white father stand forth, " sternly called Wingenund. 

A hundred somber eyes turned on the prisoners. Except that one worea buckskin coat, the other a linsey one, there was no difference. The strong figures were the same, the white faces alike, the sternresolve in the gray eyes identical--they were twin brothers. 

Wingenund once more paced before his silent chiefs. To deal rightlywith this situation perplexed him. To kill both palefaces did notsuit him. Suddenly he thought of a way to decide. 

"Let Wingenund's daughter come, " he ordered. 

A slight, girlish figure entered. It was Whispering Winds. Herbeautiful face glowed while she listened to her father. 

"Wingenund's daughter has her mother's eyes, that were beautiful asa doe's, keen as a hawk's, far-seeing as an eagle's. Let theDelaware maiden show her blood. Let her point out the white father. "

Shyly but unhesitatingly Whispering Winds laid her hand Jim's arm. 

"Missionary, begone!" came the chieftain's command. "ThankWingenund's daughter for your life, not the God of your Christians!"

He waved his hand to the runner. The brave grasped Jim's arm. 

"Good-by, Joe, " brokenly said Jim. 

"Old fellow, good-by, " came the answer. 

They took one last, long look into each others' eyes. Jim's glancebetrayed his fear--he would never see his brother again. The lightin Joe's eyes was the old steely flash, the indomitablespirit--while there was life there was hope. 

"Let the Shawnee chief paint his prisoner black, " commandedWingenund. 

When the missionary left the lodge with the runner, Whispering Windshad smiled, for she had saved him whom she loved to hear speak; butthe dread command that followed paled her cheek. Black paint meanthideous death. She saw this man so like the white father. Herpiteous gaze tried to turn from that white face; but the cold, steely eyes fascinated her. 

She had saved one only to be the other's doom!

She had always been drawn toward white men. Many prisoners had sherescued. She had even befriended her nation's bitter foe, Deathwind. She had listened to the young missionary with rapture; she had beenhis savior. And now when she looked into the eyes of this younggiant, whose fate had rested on her all unwitting words, sheresolved to save him. 

She had been a shy, shrinking creature, fearing to lift her eyes toa paleface's, but now they were raised clear and steadfast. 

As she stepped toward the captive and took his hand, her wholeperson radiated with conscious pride in her power. It was theknowledge that she could save. When she kissed his hand, and kneltbefore him, she expressed a tender humility. 

She had claimed questionable right of an Indian maiden; she askedwhat no Indian dared refuse a chief's daughter; she took thepaleface for her husband. 

Her action was followed by an impressive silence. She remainedkneeling. Wingenund resumed his slow march to and fro. Silvertipretired to his corner with gloomy face. The others bowed their headsas if the maiden's decree was irrevocable. 

Once more the chieftain's sonorous command rang out. An old Indian, wrinkled and worn, weird of aspect, fanciful of attire, entered thelodge and waved his wampum wand. He mumbled strange words, anddeparted chanting a long song. 

Whispering Winds arose, a soft, radiant smile playing over her face, and, still holding Joe's hand, she led him out of the lodge, throughlong rows of silent Indians, down a land bordered by teepees, hefollowing like one in a dream. 

He expected to awaken at any minute to see the stars shining throughthe leaves. Yet he felt the warm, soft pressure of a little hand. Surely this slender, graceful figure was real. 

She bade him enter a lodge of imposing proportions. Still silent, inamazement and gratitude, he obeyed. 

The maiden turned to Joe. Though traces of pride still lingered, allher fire had vanished. Her bosom rose with each quick-pantingbreath; her lips quivered, she trembled like a trapped doe. 

But at last the fluttering lashes rose. Joe saw two velvety eyesdark with timid fear, yet veiling in their lustrous depths anunuttered hope and love. 

"Whispering Winds--save--paleface, " she said, in a voice low andtremulous. "Fear--father. Fear--tell--Wingenund--she--Christian. "

 * * *

Indian summer, that enchanted time, unfolded its golden, dreamy hazeover the Delaware village. The forests blazed with autumn fire, themeadows boomed in rich luxuriance. All day low down in the valleyshung a purple smoke which changed, as the cool evening shades creptout of the woodland, into a cloud of white mist. All day the astersalong the brooks lifted golden-brown faces to the sun as if to catchthe warning warmth of his smile. All day the plains and forests layin melancholy repose. The sad swish of the west wind over the tallgrass told that he was slowly dying away before his enemy, the northwind. The sound of dropping nuts was heard under the motionlesstrees. 

For Joe the days were days of enchantment. His wild heart had foundits mate. A willing captive he was now. All his fancy for otherwomen, all his memories faded into love for his Indian bride. 

Whispering Winds charmed the eye, mind, and heart. Every day herbeauty seemed renewed. She was as apt to learn as she was quick toturn her black-crowned head, but her supreme beauty was her loving, innocent soul. Untainted as the clearest spring, it mirrored thepurity and simplicity of her life. Indian she might be, one of arace whose morals and manners were alien to the man she loved, yetshe would have added honor to the proudest name. 

When Whispering Winds raised her dark eyes they showed radiant as alone star; when she spoke low her voice made music. 

"Beloved, " she whispered one day to him, "teach the Indian maidenmore love for you, and truth, and God. Whispering Winds yearns to goto the Christians, but she fears her stern father. Wingenund wouldburn the Village of Peace. The Indian tribes tremble before thethunder of his wrath. Be patient, my chief. Time changes the leaves, so it will the anger of the warriors. Whispering Winds will set youfree, and be free herself to go far with you toward the rising sun, where dwell your people. She will love, and be constant, as thenorthern star. Her love will be an eternal spring where blossomsbloom ever anew, and fresh, and sweet. She will love your people, and raise Christian children, and sit ever in the door of your homepraying for the west wind to blow. Or, if my chief wills, we shalllive the Indian life, free as two eagles on their lonely crag. "

Although Joe gave himself up completely to his love for his bride, he did not forget that Kate was in the power of the renegade, andthat he must rescue her. Knowing Girty had the unfortunate girlssomewhere near the Delaware encampment, he resolved to find theplace. Plans of all kinds he resolved in his mind. The best one hebelieved lay through Whispering Winds. First to find the whereaboutsof Girty; kill him if possible, or at least free Kate, and then getaway with her and his Indian bride. Sanguine as he invariably was, he could not but realize the peril of this undertaking. IfWhispering Winds betrayed her people, it meant death to her as wellas to him. He would far rather spend the remaining days of his lifein the Indian village, than doom the maiden whose love had savedhim. Yet he thought he might succeed in getting away with her, andplanned to that end. His natural spirit, daring, reckless, hadgained while he was associated with Wetzel. 

Meanwhile he mingled freely with the Indians, and here, aselsewhere, his winning personality, combined with his athleticprowess, soon made him well liked. He was even on friendly termswith Pipe. The swarthy war chief liked Joe because, despite theanimosity he had aroused in some former lovers of Whispering Winds, he actually played jokes on them. In fact, Joe's pranks raised manya storm; but the young braves who had been suitors for Wingenund'slovely daughter, feared the muscular paleface, and the tribe'sridicule more; so he continued his trickery unmolested. Joe's ideawas to lead the savages to believe he was thoroughly happy in hisnew life, and so he was, but it suited him better to be free. Hesucceeded in misleading the savages. At first he was closelywatched, the the vigilance relaxed, and finally ceased. 

This last circumstance was owing, no doubt, to a ferment ofexcitement that had suddenly possessed the Delawares. Council aftercouncil was held in the big lodge. The encampment was visited byrunner after runner. Some important crisis was pending. 

Joe could not learn what it all meant, and the fact that WhisperingWinds suddenly lost her gladsome spirit and became sad caused himfurther anxiety. When he asked her the reason for her unhappiness, she was silent. Moreover, he was surprised to learn, when hequestioned her upon the subject of their fleeing together, that shewas eager to go immediately. While all this mystery puzzled Joe, itdid not make any difference to him or in his plans. It ratherfavored the latter. He understood that the presence of Simon Girtyand Elliott, with several other renegades unknown to him, wassignificant of unrest among the Indians. These presagers of evilwere accustomed to go from village to village, exciting the savagesto acts of war. Peace meant the downfall and death of these men. They were busy all day and far into the night. Often Joe heardGirty's hoarse voice lifted in the council lodge. Pipe thunderedincessantly for war. But Joe could not learn against whom. Elliott'ssuave, oily oratory exhorted the Indians to vengeance. But Joe couldnot guess upon whom. He was, however, destined to learn. 

The third day of the councils a horseman stopped before WhisperingWinds' lodge, and called out. Stepping to the door, Joe saw a whiteman, whose dark, keen, handsome face seemed familiar. Yet Joe knewhe had never seen this stalwart man. 

"A word with you, " said the stranger. His tone was curt, authoritative, as that of a man used to power. 

"As many as you like. Who are you?"

"I am Isaac Zane. Are you Wetzel's companion, or the renegadeDeering?"

"I am not a renegade any more than you are. I was rescued by theIndian girl, who took me as her husband, " said Joe coldly. He wassurprised, and did not know what to make of Zane's manner. 

"Good! I'm glad to meet you, " instantly replied Zane, his tone andexpression changing. He extended his hand to Joe. "I wanted to besure. I never saw the renegade Deering. He is here now. I am on myway to the Wyandot town. I have been to Fort Henry, where my brothertold me of you and the missionaries. When I arrived here I heardyour story from Simon Girty. If you can, you must get away fromhere. If I dared I'd take you to the Huron village, but it'simpossible. Go, while you have a chance. "

"Zane, I thank you. I've suspected something was wrong. What is it?"

"Couldn't be worse, " whispered Zane, glancing round to see if theywere overheard. "Girty and Elliott, backed by this Deering, aregrowing jealous of the influence of Christianity on the Indians. They are plotting against the Village of Peace. Tarhe, the Huronchief, has been approached, and asked to join in a concertedmovement against religion. Seemingly it is not so much themissionaries as the converted Indians, that the renegades are fumingover. They know if the Christian savages are killed, the strength ofthe missionaries' hold will be forever broken. Pipe is wild forblood. These renegades are slowly poisoning the minds of the fewchiefs who are favorably disposed. The outlook is bad! bad!"

"What can I do?"

"Cut out for yourself. Get away, if you can, with a gun. Take thecreek below, follow the current down to the Ohio, and then make eastfor Fort Henry. 

"But I want to rescue the white girl Jim Girty has concealed heresomewhere. "

"Impossible! Don't attempt it unless you want to throw your lifeaway. Buzzard Jim, as we call Girty, is a butcher; he has probablymurdered the girl. "

"I won't leave without trying. And there's my wife, the Indian girlwho saved me. Zane, she's a Christian. She wants to go with me. Ican't leave her. "

"I am warning you, that's all. If I were you I'd never leave withouta try to find the white girl, and I'd never forsake my Indian bride. I've been through the same thing. You must be a good woodsman, orWetzel wouldn't have let you stay with him. Pick out a favorabletime and make the attempt. I suggest you make your Indian girl showyou where Girty is. She knows, but is afraid to tell you, for shefears Girty. Get your dog and horse from the Shawnee. That's a finehorse. He can carry you both to safety. Take him away fromSilvertip. "

"How?"

"Go right up and demand your horse and dog. Most of these Delawaresare honest, for all their blood-shedding and cruelty. With themmight is right. The Delawares won't try to get your horse for you;but they'll stick to you when you assert your rights. They don'tlike the Shawnee, anyhow. If Silvertip refuses to give you thehorse, grab him before he can draw a weapon, and beat him good. You're big enough to do it. The Delawares will be tickled to see youpound him. He's thick with Girty; that's why he lays round here. Take my word, it's the best way. Do it openly, and no one willinterfere. "

"By Heavens, Zane, I'll give him a drubbing. I owe him one, and amitching to get hold of him. "

"I must go now. I shall send a Wyandot runner to your brother at thevillage. They shall be warned. Good-by. Good luck. May we meetagain. "

Joe watched Zane ride swiftly down the land and disappear in theshrubbery. Whispering Winds came to the door of the lodge. Shelooked anxiously at him. He went within, drawing her along with him, and quickly informed her that he had learned the cause of thecouncil, that he had resolved to get away, and she must find outGirty's hiding place. Whispering Winds threw herself into his arms, declaring with an energy and passion unusual to her, that she wouldrisk anything for him. She informed Joe that she knew the directionfrom which Girty always returned to the village. No doubt she couldfind his retreat. With a cunning that showed her Indian nature, shesuggested a plan which Joe at once saw was excellent. After Joe gothis horse, she would ride around the village, then off into thewoods, where she could leave the horse and return to say he had runaway from her. As was their custom during afternoons, they wouldwalk leisurely along the brook, and, trusting to the excitementcreated by the councils, get away unobserved. Find the horse, ifpossible 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 thecouncil lodge. The Shawnee was leading Lance, and the dog followedat his heels. The spirit of Mose had been broken. Poor dog, Joethought, he had been beaten until he was afraid to wag his tail athis old master. Joe's resentment blazed into fury, but he kept cooloutwardly. 

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 loudvoice. 

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

"Paleface--heap--liar, " growled the Indian. His dark eyes glowedcraftily, while his hand dropped, apparently in careless habit, tothe 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 drewhis weapon and attempted to rise, but the moment's delay in seizingthe hatchet, was fatal to his design. Joe was upon him withtigerlike suddenness. One kick sent the tomahawk spinning, anotherlanded the Shawnee again on the ground. Blind with rage, Silvertipleaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but theIndian 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 Indianwhen he was off his balance, and felled him, battered and bloody, onthe grass. The surrounding Indians looked down at the vanquishedShawnee, 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 himwith joyful face. She had feared the outcome of trouble with theShawnee, but no queen ever bestowed upon returning victorious lord aloftier look of pride, a sweeter glance of love, than the Indianmaiden bent upon her lover. 

Whispering Winds informed Joe that an important council was to beheld that afternoon. It would be wise for them to make the attemptto get away immediately after the convening of the chiefs. Accordingly she got upon Lance and rode him up and down the villagelane, much to the pleasure of the watching Indians. She scatteredthe idle crowds on the grass plots, she dashed through the sidestreets, and let every one in the encampment see her clinging to theblack stallion. Then she rode him out along the creek. Accustomed toher imperious will, the Indians thought nothing unusual. When shereturned an hour later, with flying hair and disheveled costume, noone paid particular attention to her. 

That afternoon Joe and his bride were the favored of fortune. WithMose running before them, they got clear of the encampment and intothe woods. Once in the forest Whispering Winds rapidly led the wayeast. When they climbed to the top of a rocky ridge she pointed downinto a thicket before her, saying that somewhere in this densehollow was Girty's hut. Joe hesitated about taking Mose. He wantedthe dog, but in case he had to run it was necessary Whispering Windsshould find his trail, and for this he left the dog with her. 

He started down the ridge, and had not gone a hundred paces whenover some gray boulders he saw the thatched roof of a hut. So wildand secluded was the spot, that he would never have discovered thecabin from any other point than this, which he had been so fortunateas to find. 

His study and practice under Wetzel now stood him in good stead. Hepicked out the best path over the rough stones and through thebrambles, always keeping under cover. He stepped as carefully as ifthe hunter was behind him. Soon he reached level ground. A denselaurel thicket hid the cabin, but he knew the direction in which itlay. Throwing himself flat on the ground, he wormed his way throughthe thicket, carefully, yet swiftly, because he knew there was notime to lose. Finally the rear of the cabin stood in front of him. 

It was made of logs, rudely hewn, and as rudely thrown together. Inseveral places clay had fallen from chinks between the timbers, leaving small holes. Like a snake Joe slipped close to the hut. Raising his head he looked through one of the cracks. 

Instantly he shrank back into the grass, shivering with horror. Healmost choked in his attempt to prevent an outcry. 

Chapter XVIII. 

The sight which Joe had seen horrified him, for several moments, into helpless inaction. He lay breathing heavily, impotent, in anawful rage. As he remained there stunned by the shock, he gazed upthrough the open space in the leaves, trying to still his fury, torealize the situation, to make no hasty move. The soft blue of thesky, the fleecy clouds drifting eastward, the fluttering leaves andthe twittering birds--all assured him he was wide awake. He hadfound Girty's den where so many white women had been hidden, to seefriends and home no more. He had seen the renegade sleeping, calmlysleeping like any other man. How could the wretch sleep! He had seenKate. It had been the sight of her that had paralyzed him. To make acertainty of his fears, he again raised himself to peep into thehole. As he did so a faint cry came from within. 

Girty lay on a buffalo robe near a barred door. Beyond him sat Kate, huddled in one corner of the cabin. A long buckskin thong wasknotted round her waist, and tied to a log. Her hair was matted andtangled, and on her face and arms were many discolored bruises. Worse still, in her plaintive moaning, in the meaningless movementof her head, in her vacant expression, was proof that her mind hadgone. She was mad. Even as an agonizing pity came over Joe, to befollowed by the surging fire of rage, blazing up in his breast, hecould not but thank God that she was mad! It was merciful that Katewas no longer conscious of her suffering. 

Like leaves in a storm wavered Joe's hands as he clenched them untilthe nails brought blood. "Be calm, be cool, " whispered his monitor, Wetzel, ever with him in spirit. But God! Could he be cool? Boundingwith lion-spring he hurled his heavy frame against the door. 

Crash! The door was burst from its fastenings. 

Girty leaped up with startled yell, drawing his knife as he rose. Ithad not time to descend before Joe's second spring, more fierce eventhan the other, carried him directly on top of the renegade. As thetwo went down Joe caught the villain's wrist with a grip thatliterally cracked the bones. The knife fell and rolled away from thestruggling men. For an instant they tumbled about on the floor, clasped in a crushing embrace. The renegade was strong, supple, slippery as an eel. Twice he wriggled from his foe. Gnashing histeeth, he fought like a hyena. He was fighting for life--life, whichis never so dear as to a coward and a murderer. Doom glared fromJoe's big eyes, and scream after scream issued from the renegade'swhite lips. 

Terrible was this struggle, but brief. Joe seemingly had thestrength of ten men. Twice he pulled Girty down as a wolf drags adeer. He dashed him against the wall, throwing him nearing andnearer the knife. Once within reach of the blade Joe struck therenegade a severe blow on the temple and the villain's wrestlingbecame weaker. Planting his heavy knee on Girty's breast, Joereached for the knife, and swung it high. Exultantly he cried, madwith lust for the brute's blood. 

But the slight delay saved Girty's life. 

The knife was knocked from Joe's hand and he leaped erect to findhimself confronted by Silvertip. The chief held a tomahawk withwhich he had struck the weapon from the young man's grasp, and, tojudge from his burning eyes and malignant smile, he meant to brainthe now defenseless paleface. 

In a single fleeting instant Joe saw that Girty was helpless for themoment, that Silvertip was confident of his revenge, and that thesituation called for Wetzel's characteristic advice, "act likelightnin'. "

Swifter than the thought was the leap he made past Silvertip. Itcarried him to a wooden bar which lay on the floor. Escape was easy, for the door was before him and the Shawnee behind, but Joe did notflee! He seized the bar and rushed at the Indian. Then began a duelin which the savage's quickness and cunning matched the white man'sstrength and fury. Silvertip dodged the vicious swings Joe aimed athim; he parried many blows, any one of which would have crushed hisskull. Nimble as a cat, he avoided every rush, while his dark eyeswatched for an opening. He fought wholly on the defensive, craftilyreserving his strength until his opponent should tire. 

At last, catching the bar on his hatchet, he broke the force of theblow, and then, with agile movement, dropped to the ground andgrappled Joe's legs. Long before this he had drawn his knife, andnow he used it, plunging the blade into the young man's side. 

Cunning and successful as was the savage's ruse, it failed signally, for to get hold of the Shawnee was all Joe wanted. Feeling the sharppain as they fell together, he reached his hand behind him andcaught Silvertip's wrist. Exerting all his power, he wrenched theIndian's arm so that it was not only dislocated, but the bonescracked. 

Silvertip saw his fatal mistake, but he uttered no sound. Crippled, though he was, he yet made a supreme effort, but it was as if he hadbeen in the hands of a giant. The lad handled him with remorselessand resistless fury. Suddenly he grasped the knife, which Silvertiphad been unable to hold with his crippled hand, and thrust it deeplyinto the Indian's side. 

All Silvertip's muscles relaxed as if a strong tension had beenremoved. Slowly his legs straightened, his arms dropped, and fromhis side gushed a dark flood. A shadow crept over his face, not darknor white, but just a shadow. His eyes lost their hate; they nolonger saw the foe, they looked beyond with gloomy question, andthen were fixed cold in death. Silvertip died as he had lived--achief. 

Joe glared round for Girty. He was gone, having slipped away duringthe fight. The lad turned to release the poor prisoner, when hestarted back with a cry of fear. Kate lay bathed in a pool ofblood--dead. The renegade, fearing she might be rescued, hadmurdered her, and then fled from the cabin. 

Almost blinded by horror, and staggering with weakness, Joe turnedto leave the cabin. Realizing that he was seriously, perhapsdangerously, wounded he wisely thought he must not leave the placewithout weapons. He had marked the pegs where the renegade's riflehung, and had been careful to keep between that and his enemies. Hetook down the gun and horns, which were attached to it, and, withone last shuddering glance at poor Kate, left the place. 

He was conscious of a queer lightness in his head, but he sufferedno pain. His garments were dripping with blood. He did not know howmuch of it was his, or the Indian's. Instinct rather than sight washis guide. He grew weaker and weaker; his head began to whirl, yethe kept on, knowing that life and freedom were his if he foundWhispering Winds. He gained the top of the ridge; his eyes wereblurred, his strength gone. He called aloud, and then plungedforward on his face. He heard dimly, as though the sound were afaroff, the whine of a dog. He felt something soft and wet on his face. Then consciousness left him. 

When he regained his senses he was lying on a bed of ferns under aprojecting rock. He heard the gurgle of running water mingling withthe song of birds. Near him lay Mose, and beyond rose a wall ofgreen thicket. Neither Whispering Winds nor his horse was visible. 

He felt a dreamy lassitude. He was tired, but had no pain. Findinghe could move without difficulty, he concluded his weakness was morefrom loss of blood than a dangerous wound. He put his hand on theplace where he had been stabbed, and felt a soft, warm compress suchas might have been made by a bunch of wet leaves. Some one hadunlaced his hunting-shirt--for he saw the strings were not as heusually tied them--and had dressed the wound. Joe decided, aftersome deliberation, that Whispering Winds had found him, made him ascomfortable as possible, and, leaving Mose on guard, had gone out tohunt for food, or perhaps back to the Indian encampment. The rifleand horns he had taken from Girty's hut, together with Silvertip'sknife, lay beside him. 

As Joe lay there hoping for Whispering Winds' return, hisreflections were not pleasant. Fortunate, indeed, he was to bealive; but he had no hope he could continue to be favored byfortune. Odds were now against his escape. Girty would have theDelawares on his trail like a pack of hungry wolves. He could notunderstand the absence of Whispering Winds. She would have diedsooner than desert him. Girty had, perhaps, captured her, and wasnow scouring the woods for him. 

"I'll get him next time, or he'll get me, " muttered Joe, in bitterwrath. He could never forgive himself for his failure to kill therenegade. 

The recollection of how nearly he had forever ended Girty's brutalcareer brought before Joe's mind the scene of the fight. He sawagain Buzzard Jim's face, revolting, unlike anything human. Therestretched Silvertip's dark figure, lying still and stark, and therewas Kate's white form in its winding, crimson wreath of blood. Hauntingly her face returned, sad, stern in its cold rigidity. 

"Poor girl, better for her to be dead, " he murmured. "Not long willshe be unavenged!"

His thoughts drifted to the future. He had no fear of starvation, for Mose could catch a rabbit or woodchuck at any time. When thestrips of meat he had hidden in his coat were gone, he could start afire and roast more. What concerned him most was pursuit. His trailfrom the cabin had been a bloody one, which would render it easilyfollowed. He dared not risk exertion until he had given his woundtime to heal. Then, if he did escape from Girty and the Delawares, his future was not bright. His experiences of the last few days hadnot only sobered, but brought home to him this real border life. With all his fire and daring he new he was no fool. He had eagerlyembraced a career which, at the present stage of his training, wasbeyond his scope--not that he did not know how to act in suddencrises, but because he had not had the necessary practice to quicklyand surely use his knowledge. 

Bitter, indeed, was his self-scorn when he recalled that of theseveral critical positions he had been in since his acquaintancewith Wetzel, he had failed in all but one. The exception was thekilling of Silvertip. Here his fury had made him fight as Wetzelfought with only his every day incentive. He realized that theborder was no place for any save the boldest and most experiencedhunters--men who had become inured to hardship, callous as to death, keen as Indians. Fear was not in Joe nor lack of confidence; but hehad good sense, and realized he would have done a wiser thing had hestayed at Fort Henry. Colonel Zane was right. The Indians weretigers, the renegades vultures, the vast untrammeled forests andplains their covert. Ten years of war had rendered this wilderness aplace where those few white men who had survived were hardened tothe spilling of blood, stern even in those few quiet hours whichperil allowed them, strong in their sacrifice of all for futuregenerations. 

A low growl from Mose broke into Joe's reflections. The dog hadraised his nose from his paws and sniffed suspiciously at the air. The lad heard a slight rustling outside, and in another moment wasoverjoyed at seeing Whispering Winds. She came swiftly, with alithe, graceful motion, and flying to him like a rush of wind, kneltbeside him. She kissed him and murmured words of endearment. 

"Winds, where have you been?" he asked her, in the mixed English andIndian dialect in which they conversed. 

She told him the dog had led her to him two evenings before. He wasinsensible. She had bathed and bandaged his wound, and remained withhim all that night. The next day, finding he was ill and delirious, she decided to risk returning to the village. If any questionsarose, she could say he had left her. Then she would find a way toget back to him, bringing healing herbs for his wound and a soothingdrink. As it turned out Girty had returned to the camp. He wasbattered and bruised, and in a white heat of passion. Going at onceto Wingenund, the renegade openly accused Whispering Winds of aidingher paleface lover to escape. Wingenund called his daughter beforehim, and questioned her. She confessed all to her father. 

"Why is the daughter of Wingenund a traitor to her race?" demandedthe chief. 

"Whispering Winds is a Christian. "

Wingenund received this intelligence as a blow. He dismissed Girtyand sent his braves from his lodge, facing his daughter alone. Gloomy and stern, he paced before her. 

"Wingenund's blood might change, but would never betray. Wingenundis the Delaware chief, " he said. "Go. Darken no more the door ofWingenund's wigwam. Let the flower of the Delawares fade in alienpastures. Go. Whispering Winds is free!"

Tears shone brightly in the Indian girl's eyes while she told Joeher story. She loved her father, and she would see him no more. 

"Winds is free, " she whispered. "When strength returns to her mastershe can follow him to the white villages. Winds will live her lifefor him. "

"Then we have no one to fear?" asked Joe. 

"No redman, now that the Shawnee chief is dead. "

"Will Girty follow us? He is a coward; he will fear to come alone. "

"The white savage is a snake in the grass. "

Two long days followed, during which the lovers lay quietly inhiding. On the morning of the third day Joe felt that he might riskthe start for the Village of Peace. Whispering Winds led the horsebelow a stone upon which the invalid stood, thus enabling him tomount. Then she got on behind him. 

The sun was just gilding the horizon when they rode out of the woodsinto a wide plain. No living thing could be seen. Along the edge ofthe forest the ground was level, and the horse traveled easily. Several times during the morning Joe dismounted beside a pile ofstones or a fallen tree. The miles were traversed without seriousinconvenience to the invalid, except that he grew tired. Toward themiddle of the afternoon, when they had ridden perhaps twenty-fivemiles, they crossed a swift, narrow brook. The water was a beautifulclear brown. Joe made note of this, as it was an unusualcircumstance. Nearly all the streams, when not flooded, were greenin color. He remembered that during his wanderings with Wetzel theyhad found one stream of this brown, copper-colored water. The ladknew he must take a roundabout way to the village so that he mightavoid Indian runners or scouts, and he hoped this stream would proveto be the one he had once camped upon. 

As they were riding toward a gentle swell or knoll covered withtrees and shrubbery, Whispering Winds felt something warm on herhand, and, looking, was horrified to find it covered with blood. Joe's wound had opened. She told him they must dismount here, andremain until he was stronger. The invalid himself thought thisconclusion was wise. They would be practically safe now, since theymust be out of the Indian path, and many miles from the encampment. Accordingly he got off the horse, and sat down on a log, whileWhispering Winds searched for a suitable place in which to erect atemporary shelter. 

Joe's wandering gaze was arrested by a tree with a huge knottyformation near the ground. It was like many trees, but thispeculiarity was not what struck Joe. He had seen it before. He neverforgot anything in the woods that once attracted his attention. Helooked around on all sides. Just behind him was an opening in theclump of trees. Within this was a perpendicular stone covered withmoss and lichens; above it a beech tree spread long, gracefulbranches. He thrilled with the remembrance these familiar marksbrought. This was Beautiful Spring, the place where Wetzel rescuedNell, where he had killed the Indians in that night attack he wouldnever forget. 

Chapter XIX. 

One evening a week or more after the disappearance of Jim and thegirls, George Young and David Edwards, the missionaries, sat on thecabin steps, gazing disconsolately upon the forest scenery. Hard ashad been the ten years of their labor among the Indians, nothing hadshaken them as the loss of their young friends. 

"Dave, I tell you your theory about seeing them again is absurd, "asserted George. "I'll never forget that wretch, Girty, as he spoketo Nell. Why, she just wilted like a flower blasted by fire. I can'tunderstand why he let me go, and kept Jim, unless the Shawnee hadsomething to do with it. I never wished until now that I was ahunter. I'd go after Girty. You've heard as well as I of his manyatrocities. I'd rather have seen Kate and Nell dead than have themfall into his power. I'd rather have killed them myself!"

Young had aged perceptibly in these last few days. The blue veinsshowed at his temples; his face had become thinner and paler, hiseyes had a look of pain. The former expression of patience, whichhad sat so well on him, was gone. 

"George, I can't account for my fancies or feelings, else, perhaps, I'd be easier in mind, " answered Dave. His face, too, showed theravages of grief. "I've had queer thoughts lately, and dreams suchas I never had before. Perhaps it's this trouble which has made meso nervous. I don't seem able to pull myself together. I can neitherpreach nor work. "

"Neither can I! This trouble has hit you as hard as it has me. But, Dave, we've still our duty. To endure, to endure--that is our life. Because a beam of sunshine brightened, for a brief time, the gray ofour lives, and then faded away, we must not shirk nor grow sour anddiscontented. "

"But how cruel is this border life!"

"Nature itself is brutal. "

"Yes, I know, and we have elected to spend our lives here in themidst of this ceaseless strife, to fare poorly, to have no pleasure, never to feel the comfort of a woman's smiles, nor the joy of achild's caress, all because out in the woods are ten or twenty or ahundred savages we may convert. "

"That is why, and it is enough. It is hard to give up the women youlove to a black-souled renegade, but that is not for my thought. What kills me is the horror for her--for her. "

"I, too, suffer with that thought; more than that, I am morbid anddepressed. I feel as if some calamity awaited us here. I have neverbeen superstitious, nor have I had presentiments, but of late thereare strange fears in my mind. "

At this juncture Mr. Wells and Heckewelder came out of the adjoiningcabin. 

"I had word from a trustworthy runner to-day. Girty and his captiveshave not been seen in the Delaware towns, " said Heckewelder. 

"It is most unlikely that he will take them to the towns, " repliedEdwards. "What do you make of his capturing Jim?"

"For Pipe, perhaps. The Delaware Wolf is snapping his teeth. Pipe isparticularly opposed to Christianity, and--what's that?"

A low whistle from the bushes near the creek bank attracted theattention of all. The younger men got up to investigate, butHeckewelder detained them. 

"Wait, " he added. "There is no telling what that signal may mean. "

They waited with breathless interest. Presently the whistle wasrepeated, and an instant later the tall figure of a man stepped frombehind a thicket. He was a white man, but not recognizable at thatdistance, even if a friend. The stranger waved his hand as if askingthem to be cautious, and come to him. 

They went toward the thicket, and when within a few paces of the manMr. Wells exclaimed:

"It's the man who guided my party to the village. It is Wetzel!"

The other missionaries had never seen the hunter though, of course, they were familiar with his name, and looked at him with greatcuriosity. The hunter's buckskin garments were wet, torn, andcovered with burrs. Dark spots, evidently blood stains, showed onhis hunting-shirt. 

"Wetzel?" interrogated Heckewelder. 

The hunter nodded, and took a step behind the bush. Bending over helifted something from the ground. It was a girl. It was Nell! Shewas very white--but alive. A faint, glad smile lighted up herfeatures. 

Not a word was spoken. With an expression of tender compassion Mr. Wells received her into his arms. The four missionaries turnedfearful, questioning eyes upon the hunter, but they could not speak. 

"She's well, an' unharmed, " said Wetzel, reading their thoughts, "only worn out. I've carried her these ten miles. "

"God bless you, Wetzel!" exclaimed the old missionary. "Nellie, Nellie, can you speak?"

"Uncle dear--I'm--all right, " came the faint answer. 

"Kate? What--of her?" whispered George Young with lips as dry ascorn husks. 

"I did my best, " said the hunter with a simple dignity. Nothing butthe agonized appeal in the young man's eyes could have made Wetzelspeak of his achievement. 

"Tell us, " broke in Heckewelder, seeing that fear had strickenGeorge dumb. 

"We trailed 'em an' got away with the golden-haired lass. The last Isaw of Joe he was braced up agin a rock fightin' like a wildcat. Itried to cut Jim loose as I was goin' by. I s'pect the wust fer thebrothers an' the other lass. "

"Can we do nothing?" asked Mr. Wells. 

"Nothin'!"

"Wetzel, has the capturing of James Downs any significance to you?"inquired Heckewelder. 

"I reckon so. "

"What?"

"Pipe an' his white-redskin allies are agin Christianity. "

"Do you think we are in danger?"

"I reckon so. "

"What do you advise?"

"Pack up a few of your traps, take the lass, an' come with me. I'llsee you back in Fort Henry. "

Heckewelder nervously walked up to the tree and back again. Youngand Edwards looked blankly at one another. They both rememberedEdward's presentiment. Mr. Wells uttered an angry exclamation. 

"You ask us to fail in our duty? No, never! To go back to the whitesettlements and acknowledge we were afraid to continue teaching theGospel to the Indians! You can not understand Christianity if youadvise that. You have no religion. You are a killer of Indians. "

A shadow that might have been one of pain flitted over the hunter'sface. 

"No, I ain't a Christian, an' I am a killer of Injuns, " said Wetzel, and his deep voice had a strange tremor. "I don't know nothin' much'cept the woods an' fields, an' if there's a God fer me He's outthar under the trees an' grass. Mr. Wells, you're the first man asever called me a coward, an' I overlook it because of your callin'. I advise you to go back to Fort Henry, because if you don't go nowthe chances are aginst your ever goin'. Christianity or noChristianity, such men as you hev no bisness in these woods. "

"I thank you for your advice, and bless you for your rescue of thischild; but I can not leave my work, nor can I understand why allthis good work we have done should be called useless. We haveconverted Indians, saved their souls. Is that not being of some use, of some good here?"

"It's accordin' to how you look at it. Now I know the bark of an oakis different accordin' to the side we see from. I'll allow, hatin'Injuns as I do, is no reason you oughtn't to try an' convert 'em. But you're bringin' on a war. These Injuns won't allow this Villageof Peace here with its big fields of corn, an' shops an' workin'redskins. It's agin their nature. You're only sacrificin' yourChristian Injuns. "

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Wells, startled by Wetzel's words. 

"Enough. I'm ready to guide you to Fort Henry. "

"I'll never go. "

Wetzel looked at the other men. No one would have doubted him. Noone could have failed to see he knew that some terrible angerhovered over the Village of Peace. 

"I believe you, Wetzel, but I can not go, " said Heckewelder, withwhite face. 

"I will stay, " said George, steadily. 

"And I, " said Dave. 

Wetzel nodded, and turned to depart when George grasped his arm. Theyoung missionary's face was drawn and haggard; he fixed an intensegaze upon the hunter. 

"Wetzel, listen;" his voice was low and shaken with deep feeling. "Iam a teacher of God's word, and I am as earnest in that purpose asyou are in your life-work. I shall die here; I shall fill anunmarked grave; but I shall have done the best I could. This is thelife destiny has marked out for me, and I will live it as best Imay; but in this moment, preacher as I am, I would give all I haveor hope to have, all the little good I may have done, all my life, to be such a man as you. For I would avenge the woman I loved. Totorture, to kill Girty! I am only a poor, weak fellow who would belost a mile from this village, and if not, would fall before theyoungest brave. But you with your glorious strength, yourincomparable woodcraft, you are the man to kill Girty. Rid thefrontier of this fiend. Kill him! Wetzel, kill him! I beseech youfor the sake of some sweet girl who even now may be on her way tothis terrible country, and who may fall into Girty's power--for hersake, Wetzel, kill him. Trail him like a bloodhound, and when youfind him remember my broken heart, remember Nell, remember, oh, God!remember poor Kate!"

Young's voice broke into dry sobs. He had completely exhaustedhimself, so that he was forced to lean against the tree for support. 

Wetzel spoke never a word. He stretched out his long, brawny arm andgripped the young missionary's shoulder. His fingers clasped hard. Simple, without words as the action was, it could not have been morepotent. And then, as he stood, the softer look faded slowly from hisface. A ripple seemed to run over his features, which froze, as itsubsided, into a cold, stone rigidity. 

His arm dropped; he stepped past the tree, and, bounding lightly asa deer, cleared the creek and disappeared in the bushes. 

Mr. Wells carried Nell to his cabin where she lay for hours with wanface and listless languor. She swallowed the nourishing drink an oldIndian nurse forced between her teeth; she even smiled weakly whenthe missionaries spoke to her; but she said nothing nor seemed torally from her terrible shock. A dark shadow lay always before her, conscious of nothing present, living over again her frightfulexperience. Again she seemed sunk in dull apathy. 

"Dave, we're going to loose Nell. She's fading slowly, " said George, one evening, several days after the girl's return. "Wetzel said shewas unharmed, yet she seems to have received a hurt more fatal thana physical one. It's her mind--her mind. If we cannot brighten herup to make her forget, she'll die. "

"We've done all within our power. If she could only be brought outof this trance! She lies there all day long with those staring eyes. I can't look into them. They are the eyes of a child who has seenmurder. "

"We must try in some way to get her out of this stupor, and I havean idea. Have you noticed that Mr. Wells has failed very much in thelast few weeks?"

"Indeed I have, and I'm afraid he's breaking down. He has grown sothin, eats very little, and doesn't sleep. He is old, you know, and, despite his zeal, this border life is telling on him. "

"Dave, I believe he knows it. Poor, earnest old man! He never says aword about himself, yet he must know he is going down hill. Well, weall begin, sooner or later, that descent which ends in the grave. Ibelieve we might stir Nellie by telling her Mr. Wells' health isbreaking. "

"Let us try. "

A hurried knock on the door interrupted their conversation. 

"Come in, " said Edwards. 

The door opened to admit a man, who entered eagerly. 

"Jim! Jim!" exclaimed both missionaries, throwing themselves uponthe newcomer. 

It was, indeed, Jim, but no answering smile lighted his worn, distressed face while he wrung his friends' hands. 

"You're not hurt?" asked Dave. 

"No, I'm uninjured. "

"Tell us all. Did you escape? Did you see your brother? Did you knowWetzel rescued Nell?"

"Wingenund set me free in spite of many demands for my death. Hekept Joe a prisoner, and intends to kill him, for the lad wasWetzel's companion. I saw the hunter come into the glade where wecamped, break through the line of fighting Indians and carry Nelloff. "

"Kate?" faltered Young, with ashen face. 

"George, I wish to God I could tell you she is dead, " answered Jim, nervously pacing the room. "But she was well when I last saw her. She endured the hard journey better than either Nell or I. Girty didnot carry her into the encampment, as Silvertip did Joe and me, butthe renegade left us on the outskirts of the Delaware town. Therewas a rocky ravine with dense undergrowth where he disappeared withhis captive. I suppose he has his den somewhere in that ravine. "

George sank down and buried his face in his arms; neither movementnor sound betokened consciousness. 

"Has Wetzel come in with Nell? Joe said he had a cave where he mighthave taken her in case of illness or accident. "

"Yes, he brought her back, " answered Edwards, slowly. 

"I want to see her, " said Jim, his haggard face expressing a keenanxiety. "She's not wounded? hurt? ill?"

"No, nothing like that. It's a shock which she can't get over, can'tforget. "

"I must see her, " cried Jim, moving toward the door. 

"Don't go, " replied Dave, detaining him. "Wait. We must see what'sbest to be done. Wait till Heckewelder comes. He'll be here soon. Nell thinks you're dead, and the surprise might be bad for her. "

Heckewelder came in at that moment, and shook hands warmly with Jim. 

"The Delaware runner told me you were here. I am overjoyed thatWingenund freed you, " said the missionary. "It is a most favorablesign. I have heard rumors from Goshocking and Sandusky that haveworried me. This good news more than offsets the bad. I am sorryabout your brother. Are you well?"

"Well, but miserable. I want to see Nell. Dave tells me she is notexactly ill, but something is wrong with her. Perhaps I ought not tosee her just yet. "

"It'll be exactly the tonic for her, " replied Heckewelder. "She'llbe surprised out of herself. She is morbid, apathetic, and, try aswe may, we can't interest her. Come at once. "

Heckewelder had taken Jim's arm and started for the door when hecaught sight of Young, sitting bowed and motionless. Turning to Jimhe whispered:

"Kate?"

"Girty did not take her into the encampment, " answered Jim, in a lowvoice. "I hoped he would, because the Indians are kind, but hedidn't. He took her to his den. "

Just then Young raised his face. The despair in it would have melteda heart of stone. It had become the face of an old man. 

"If only you'd told me she had died, " he said to Jim, "I'd have beenman enough to stand it, but--this--this kills me--I can't breathe!"

He staggered into the adjoining room, where he flung himself upon abed. 

"It's hard, and he won't be able to stand up under it, for he's notstrong, " whispered Jim. 

Heckewelder was a mild, pious man, in whom no one would ever expectstrong passion; but now depths were stirred within his heart thathad ever been tranquil. He became livid, and his face was distortedwith rage. 

"It's bad enough to have these renegades plotting and workingagainst our religion; to have them sow discontent, spread lies, makethe Indians think we have axes to grind, to plant the only obstaclein our path--all this is bad; but to doom an innocent white woman toworse than death! What can I call it!"

"What can we do?" asked Jim. 

"Do? That's the worst of it. We can do nothing, nothing. We dare notmove. "

"Is there no hope of getting Kate back?"

"Hope? None. That villain is surrounded by his savages. He'll lielow now for a while. I've heard of such deeds many a time, but itnever before came so close home. Kate Wells was a pure, lovingChristian woman. She'll live an hour, a day, a week, perhaps, inthat snake's clutches, and then she'll die. Thank God!"

"Wetzel has gone on Girty's trail. I know that from his manner whenhe left us, " said Edwards. 

"Wetzel may avenge her, but he can never save her. It's too late. Hello---"

The exclamation was called forth by the appearance of Young, whoentered with a rifle in his hands. 

"George, where are you going with that gun?" asked Edwards, graspinghis friend by the arm. 

"I'm going after her, " answered George wildly. He tottered as hespoke, but wrenched himself free from Dave. 

"Come, George, listen, listen to reason, " interposed Heckewelder, laying hold of Young. "You are frantic with grief now. So are all ofus. But calm yourself. Why, man, you're a preacher, not a hunter. You'd be lost, you'd starve in the woods before getting half way tothe Indian town. This is terrible enough; don't make it worse bythrowing your life away. Think of us, your friends; think of yourIndian pupils who rely so much on you. Think of the Village ofPeace. We can pray, but we can't prevent these border crimes. Withcivilization, with the spread of Christianity, they will pass away. Bear up under this blow for the sake of your work. Remember we alonecan check such barbarity. But we must not fight. We must sacrificeall that men hold dear, for the sake of the future. "

He took the rifle away from George, and led him back into thelittle, dark room. Closing the door he turned to Jim and Dave. 

"He is in a bad way, and we must carefully watch him for a fewdays. "

"Think of George starting out to kill Girty!" exclaimed Dave. "Inever fired a gun, but yet I'd go too. "

"So would we all, if we did as our hearts dictate, " retortedHeckewelder, turning fiercely upon Dave as if stung. "Man! we have avillage full of Christians to look after. What would become of them?I tell you we've all we can do here to outwit these border ruffians. Simon Girty is plotting our ruin. I heard it to-day from theDelaware runner who is my friend. He is jealous of our influence, when all we desire is to save these poor Indians. And, Jim, Girtyhas killed our happiness. Can we ever recover from the miserybrought upon us by poor Kate's fate?"

The missionary raised his hand as if to exhort some power above. 

"Curse the Girty's!" he exclaimed in a sudden burst ofuncontrollable passion. "Having conquered all other obstacles, mustwe fail because of wicked men of our own race? Oh, curse them!"

"Come, " he said, presently, in a voice which trembled with theeffort he made to be calm. "We'll go in to Nellie. "

The three men entered Mr. Wells' cabin. The old missionary, withbowed head and hands clasped behind his back, was pacing to and fro. He greeted Jim with glad surprise. 

"We want Nellie to see him, " whispered Heckewelder. "We think thesurprise will do her good. "

"I trust it may, " said Mr. Wells. 

"Leave it to me. "

They followed Heckewelder into an adjoining room. A torch flickeredover the rude mantle-shelf, lighting up the room with fitful flare. It was a warm night, and the soft breeze coming in the windowalternately paled and brightened the flame. 

Jim saw Nell lying on the bed. Her eyes were closed, and her long, dark lashes seemed black against the marble paleness of her skin. 

"Stand behind me, " whispered Heckewelder to Jim. 

"Nellie, " he called softly, but only a faint flickering of herlashes answered him. 

"Nellie, Nellie, " repeated Heckewelder, his deep, strong voicethrilling. 

Her eyes opened. They gazed at Mr. Wells on one side, at Edwardsstanding at the foot of the bed, at Heckewelder leaning over her, but there was no recognition or interest in her look. 

"Nellie, can you understand me?" asked Heckewelder, putting into hisvoice all the power and intensity of feeling of which he wascapable. 

An almost imperceptible shadow of understanding shone in her eyes. 

"Listen. You have had a terrible shock, and it has affected yourmind. You are mistaken in what you think, what you dream of all thetime. Do you understand? You are wrong!"

Nell's eyes quickened with a puzzled, questioning doubt. Theminister's magnetic, penetrating voice had pierced her dulled brain. 

"See, I have brought you Jim!"

Heckewelder stepped aside as Jim fell on his knees by the bed. Hetook her cold hands in his and bent over her. For the moment hisvoice failed. 

The doubt in Nell's eyes changed to a wondrous gladness. It was likethe rekindling of a smoldering fire. 

"Jim?" she whispered. 

"Yes, Nellie, it's Jim alive and well. It's Jim come back to you. "

A soft flush stained her white face. She slipped her arm tenderlyaround his neck, and held her cheek close to his. 

"Jim, " she murmured. 

"Nellie, don't you know me?" asked Mr. Wells, trembling, excited. This was the first word she had spoken in four days. 

"Uncle!" she exclaimed, suddenly loosening her hold on Jim, andsitting up in bed, then she gazed wildly at the others. 

"Was it all a horrible dream?"

Mr. Wells took her hand soothingly, but he did not attempt to answerher question. He looked helplessly at Heckewelder, but thatmissionary was intently studying the expression on Nell's face. 

"Part of it was a dream, " he answered, impressively. 

"Then that horrible man did take us away?"

"Yes. "

"Oh-h! but we're free now? This is my room. Oh, tell me?"

"Yes, Nellie, you're safe at home now. "

"Tell--tell me, " she cried, shudderingly, as she leaned close to Jimand raised a white, imploring face to his. "Where is Kate?--Oh!Jim--say, say she wasn't left with Girty?"

"Kate is dead, " answered Jim, quickly. He could not endure thehorror in her eyes. He deliberately intended to lie, as hadHeckewelder. 

It was as if the tension of Nell's nerves was suddenly relaxed. Therelief from her worst fear was so great that her mind took in onlythe one impression. Then, presently, a choking cry escaped her, tobe followed by a paroxysm of sobs. 

Chapter XX. 

Early on the following day Heckewelder, astride his horse, appearedat the door of Edwards' cabin. 

"How is George?" he inquired of Dave, when the latter had opened thedoor. 

"He had a bad night, but is sleeping now. I think he'll be all rightafter a time, " answered Dave. 

"That's well. Nevertheless keep a watch on him for a few days. "

"I'll do so. "

"Dave, I leave matters here to your good judgment. I'm off toGoshocking to join Zeisberger. Affairs there demand our immediateattention, and we must make haste. "

"How long do you intend to be absent?"

"A few days; possibly a week. In case of any unusual disturbanceamong the Indians, the appearance of Pipe and his tribe, or any ofthe opposing factions, send a fleet runner at once to warn me. Mostof my fears have been allayed by Wingenund's attitude toward us. Hisfreeing Jim in face of the opposition of his chiefs is a sure signof friendliness. More than once I have suspected that he wasinterested in Christianity. His daughter, Whispering Winds, exhibited the same intense fervor in religion as has been manifestedby all our converts. It may be that we have not appealed in vain toWingenund and his daughter; but their high position in the Delawaretribe makes it impolitic for them to reveal a change of heart. If wecould win over those two we'd have every chance to convert the wholetribe. Well, as it is we must be thankful for Wingenund'sfriendship. We have two powerful allies now. Tarhe, the Wyandotchieftain, remains neutral, to be sure, but that's almost as helpfulas his friendship. "

"I, too, take a hopeful view of the situation, " replied Edwards. 

"We'll trust in Providence, and do our best, " said Heckewelder, ashe turned his horse. "Good-by. "

"Godspeed!" called Edwards, as his chief rode away. 

The missionary resumed his work of getting breakfast. He remained indoors all that day, except for the few moments when he ran over toMr. Wells' cabin to inquire regarding Nell's condition. He wasrelieved to learn she was so much better that she had declared herintention of moving about the house. Dave kept a close watch onYoung. He, himself, was suffering from the same blow which hadprostrated his friend, but his physical strength and fortitude weresuch that he did not weaken. He was overjoyed to see that Georgerallied, and showed no further indications of breaking down. 

True it was, perhaps, that Heckewelder's earnest prayer on behalf ofthe converted Indians had sunk deeply into George's heart and thuskept it from breaking. No stronger plea could have been made thanthe allusion to those gentle, dependent Christians. No one but amissionary could realize the sweetness, the simplicity, the faith, the eager hope for a good, true life which had been implanted in thehearts of these Indians. To bear it in mind, to think of what he, asa missionary and teacher, was to them, relieved him of half hisburden, and for strength to bear the remainder he went to God. Forall worry there is a sovereign cure, for all suffering there is ahealing balm; it is religious faith. Happiness had suddenly flashedwith a meteor-like radiance into Young's life only to be snuffed outlike a candle in a windy gloom, but his work, his duty remained. Soin his trial he learned the necessity of resignation. He chaffed nomore at the mysterious, seemingly brutal methods of nature; hequestioned no more. He wondered no more at the apparent indifferenceof Providence. He had one hope, which was to be true to his faith, and teach it to the end. 

Nell mastered her grief by an astonishing reserve of strength. Undoubtedly it was that marvelously merciful power which enables aperson, for the love of others, to bear up under a cross, or even tofight death himself. As Young had his bright-eyed Indian boys andgirls, who had learned Christianity from him, and whose futuredepended on him, so Nell had her aged and weakening uncle to carefor and cherish. 

Jim's attentions to her before the deep affliction had not beenslight, but now they were so marked as to be unmistakable. In someway Jim seemed changed since he had returned from the Delawareencampment. Although he went back to the work with his oldaggressiveness, he was not nearly so successful as he had beenbefore. Whether or not this was his fault, he took his failuredeeply to heart. There was that in his tenderness which caused Nellto regard him, in one sense, as she did her uncle. Jim, too, leanedupon her, and she accepted his devotion where once she had repelledit. She had unconsciously betrayed a great deal when she had turnedso tenderly to him in the first moments after her recognition, andhe remembered it. He did not speak of love to her; he let a thousandlittle acts of kindness, a constant thoughtfulness of her plead hiscause. 

The days succeeding Heckewelder's departure were remarkable forseveral reasons. Although the weather was enticing, the number ofvisiting Indians gradually decreased. Not a runner from any tribecame into the village, and finally the day dawned when not a singleIndian from the outlying towns was present to hear the preaching. 

Jim spoke, as usual. After several days had passed and none butconverted Indians made up the congregation, the young man began tobe uneasy in mind. 

Young and Edwards were unable to account for the unusual absencefrom worship, yet they did not see in it anything to cause especialconcern. Often there had been days without visitation to the Villageof Peace. 

Finally Jim went to consult Glickhican. He found the Delaware atwork in the potato patch. The old Indian dropped his hoe and bowedto the missionary. A reverential and stately courtesy alwayscharacterized the attitude of the Indians toward the young whitefather. 

"Glickhican, can you tell me why no Indians have come here lately?"

The old chief shook his head. 

"Does their absence signify ill to the Village of Peace?"

"Glickhican saw a blackbird flitting in the shadow of the moon. Thebird hovered above the Village of Peace, but sang no song. "

The old Delaware vouchsafed no other than this strange reply. 

Jim returned to his cabin decidedly worried. He did not at all likeGlickhican's answer. The purport of it seemed to be that a cloud wasrising on the bright horizon of the Christian village. He confidedhis fears to Young and Edwards. After discussing the situation, thethree missionaries decided to send for Heckewelder. He was theleader of the Mission; he knew more of Indian craft than any ofthem, and how to meet it. If this calm in the heretofore busy lifeof the Mission was the lull before a storm, Heckewelder should bethere with his experience and influence. 

"For nearly ten years Heckewelder has anticipated trouble fromhostile savages, " said Edwards, "but so far he has always avertedit. As you know, he has confined himself mostly to propitiating theIndians, and persuading them to be friendly, and listen to us. We'llsend for him. "

Accordingly they dispatched a runner to Goshocking. In due time theIndian returned with the startling news that Heckewelder had leftthe Indian village days before, as had, in fact, all the savagesexcept the few converted ones. The same held true in the case ofSandusky, the adjoining town. Moreover, it had been impossible toobtain any news in regard to Zeisberger. 

The missionaries were now thoroughly alarmed, and knew not what todo. They concealed the real state of affairs from Nell and heruncle, desiring to keep them from anxiety as long as possible. Thatnight the three teachers went to bed with heavy hearts. 

The following morning at daybreak, Jim was awakened from a soundsleep by some one calling at his window. He got up to learn who itwas, and, in the gray light, saw Edwards standing outside. 

"What's the matter?" questioned Jim, hurriedly. 

"Matter enough. Hurry. Get into your clothes, " replied Edwards. "Assoon as you are dressed, quietly awaken Mr. Wells and Nellie, but donot frighten them. "

"But what's the trouble?" queried Jim, as he began to dress. 

"The Indians are pouring into the village as thickly as flyingleaves in autumn. "

Edwards' exaggerated assertion proved to be almost literally true. No sooner had the rising sun dispelled the mist, than it shone onlong lines of marching braves, mounted warriors, hundreds ofpackhorses approaching from the forests. The orderly procession wasproof of a concerted plan on the part of the invaders. 

From their windows the missionaries watched with bated breath; withwonder and fear they saw the long lines of dusky forms. When theywere in the clearing the savages busied themselves with their packs. Long rows of teepees sprung up as if by magic. The savages had cometo stay! The number of incoming visitors did not lessen until noon, when a few straggling groups marked the end of the invading host. Most significant of all was the fact that neither child, maiden, norsquaw accompanied this army. 

Jim appraised the number at six or seven hundred, more than had everbefore visited the village at one time. They were mostly Delawares, with many Shawnees, and a few Hurons among them. It was soonevident, however, that for the present, at least, the Indians didnot intend any hostile demonstration. They were quiet in manner, andbusy about their teepees and camp-fires, but there was an absence ofthe curiosity that had characterized the former sojourns of Indiansat the peaceful village. 

After a brief consultation with his brother missionaries, who allwere opposed to his preaching that afternoon, Jim decided he wouldnot deviate from his usual custom. He held the afternoon service, and spoke to the largest congregation that had ever sat before him. He was surprised to find that the sermon, which heretofore sostrongly impressed the savages, did not now arouse the slightestenthusiasm. It was followed by a brooding silence of a boding, ominous import. 

Four white men, dressed in Indian garb, had been the most attentivelisteners to Jim's sermon. He recognized three as Simon Girty, Elliott and Deering, the renegades, and he learned from Edwards thatthe other was the notorious McKee. These men went through thevillage, stalking into the shops and cabins, and acting as do menwho are on a tour of inspection. 

So intrusive was their curiosity that Jim hurried back to Mr. Well'scabin and remained there in seclusion. Of course, by this time Nelland her uncle knew of the presence of the hostile savages. They werefrightened, and barely regained their composure when the young manassured them he was certain they had no real cause for fear. 

Jim was sitting at the doorstep with Mr. Wells and Edwards whenGirty, with his comrades, came toward them. The renegade leader wasa tall, athletic man, with a dark, strong face. There was in it noneof the brutality and ferocity which marked his brother's visage. Simon Girty appeared keen, forceful, authoritative, as, indeed, hemust have been to have attained the power he held in theconfederated tribes. His companions presented wide contrasts. Elliott was a small, spare man of cunning, vindictive aspect; McKeelooked, as might have been supposed from his reputation, and Deeringwas a fit mate for the absent Girty. Simon appeared to be a man ofsome intelligence, who had used all his power to make that positiona great one. The other renegades were desperadoes. 

"Where's Heckewelder?" asked Girty, curtly, as he stopped before themissionaries. 

"He started out for the Indian towns on the Muskingong, " answeredEdwards. "But we have had no word from either him or Zeisberger. "

"When d'ye expect him?"

"I can't say. Perhaps to-morrow, and then, again, maybe not for aweek. "

"He is in authority here, ain't he?"

"Yes; but he left me in charge of the Mission. Can I serve you inany way?"

"I reckon not, " said the renegade, turning to his companions. Theyconversed in low tones for a moment. Presently McKee, Elliott andDeering went toward the newly erected teepees. 

"Girty, do you mean us any ill will?" earnestly asked Edwards. Hehad met the man on more than one occasion, and had no hesitationabout questioning him. 

"I can't say as I do, " answered the renegade, and those who heardhim believed him. "But I'm agin this redskin preachin', an' hev beenall along. The injuns are mad clear through, an' I ain't sayin' I'vetried to quiet 'em any. This missionary work has got to be stopped, one way or another. Now what I waited here to say is this: I ain'tquite forgot I was white once, an' believe you fellars are honest. I'm willin' to go outer my way to help you git away from here. "

"Go away?" echoed Edwards. 

"That's it, " answered Girty, shouldering his rifle. 

"But why? We are perfectly harmless; we are only doing good and hurtno one. Why should we go?"

"'Cause there's liable to be trouble, " said the renegade, significantly. 

Edwards turned slowly to Mr. Wells and Jim. The old missionary wastrembling visibly. Jim was pale; but more with anger than fear. 

"Thank you, Girty, but we'll stay, " and Jim's voice rang clear. 

Chapter XXI. 

"Jim, come out here, " called Edwards at the window of Mr. Wells'cabin. 

The young man arose from the breakfast table, and when outside foundEdwards standing by the door with an Indian brave. He was a Wyandotlightly built, lithe and wiry, easily recognizable as an Indianrunner. When Jim appeared the man handed him a small packet. Heunwound a few folds of some oily skin to find a square piece ofbirch bark, upon which were scratched the following words:

"Rev. J. Downs. Greeting. 

"Your brother is alive and safe. Whispering Winds rescued him bytaking him as her husband. Leave the Village of Peace. Pipe and HalfKing have been influenced by Girty. 

"Zane. "

"Now, what do you think of that?" exclaimed Jim, handing the messageto Edwards. "Thank Heaven, Joe was saved!"

"Zane? That must be the Zane who married Tarhe's daughter, " answeredEdwards, when he had read the note. "I'm rejoiced to hear of yourbrother. "

"Joe married to that beautiful Indian maiden! Well, of all wonderfulthings, " mused Jim. "What will Nell say?"

"We're getting warnings enough. Do you appreciate that?" askedEdwards. "'Pipe and Half King have been influenced by Girty. 'Evidently the writer deemed that brief sentence of sufficientmeaning. "

"Edwards, we're preachers. We can't understand such things. I amlearning, at least something every day. Colonel Zane advised us notto come here. Wetzel said, 'Go back to Fort Henry. ' Girty warned us, and now comes this peremptory order from Isaac Zane. "

"Well?"

"It means that these border men see what we will not admit. Weministers have such hope and trust in God that we can not realizethe dangers of this life. I fear that our work has been in vain. "

"Never. We have already saved many souls. Do not be discouraged. "

All this time the runner had stood near at hand straight as anarrow. Presently Edwards suggested that the Wyandot was waiting tobe questioned, and accordingly he asked the Indian if he hadanything further to communicate. 

"Huron--go by--paleface. " Here he held up both hands and shut hisfists several times, evidently enumerating how many white men he hadseen. "Here--when--high--sun. "

With that he bounded lightly past them, and loped off with an even, swinging stride. 

"What did he mean?" asked Jim, almost sure he had not heard therunner aright. 

"He meant that a party of white men are approaching, and will behere by noon. I never knew an Indian runner to carry unreliableinformation. We have joyful news, both in regard to your brother, and the Village of Peace. Let us go in to tell the others. "

The Huron runner's report proved to be correct. Shortly before noonsignals from Indian scouts proclaimed the approach of a band ofwhite men. Evidently Girty's forces had knowledge beforehand of theproximity of this band, for the signals created no excitement. TheIndians expressed only a lazy curiosity. Soon several Delawarescouts appeared, escorting a large party of frontiersmen. 

These men turned out to be Captain Williamson's force, which hadbeen out on an expedition after a marauding tribe of Chippewas. Thislast named tribe had recently harried the remote settlers, andcommitted depredations on the outskirts of the white settlementseastward. The company was composed of men who had served in thegarrison at Fort Pitt, and hunters and backwoodsmen from YellowCreek and Fort Henry. The captain himself was a typical borderman, rough and bluff, hardened by long years of border life, and, likemost pioneers, having no more use for an Indian than for a snake. Hehad led his party after the marauders, and surprised and slaughterednearly all of them. Returning eastward he had passed throughGoshocking, where he learned of the muttering storm rising over theVillage of Peace, and had come more out of curiosity than hope toavert misfortune. 

The advent of so many frontiersmen seemed a godsend to the perplexedand worried missionaries. They welcomed the newcomers most heartily. Beds were made in several of the newly erected cabins; the villagewas given over for the comfort of the frontiersmen. Edwardsconducted Captain Williamson through the shops and schools, and theold borderman's weather-beaten face expressed a comical surprise. 

"Wal, I'll be durned if I ever expected to see a redskin work, " washis only comment on the industries. 

"We are greatly alarmed by the presence of Girty and his followers, "said Edwards. "We have been warned to leave, but have not beenactually threatened. What do you infer from the appearance here ofthese hostile savages?"

"It hardly 'pears to me they'll bother you preachers. They're aginthe Christian redskins, that's plain. "

"Why have we been warned to go?"

"That's natural, seein' they're agin the preachin'. "

"What will they do with the converted Indians?"

"Mighty onsartin. They might let them go back to the tribes, but'pears to me these good Injuns won't go. Another thing, Girty isafeered of the spread of Christianity. "

"Then you think our Christians will be made prisoners?"

"'Pears likely. "

"And you, also, think we'd do well to leave here. "

"I do, sartin. We're startin' for Fort Henry soon. You'd better comealong with us. "

"Captain Williamson, we're going to stick it out, Girty or noGirty. "

"You can't do no good stayin' here. Pipe and Half King won't standfor the singin', prayin' redskins, especially when they've got allthese cattle and fields of grain. "

"Wetzel said the same. "

"Hev you seen Wetzel?"

"Yes; he rescued a girl from Jim Girty, and returned her to us. "

"That so? I met Wetzel and Jack Zane back a few miles in the woods. They're layin' for somebody, because when I asked them to come alongthey refused, sayin' they had work as must be done. They looked likeit, too. I never hern tell of Wetzel advisin' any one before; butI'll say if he told me to do a thing, by Gosh! I'd do it. "

"As men, we might very well take the advice given us, but aspreachers we must stay here to do all we can for these ChristianIndians. One thing more: will you help us?"

"I reckon I'll stay here to see the thing out, " answered Williamson. Edwards made a mental note of the frontiersman's evasive answer. 

Jim had, meanwhile, made the acquaintance of a young minister, JohnChristy by name, who had lost his sweetheart in one of the Chippewaraids, and had accompanied the Williamson expedition in the hope hemight rescue her. 

"How long have you been out?" asked Jim. 

"About four weeks now, " answered Christy. "My betrothed was capturedfive weeks ago yesterday. I joined Williamson's band, which made upat Short Creek to take the trail of the flying Chippewas, in thehope I might find her. But not a trace! The expedition fell upon aband of redskins over on the Walhonding, and killed nearly all ofthem. I learned from a wounded Indian that a renegade had made offwith a white girl about a week previous. Perhaps it was poor Lucy. "

Jim related the circumstances of his own capture by Jim Girty, therescue of Nell, and Kate's sad fate. 

"Could Jim Girty have gotten your girl?" inquired Jim, inconclusion. 

"It's fairly probable. The description doesn't tally with Girty's. This renegade was short and heavy, and noted especially for hisstrength. Of course, an Indian would first speak of some suchdistinguishing feature. There are, however, ten or twelve renegadeson the border, and, excepting Jim Girty, one's as bad as another. "

"Then it's a common occurrence, this abducting girls from thesettlements?"

"Yes, and the strange thing is that one never hears of such doingsuntil he gets out on the frontier. "

"For that matter, you don't hear much of anything, except of thewonderful richness and promise of the western country. "

"You're right. Rumors of fat, fertile lands induce the colonist tobecome a pioneer. He comes west with his family; two out of everyten lose their scalps, and in some places the average is muchgreater. The wives, daughters and children are carried off intocaptivity. I have been on the border two years, and know that therescue of any captive, as Wetzel rescued your friend, is aremarkable exception. "

"If you have so little hope of recovering your sweetheart, what thenis your motive for accompanying this band of hunters?"

"Revenge!"

"And you are a preacher?" Jim's voice did not disguise hisastonishment. 

"I was a preacher, and now I am thirsting for vengeance, " answeredChristy, his face clouding darkly. "Wait until you learn whatfrontier life means. You are young here yet; you are flushed withthe success of your teaching; you have lived a short time in thisquiet village, where, until the last few days, all has been serene. You know nothing of the strife, of the necessity of fighting, of thecruelty which makes up this border existence. Only two years havehardened me so that I actually pant for the blood of the renegadewho has robbed me. A frontiersman must take his choice of succumbingor cutting his way through flesh and bone. Blood will be spilled; ifnot yours, then your foe's. The pioneers run from the plow to thefight; they halt in the cutting of corn to defend themselves, and inwinter must battle against cold and hardship, which would be lesscruel if there was time in summer to prepare for winter, for thesavages leave them hardly an opportunity to plant crops. How manypioneers have given up, and gone back east? Find me any who wouldnot return home to-morrow, if they could. All that brings them outhere is the chance for a home, and all that keeps them out here isthe poor hope of finally attaining their object. Always there is apossibility of future prosperity. But this generation, if itsurvives, will never see prosperity and happiness. What does thisborder life engender in a pioneer who holds his own in it? Of allthings, not Christianity. He becomes a fighter, keen as the redskinwho steals through the coverts. "

 * * *

The serene days of the Village of Peace had passed into history. Soon that depraved vagabond, the French trader, with cheap trinketsand vile whisky, made his appearance. This was all that was neededto inflame the visitors. Where they had been only bold and impudent, they became insulting and abusive. They execrated the Christianindians for their neutrality; scorned them for worshiping thisunknown God, and denounced a religion which made women of strongmen. 

The slaughtering of cattle commenced; the despoiling of maizefields, and robbing of corn-cribs began with the drunkenness. 

All this time it was seen that Girty and Elliott consulted oftenwith Pipe and Half King. The latter was the only Huron chief opposedto neutrality toward the Village of Peace, and he was, if possible, more fierce in his hatred than Pipe. The future of the Christiansettlement rested with these two chiefs. Girty and Elliott, evidently, were the designing schemers, and they worked diligentlyon the passions of these simple-minded, but fierce, warlike chiefs. 

Greatly to the relief of the distracted missionaries, Heckewelderreturned to the village. Jaded and haggard, he presented atravel-worn appearance. He made the astonishing assertions that hehad been thrice waylaid and assaulted on his way to Goshocking; thendetained by a roving band of Chippewas, and soon after his arrivalat their camping ground a renegade had run off with a white womancaptive, while the Indians west of the village were in an uproar. Zeisberger, however, was safe in the Moravian town of Salem, somemiles west of Goshocking. Heckewelder had expected to find the samecondition of affairs as existed in the Village of Peace; but he wasbewildered by the great array of hostile Indians. Chiefs who hadonce extended friendly hands to him, now drew back coldly, as theysaid:

"Washington is dead. The American armies are cut to pieces. The fewthousands who had escaped the British are collecting at Fort Pitt tosteal the Indian's land. "

Heckewelder vigorously denied all these assertions, knowing they hadbeen invented by Girty and Elliott. He exhausted all his skill andpatience in the vain endeavor to show Pipe where he was wrong. HalfKing had been so well coached by the renegades that he refused tolisten. The other chiefs maintained a cold reserve that was bafflingand exasperating. Wingenund took no active part in the councils; buthis presence apparently denoted that he had sided with the others. The outlook was altogether discouraging. 

"I'm completely fagged out, " declared Heckewelder, that night whenhe returned to Edwards' cabin. He dropped into a chair as one whosestrength is entirely spent, whose indomitable spirit has at lastbeen broken. 

"Lie down to rest, " said Edwards. 

"Oh, I can't. Matters look so black. "

"You're tired out and discouraged. You'll feel better to-morrow. Thesituation is not, perhaps, so hopeless. The presence of thesefrontiersmen should encourage us. "

"What will they do? What can they do?" cried Heckewelder, bitterly. "I tell you never before have I encountered such gloomy, stonyIndians. It seems to me that they are in no vacillating state. Theyact like men whose course is already decided upon, and who are onlywaiting. "

"For what?" asked Jim, after a long silence. 

"God only knows! Perhaps for a time; possibly for a final decision, and, it may be, for a reason, the very thought of which makes mefaint. "

"Tell us, " said Edwards, speaking quietly, for he had ever been thecalmest of the missionaries. 

"Never mind. Perhaps it's only my nerves. I'm all unstrung, andcould suspect anything to-night. "

"Heckewelder, tell us?" Jim asked, earnestly. 

"My friends, I pray I am wrong. God help us if my fears are correct. I believe the Indians are waiting for Jim Girty. "

Chapter XXII. 

Simon Girty lolled on a blanket in Half King's teepee. He was alone, awaiting his allies. Rings of white smoke curled lazily from hislips as he puffed on a long Indian pipe, and gazed out over theclearing that contained the Village of Peace. 

Still water has something in its placid surface significant of deepchannels, of hidden depths; the dim outline of the forest is darkwith meaning, suggestive of its wild internal character. So SimonGirty's hard, bronzed face betrayed the man. His degeneratebrother's features were revolting; but his own were striking, andfell short of being handsome only because of their craggy hardness. Years of revolt, of bitterness, of consciousness of wasted life, hadgraven their stern lines on that copper, masklike face. Yet despitethe cruelty there, the forbidding shade on it, as if a reflectionfrom a dark soul, it was not wholly a bad countenance. Traces stilllingered, faintly, of a man in whom kindlier feelings had oncepredominated. 

In a moment of pique Girty had deserted his military post at FortPitt, and become an outlaw of his own volition. Previous to thattime he had been an able soldier, and a good fellow. When herealized that his step was irrevocable, that even his best friendscondemned him, he plunged, with anger and despair in his heart, intoa war upon his own race. Both of his brothers had long been borderruffians, whose only protection from the outraged pioneers lay inthe faraway camps of hostile tribes. George Girty had so sunk hisindividuality into the savage's that he was no longer a white man. Jim Girty stalked over the borderland with a bloody tomahawk, hislong arm outstretched to clutch some unfortunate white woman, andwith his hideous smile of death. Both of these men were far lowerthan the worst savages, and it was almost wholly to their deeds ofdarkness that Simon Girty owed his infamous name. 

To-day White Chief, as Girty was called, awaited his men. A slighttremor of the ground caused him to turn his gaze. The Huron chief, Half King, resplendent in his magnificent array, had entered theteepee. He squatted in a corner, rested the bowl of his great pipeon his knee, and smoked in silence. The habitual frown of his blackbrow, like a shaded, overhanging cliff; the fire flashing from hiseyes, as a shining light is reflected from a dark pool; hisclosely-shut, bulging jaw, all bespoke a nature, lofty in its Indianpride and arrogance, but more cruel than death. 

Another chief stalked into the teepee and seated himself. It wasPipe. His countenance denoted none of the intelligence that madeWingenund's face so noble; it was even coarser than Half King's, andhis eyes, resembling live coals in the dark; the long, cruel linesof his jaw; the thin, tightly-closed lips, which looked as if theycould relax only to utter a savage command, expressed fierce cunningand brutality. 

"White Chief is idle to-day, " said Half King, speaking in the Indiantongue. 

"King, I am waiting. Girty is slow, but sure, " answered therenegade. 

"The eagle sails slowly round and round, up and up, " replied HalfKing, with majestic gestures, "until his eye sees all, until heknows his time; then he folds his wings and swoops down from theblue sky like the forked fire. So does White Chief. But Half King isimpatient. "

"To-day decides the fate of the Village of Peace, " answered Girty, imperturbably. 

"Ugh!" grunted Pipe. 

Half King vented his approval in the same meaning exclamation. 

An hour passed; the renegade smoked in silence; the chiefs didlikewise. 

A horseman rode up to the door of the teepee, dismounted, and camein. It was Elliott. He had been absent twenty hours. His buckskinsuit showed the effect of hard riding through the thickets. 

"Hullo, Bill, any sign of Jim?" was Girty's greeting to hislieutenant. 

"Nary. He's not been seen near the Delaware camp. He's after thatchap who married Winds. "

"I thought so. Jim's roundin' up a tenderfoot who will be a bad manto handle if he has half a chance. I saw as much the day he took hishorse away from Silver. He finally did fer the Shawnee, an' almostput Jim out. My brother oughtn't to give rein to personal revenge ata time like this. " Girty's face did not change, but his tone was oneof annoyance. 

"Jim said he'd be here to-day, didn't he?"

"To-day is as long as we allowed to wait. "

"He'll come. Where's Jake and Mac?"

"They're here somewhere, drinkin' like fish, an' raisin' hell. "

Two more renegades appeared at the door, and, entering the teepee, squatted down in Indian fashion. The little wiry man with thewizened face was McKee; the other was the latest acquisition to therenegade force, Jake Deering, deserter, thief, murderer--everythingthat is bad. In appearance he was of medium height, but veryheavily, compactly built, and evidently as strong as an ox. He had atangled shock of red hair, a broad, bloated face; big, dull eyes, like the openings of empty furnaces, and an expression ofbeastliness. 

Deering and McKee were intoxicated. 

"Bad time fer drinkin', " said Girty, with disapproval in his glance. 

"What's that ter you?" growled Deering. "I'm here ter do your work, an' I reckon it'll be done better if I'm drunk. "

"Don't git careless, " replied Girty, with that cool tone and darklook such as dangerous men use. "I'm only sayin' it's a bad time feryou, because if this bunch of frontiersmen happen to git onto youbein' the renegade that was with the Chippewas an' got thet youngfeller's girl, there's liable to be trouble. "

"They ain't agoin' ter find out. "

"Where is she?"

"Back there in the woods. "

"Mebbe it's as well. Now, don't git so drunk you'll blab all youknow. We've lots of work to do without havin' to clean upWilliamson's bunch, " rejoined Girty. "Bill, tie up the tent flapsan' we'll git to council. "

Elliott arose to carry out the order, and had pulled in thedeer-hide flaps, when one of them was jerked outward to disclose thebefrilled person of Jim Girty. Except for a discoloration over hiseye, he appeared as usual. 

"Ugh!" grunted Pipe, who was glad to see his renegade friend. 

Half King evinced the same feeling. 

"Hullo, " was Simon Girty's greeting. 

"'Pears I'm on time fer the picnic, " said Jim Girty, with hisghastly leer. 

Bill Elliott closed the flaps, after giving orders to the guard toprevent any Indians from loitering near the teepee. 

"Listen, " said Simon Girty, speaking low in the Delaware language. "The time is ripe. We have come here to break forever the influenceof the white man's religion. Our councils have been held; we shalldrive away the missionaries, and burn the Village of Peace. "

He paused, leaning forward in his exceeding earnestness, with hisbronzed face lined by swelling veins, his whole person made rigid bythe murderous thought. Then he hissed between his teeth: "What shallwe do with these Christian Indians?"

Pipe raised his war-club, struck it upon the ground; then handed itto Half King. 

Half King took the club and repeated the action. 

Both chiefs favored the death penalty. 

"Feed 'em to ther buzzards, " croaked Jim Girty. 

Simon Girty knitted his brow in thought. The question of what to dowith the converted Indians had long perplexed him. 

"No, " said he; "let us drive away the missionaries, burn thevillage, and take the Indians back to camp. We'll keep them there;they'll soon forget. "

"Pipe does not want them, " declared the Delaware. 

"Christian Indians shall never sit round Half King's fire, " criedthe Huron. 

Simon Girty knew the crisis had come; that but few moments were lefthim to decide as to the disposition of the Christians; and hethought seriously. Certainly he did not want the Christiansmurdered. However cruel his life, and great his misdeeds, he wasstill a man. If possible, he desired to burn the village and ruinthe religious influence, but without shedding blood. Yet, with allhis power, he was handicapped, and that by the very chiefs mostnearly under his control. He could not subdue this growing Christianinfluence without the help of Pipe and Half King. To these savages athing was either right or wrong. He had sown the seed of unrest andjealousy in the savage breasts, and the fruit was the decree ofdeath. As far as these Indians were concerned, this decision wasunalterable. 

On the other hand, if he did not spread ruin over the Village ofPeace, the missionaries would soon get such a grasp on the tribesthat their hold would never be broken. He could not allow that, evenif he was forced to sacrifice the missionaries along with theirconverts, for he saw in the growth of this religion his owndownfall. The border must be hostile to the whites, or it could nolonger be his home. To be sure, he had aided the British in theRevolution, and could find a refuge among them; but this did notsuit him. 

He became an outcast because of failure to win the militarypromotion which he had so much coveted. He had failed among his ownpeople. He had won a great position in an alien race, and he lovedhis power. To sway men--Indians, if not others--to his will; toavenge himself for the fancied wrong done him; to be great, had beenhis unrelenting purpose. 

He knew he must sacrifice the Christians, or eventually lose his ownpower. He had no false ideas about the converted Indians. He knewthey were innocent; that they were a thousand times better off thanthe pagan Indians; that they had never harmed him, nor would theyever do so; but if he allowed them to spread their religion therewas an end of Simon Girty. 

His decision was characteristic of the man. He would sacrifice anyone, or all, to retain his supremacy. He knew the fulfillment of thedecree as laid down by Pipe and Half King would be known as hiswork. His name, infamous now, would have an additional horror, andever be remembered by posterity in unspeakable loathing, inunsoftening wrath. He knew this, and deep down in his heart awoke anumbed chord of humanity that twinged with strange pain. What awfulwork he must sanction to keep his vaunted power! More bitter thanall was the knowledge that to retain this hold over the indians hemust commit a deed which, so far as the whites were concerned, wouldtake away his great name, and brand him a coward. 

He briefly reviewed his stirring life. Singularly fitted for aleader, in a few years he had risen to the most powerful position onthe border. He wielded more influence than any chief. He had beenopposed to the invasion of the pioneers, and this alone, without hissagacity or his generalship, would have given him control of manytribes. But hatred for his own people, coupled with unerringjudgment, a remarkable ability to lead expeditions, and hisinvariable success, had raised him higher and higher until he stoodalone. He was the most powerful man west of the Alleghenies. Hisfame was such that the British had importuned him to help them, andhad actually, in more than one instance, given him command overBritish subjects. 

All of which meant that he had a great, even though an infamousname. No matter what he was blamed for; no matter how many dastardlydeeds had been committed by his depraved brothers and laid to hisdoor, he knew he had never done a cowardly act. That which he hadcommitted while he was drunk he considered as having been done bythe liquor, and not by the man. He loved his power, and he loved hisname. 

In all Girty's eventful, ignoble life, neither the alienation fromhis people, the horror they ascribed to his power, nor the sacrificeof his life to stand high among the savage races, nor any of thecruel deeds committed while at war, hurt him a tithe as much as didthis sanctioning the massacre of the Christians. 

Although he was a vengeful, unscrupulous, evil man, he had neveracted the coward. 

Half King waited long for Girty to speak; since he remained silent, the wily Huron suggested they take a vote on the question. 

"Let us burn the Village of Peace, drive away the missionaries, andtake the Christians back to the Delaware towns--all without spillingblood, " said Girty, determined to carry his point, if possible. 

"I say the same, " added Elliott, refusing the war-club held out tohim by Half King. 

"Me, too, " voted McKee, not so drunk but that he understood thelightninglike glance Girty shot at him. 

"Kill 'em all; kill everybody, " cried Deering in drunken glee. Hetook the club and pounded with it on the ground. 

Pipe repeated his former performance, as also did Half King, afterwhich he handed the black, knotted symbol of death to Jim Girty. 

Three had declared for saving the Christians, and three for thedeath penalty. 

Six pairs of burning eyes were fastened on the Deaths-head. 

Pipe and Half King were coldly relentless; Deering awoke to a brutalearnestness; McKee and Elliott watched with bated breath. These menhad formed themselves into a tribunal to decide on the life or deathof many, and the situation, if not the greatest in their lives, certainly was one of vital importance. 

Simon Girty cursed all the fates. He dared not openly oppose thevoting, and he could not, before those cruel but just chiefs, try toinfluence his brother's vote. 

As Jim Girty took the war-club, Simon read in his brother's face thedoom of the converted Indians and he muttered to himself:

"Now tremble an' shrink, all you Christians!"

Jim was not in a hurry. Slowly he poised the war-club. He wasplaying as a cat plays with a mouse; he was glorying in his power. The silence was that of death. It signified the silence of death. The war-club descended with violence. 

"Feed the Christians to ther buzzards!"

Chapter XXIII. 

"I have been here before, " said Joe to Whispering Winds. "I rememberthat vine-covered stone. We crawled over it to get at Girty andSilvertip. There's the little knoll; here's the very spot where Iwas hit by a flying tomahawk. Yes, and there's the spring. Let mesee, what did Wetzel call this spot?"

"Beautiful Spring, " answered the Indian girl. 

"That's it, and it's well named. What a lovely place!"

Nature had been lavish in the beautifying of this inclosed dell. Itwas about fifty yards wide, and nestled among little, wooded knollsand walls of gray, lichen-covered stone. Though the sun shonebrightly into the opening, and the rain had free access to the mossyground, no stormy winds ever entered this well protected glade. 

Joe reveled in the beauty of the scene, even while he was too weakto stand erect. He suffered no pain from his wound, although he hadgradually grown dizzy, and felt as if the ground was rising beforehim. He was glad to lie upon the mossy ground in the little cavernunder the cliff. 

Upon examination his wound was found to have opened, and wasbleeding. His hunting coat was saturated with blood. WhisperingWinds washed the cut, and dressed it with cooling leaves. Then sherebandaged it tightly with Joe's linsey handkerchiefs, and while herested comfortable she gathered bundles of ferns, carrying them tothe little cavern. When she had a large quantity of these she satdown near Joe, and began to weave the long stems into a kind ofscreen. The fern stalks were four feet long and half a foot wide;these she deftly laced together, making broad screens which wouldserve to ward off the night dews. This done, she next built afireplace with flat stones. She found wild apples, plums and turnipson the knoll above the glade. Then she cooked strips of meat whichhad been brought with them. Lance grazed on the long grass justwithout the glade, and Mose caught two rabbits. When darknesssettled down Whispering Winds called the dog within the cavern, andhung the screens before the opening. 

Several days passed. Joe rested quietly, and began to recoverstrength. Besides the work of preparing their meals, WhisperingWinds had nothing to do save sit near the invalid and amuse orinterest him so that he would not fret or grow impatient, while hiswound was healing. 

They talked about their future prospects. After visiting the Villageof Peace, they would go to Fort Henry, where Joe could findemployment. They dwelt upon the cabin they would build, and passedmany happy moments planning a new home. Joe's love of the wildernesshad in no wise diminished; but a blow on his head from a heavytomahawk, and a vicious stab in the back, had lessened his zeal sofar that he understood it was not wise to sacrifice life for thepleasures of the pathless woods. He could have the last without thedanger of being shot at from behind every tree. He reasoned that itwould be best for him to take his wife to Fort Henry, there findemployment, and devote his leisure time to roaming in the forest. 

"Will the palefaces be kind to an Indian who has learned to lovethem?" Whispering Winds asked wistfully of Joe. 

"Indeed they will, " answered Joe, and he told her the story of IsaacZane; how he took his Indian bride home; how her beauty andsweetness soon won all the white people's love. "It will be so withyou, my wife. "

"Whispering Winds knows so little, " she murmured. 

"Why, you are learning every day, and even if such was not the case, you know enough for me. "

"Whispering Winds will be afraid; she fears a little to go. "

"I'll be glad when we can be on the move, " said Joe, with his oldimpatient desire for action. "How soon, Winds, can we set off?"

"As many days, " answered the Indian girl, holding up five fingers. 

"So long? I want to leave this place. "

"Leave Beautiful Spring?"

"Yes, even this sweet place. It has a horror for me. I'll neverforget the night I first saw that spring shining in the moonlight. It was right above the rock that I looked into the glade. The moonwas reflected in the dark pool, and as I gazed into the shadowydepths of the dark water I suddenly felt an unaccountable terror;but I oughtn't to have the same feeling now. We are safe, are wenot?"

"We are safe, " murmured Whispering Winds. 

"Yet I have the same chill of fear whenever I look at the beautifulspring, and at night as I awake to hear the soft babble of runningwater, I freeze until my heart feels like cold lead. Winds, I'm nota coward; but I can't help this feeling. Perhaps, it's only thememory of that awful night with Wetzel. "

"An Indian feels so when he passes to his unmarked grave, " answeredWinds, gazing solemnly at him. "Whispering Winds does not like thisfancy of yours. Let us leave Beautiful Spring. You are almost well. Ah! if Whispering Winds should lose you! I love you!"

"And I love you, my beautiful wild flower, " answered Joe, strokingthe dark head so near his own. 

A tender smile shone on his face. He heard a slight noise withoutthe cave, and, looking up, saw that which caused the smile to fadequickly. 

"Mose!" he called, sharply. The dog was away chasing rabbits. 

Whispering Winds glanced over her shoulder with a startled cry, which ended in a scream. 

Not two yards behind her stood Jim Girty. 

Hideous was his face in its triumphant ferocity. He held a longknife in his hand, and, snarling like a mad wolf, he made a forwardlunge. 

Joe raised himself quickly; but almost before he could lift his handin defense, the long blade was sheathed in his breast. 

Slowly he sank back, his gray eyes contracting with the old steelyflash. The will to do was there, but the power was gone forever. 

"Remember, Girty, murderer! I am Wetzel's friend, " he cried, gazingat his slayer with unutterable scorn. 

Then the gray eyes softened, and sought the blanched face of thestricken maiden. 

"Winds, " he whispered faintly. 

She was as one frozen with horror. 

The gray eyes gazed into hers with lingering tenderness; then thefilm of death came upon them. 

The renegade raised his bloody knife, and bent over the prostrateform. 

Whispering Winds threw herself upon Girty with the blind fury of amaddened lioness. Cursing fiercely, he stabbed her once, twice, three times. She fell across the body of her lover, and clasped itconvulsively. 

Girty gave one glance at his victims; deliberately wiped the goryknife on Wind's leggins, and, with another glance, hurried andfearful, around the glade, he plunged into the thicket. 

An hour passed. A dark stream crept from the quiet figures towardthe spring. It dyed the moss and the green violet leaves. Slowly itwound its way to the clear water, dripping between the pale blueflowers. The little fall below the spring was no longer snowy white;blood had tinged it red. 

A dog came bounding into the glade. He leaped the brook, hesitatedon the bank, and lowered his nose to sniff at the water. He boundedup the bank to the cavern. 

A long, mournful howl broke the wilderness's quiet. 

Another hour passed. The birds were silent; the insects still. Thesun sank behind the trees, and the shades of evening gathered. 

The ferns on the other side of the glade trembled. A slight rustleof dead leaves disturbed the stillness. The dog whined, then barked. The tall form of a hunter rose out of the thicket, and stepped intothe glade with his eyes bent upon moccasin tracks in the soft moss. 

The trail he had been following led him to this bloody spring. 

"I might hev knowed it, " he muttered. 

Wetzel, for it was he, leaned upon his long rifle while his keeneyes took in the details of the tragedy. The whining dog, the bloodywater, the motionless figures lying in a last embrace, told the sadstory. 

"Joe an' Winds, " he muttered. 

Only a moment did he remain lost in sad reflection. A familiarmoccasin-print in the sand on the bank pointed westward. He examinedit carefully. 

"Two hours gone, " he muttered. "I might overtake him. "

Then his motions became swift. With two blows of his tomahawk hesecured a long piece of grapevine. He took a heavy stone from thebed of the brook. He carried Joe to the spring, and, returning forWinds, placed her beside her lover. This done, he tied one end ofthe grapevine around the stone, and wound the other about the deadbodies. 

He pushed them off the bank into the spring. As the lovers sank intothe deep pool they turned, exposing first Winds' sad face, and thenJoe's. Then they sank out of sight. Little waves splashed on theshore of the pool; the ripple disappeared, and the surface of thespring became tranquil. 

Wetzel stood one moment over the watery grave of the maiden who hadsaved him, and the boy who had loved him. In the gathering gloom hisstalwart form assumed gigantic proportions, and when he raised hislong arm and shook his clenched fist toward the west, he resembled amagnificent statue of dark menace. 

With a single bound he cleared the pool, and then sped out of theglade. He urged the dog on Girty's trail, and followed the eagerbeast toward the west. As he disappeared, a long, low sound like thesigh of the night wind swelled and moaned through the gloom. 

Chapter XXIV. 

When the first ruddy rays of the rising sun crimsoned the easternsky, Wetzel slowly wound his way down a rugged hill far west ofBeautiful Spring. A white dog, weary and footsore, limped by hisside. Both man and beast showed evidence of severe exertion. 

The hunter stopped in a little cave under a projecting stone, and, laying aside his rifle, began to gather twigs and sticks. He wasparticular about selecting the wood, and threw aside many pieceswhich would have burned well; but when he did kindle a flame itblazed hotly, yet made no smoke. 

He sharpened a green stick, and, taking some strips of meat from hispocket, roasted them over the hot flame. He fed the dog first. Mosehad crouched close on the ground with his head on his paws, and hisbrown eyes fastened upon the hunter. 

"He had too big a start fer us, " said Wetzel, speaking as if the dogwere human. It seemed that Wetzel's words were a protest against themeaning in those large, sad eyes. 

Then the hunter put out the fire, and, searching for a more secludedspot, finally found one on top of the ledge, where he commanded agood view of his surroundings. The weary dog was asleep. Wetzelsettled himself to rest, and was soon wrapped in slumber. 

About noon he awoke. He arose, stretched his limbs, and then took aneasy position on the front of the ledge, where he could look below. Evidently the hunter was waiting for something. The dog slept on. Itwas the noonday hour, when the stillness of the forest almostmatched that of midnight. The birds were more quiet than at anyother time during daylight. 

Wetzel reclined there with his head against the stone, and his rifleresting across his knees. 

He listened now to the sounds of the forest. The soft breezefluttering among the leaves, the rain-call of the tree frog, the cawof crows from distant hilltops, the sweet songs of the thrush andoriole, were blended together naturally, harmoniously. 

But suddenly the hunter raised his head. A note, deeper than theothers, a little too strong, came from far down the shaded hollow. To Wetzel's trained ear it was a discord. He manifested no more thanthis attention, for the birdcall was the signal he had beenawaiting. He whistled a note in answer that was as deep and clear asthe one which had roused him. 

Moments passed. There was no repetition of the sound. The songs ofthe other birds had ceased. Besides Wetzel there was anotherintruder in the woods. 

Mose lifted his shaggy head and growled. The hunter patted the dog. In a few minutes the figure of a tall man appeared among the laurelsdown the slope. He stopped while gazing up at the ledge. Then, withnoiseless step, he ascended the ridge, climbed the rocky ledge, andturned the corner of the stone to face Wetzel. The newcomer wasJonathan Zane. 

"Jack, I expected you afore this, " was Wetzel's greeting. 

"I couldn't make it sooner, " answered Zane. "After we leftWilliamson and separated, I got turned around by a band of severalhundred redskins makin' for the Village of Peace. I went back again, but couldn't find any sign of the trail we're huntin'. Then I makesfor this meetin' place. I've been goin' for some ten hours, and amhungry. "

"I've got some bar ready cooked, " said Wetzel, handing Zane severalstrips of meat. 

"What luck did you have?"

"I found Girty's trail, an old one, over here some eighteen ortwenty miles, an' follered it until I went almost into the Delawaretown. It led to a hut in a deep ravine. I ain't often surprised, butI wus then. I found the dead body of that girl, Kate Wells, wefetched over from Fort Henry. Thet's sad, but it ain't thesurprisin' part. I also found Silvertip, the Shawnee I've beenlookin' fer. He was all knocked an' cut up, deader'n a stone. There'd been somethin' of a scrap in the hut. I calkilate Girtymurdered Kate, but I couldn't think then who did fer Silver, thoughI allowed the renegade might hev done thet, too. I watched round an'seen Girty come back to the hut. He had ten Injuns with him, an'presently they all made fer the west. I trailed them, but didn'tcalkilate it'd be wise to tackle the bunch single-handed, so laidback. A mile or so from the hut I came across hoss tracks minglin'with the moccasin-prints. About fifteen mile or from the Delawaretown, Girty left his buckskins, an' they went west, while he stuckto the hoss tracks. I was onto his game in a minute. I cut acrosscountry fer Beautiful Spring, but I got there too late. I found thewarm bodies of Joe and thet Injun girl, Winds. The snake hedmurdered them. "

"I allow Joe won over Winds, got away from the Delaware town withher, tried to rescue Kate, and killed Silver in the fight. Girtyprobably was surprised, an' run after he had knifed the girl. "

"'Pears so to me. Joe had two knife cuts, an' one was an old wound. "

"You say it was a bad fight?"

"Must hev been. The hut was all knocked in, an' stuff scatteredabout. Wal, Joe could go some if he onct got started. "

"I'll bet he could. He was the likeliest lad I've seen for many aday. "

"If he'd lasted, he'd been somethin' of a hunter an' fighter. "

"Too bad. But Lord! you couldn't keep him down, no more than you canlots of these wild young chaps that drift out here. "

"I'll allow he had the fever bad. "

"Did you hev time to bury them?"

"I hedn't time fer much. I sunk them in the spring. "

"It's a pretty deep hole, " said Zane, reflectively. "Then, you andthe dog took Girty's trail, but couldn't catch up with him. He's nowwith the renegade cutthroats and hundreds of riled Indians overthere in the Village of Peace. "

"I reckon you're right. "

A long silence ensued. Jonathan finished his simple repast, drankfrom the little spring that trickled under the stone, and, sittingdown by the dog, smoothed out his long silken hair. 

"Lew, we're pretty good friends, ain't we?" he asked, thoughtfully. 

"Jack, you an' the colonel are all the friends I ever hed, 'ceptin'that boy lyin' quiet back there in the woods. "

"I know you pretty well, and ain't sayin' a word about your runnin'off from me on many a hunt, but I want to speak plain about thisfellow Girty. "

"Wal?" said Wetzel, as Zane hesitated. 

"Twice in the last few years you and I have had it in for the samemen, both white-livered traitors. You remember? First it was Miller, who tried to ruin my sister Betty, and next it was Jim Girty, whomurdered our old friend, as good an old man as ever wore moccasins. Wal, after Miller ran off from the fort, we trailed him down to theriver, and I points across and says, 'You or me?' and you says, 'Me. ' You was Betty's friend, and I knew she'd be avenged. Miller islyin' quiet in the woods, and violets have blossomed twice over hisgrave, though you never said a word; but I know it's true because Iknow you. "

Zane looked eagerly into the dark face of his friend, hoping perhapsto get some verbal assurance there that his belief was true. ButWetzel did not speak, and he continued:

"Another day not so long ago we both looked down at an old friend, and saw his white hair matted with blood. He'd been murdered fornothin'. Again you and me trailed a coward and found him to be JimGirty. I knew you'd been huntin' him for years, and so I says, 'Lew, you or me?' and you says, 'Me. ' I give in to you, for I knew you'rea better man than me, and because I wanted you to have thesatisfaction. Wal, the months have gone by, and Jim Girty's stilllivin' and carryin' on. Now he's over there after them poorpreachers. I ain't sayin', Lew, that you haven't more agin him thanme, but I do say, let me in on it with you. He always has a gang ofredskins with him; he's afraid to travel alone, else you'd had himlong ago. Two of us'll have more chance to get him. Let me go withyou. When it comes to a finish, I'll stand aside while you give itto him. I'd enjoy seein' you cut him from shoulder to hip. After heleaves the Village of Peace we'll hit his trail, camp on it, andstick to it until it ends in his grave. "

The earnest voice of the backwoodsman ceased. Both men rose andstood facing each other. Zane's bronzed face was hard and tense, expressive of an indomitable will; Wetzel's was coldly dark, withfateful resolve, as if his decree of vengeance, once given, was asimmutable as destiny. The big, horny hands gripped in a viselikeclasp born of fierce passion, but no word was spoken. 

Far to the west somewhere, a befrilled and bedizened renegadepursued the wild tenor of his ways; perhaps, even now steeping hissoul in more crime, or staining his hands a deeper red, but sleepingor waking, he dreamed not of this deadly compact that meant hisdoom. 

The two hunters turned their stern faces toward the west, and passedsilently down the ridge into the depths of the forest. Darknessfound them within rifle-shot of the Village of Peace. With the dogcreeping between them, they crawled to a position which would, indaylight, command a view of the clearing. Then, while one stoodguard, the other slept. 

When morning dawned they shifted their position to the top of a low, fern-covered cliff, from which they could see every movement in thevillage. All the morning they watched with that wonderful patienceof men who knew how to wait. The visiting savages were quiet, themissionaries moved about in and out of the shops and cabins; theChristian indians worked industriously in the fields, while therenegades lolled before a prominent teepee. 

"This quiet looks bad, " whispered Jonathan to Wetzel. No shouts wereheard; not a hostile Indian was seen to move. 

"They've come to a decision, " whispered Jonathan, and Wetzelanswered him:

"If they hev, the Christians don't know it. "

An hour later the deep pealing of the church bell broke the silence. The entire band of Christian Indians gathered near the large logstructure, and then marched in orderly form toward the maple grovewhere the service was always held in pleasant weather. This movementbrought the Indians within several hundred yards of the cliff whereZane and Wetzel lay concealed. 

"There's Heckewelder walking with old man Wells, " whisperedJonathan. "There's Young and Edwards, and, yes, there's the youngmissionary, brother of Joe. 'Pears to me they're foolish to holdservice in the face of all those riled Injuns. "

"Wuss'n foolish, " answered Wetzel. 

"Look! By gum! As I'm a livin' sinner there comes the whole crowd ofhostile redskins. They've got their guns, and--by Gum! they'repainted. Looks bad, bad! Not much friendliness about that bunch!"

"They ain't intendin' to be peaceable. "

"By gum! You're right. There ain't one of them settin' down. 'Pearsto me I know some of them redskins. There's Pipe, sure enough, andKotoxen. By gum! If there ain't Shingiss; he was friendly once. "

"None of them's friendly. "

"Look! Lew, look! Right behind Pipe. See that long war-bonnet. AsI'm a born sinner, that's your old friend, Wingenund. 'Pears to mewe've rounded up all our acquaintances. "

The two bordermen lay close under the tall ferns and watched theproceedings with sharp eyes. They saw the converted Indians seatthemselves before the platform. The crowd of hostile Indianssurrounded the glade on all sides, except on, which, singularlyenough, was next to the woods. 

"Look thar!" exclaimed Wetzel, under his breath. He pointed off tothe right of the maple glade. Jonathan gazed in the directionindicated, and saw two savages stealthily slipping through thebushes, and behind trees. Presently these suspicious acting spies, or scouts, stopped on a little knoll perhaps an hundred yards fromthe glade. 

Wetzel groaned. 

"This ain't comfortable, " growled Zane, in a low whisper. "Them reddevils are up to somethin' bad. They'd better not move round overhere. "

The hunters, satisfied that the two isolated savages meant mischief, turned their gaze once more toward the maple grove. 

"Ah! Simon you white traitor! See him, Lew, comin' with his preciousgang, " said Jonathan. "He's got the whole thing fixed, you canplainly see that. Bill Elliott, McKee; and who's that renegade withJim Girty? I'll allow he must be the fellar we heard was with theChippewas. Tough lookin' customer; a good mate fer Jim Girty! A finelot of border-hawks!"

"Somethin' comin' off, " whispered Wetzel, as Zane's low growl grewunintelligible. 

Jonathan felt, rather than saw, Wetzel tremble. 

"The missionaries are consultin'. Ah! there comes one! Which? Iguess it's Edwards. By gum! who's that Injun stalkin' over from thehostile bunch. Big chief, whoever he is. Blest if it ain't HalfKing!"

The watchers saw the chief wave his arm and speak with evidentarrogance to Edwards, who, however, advanced to the platform andraised his hand to address the Christians. 

"Crack!"

A shot rang out from the thicket. Clutching wildly at his breast, the missionary reeled back, staggered, and fell. 

"One of those skulkin' redskins has killed Edwards, " said Zane. "But, no; he's not dead! He's gettin' up. Mebbe he ain't hurt bad. By gum! there's Young comin' forward. Of all the fools!"

It was indeed true that Young had faced the Indians. Half Kingaddressed him as he had the other; but Young raised his hand andbegan speaking. 

"Crack!"

Another shot rang out. Young threw up his hands and fell heavily. The missionaries rushed toward him. Mr. Wells ran round the group, wringing his hands as if distracted. 

"He's hard hit, " hissed Zane, between his teeth. "You can tell thatby the way he fell. "

Wetzel did not answer. He lay silent and motionless, his long bodyrigid, and his face like marble. 

"There comes the other young fellar--Joe's brother. He'll getplugged, too, " continued Zane, whispering rather to himself than tohis companion. "Oh, I hoped they'd show some sense! It's noble forthem to die for Christianity, but it won't do no good. By gum!Heckewelder has pulled him back. Now, that's good judgment!"

Half King stepped before the Christians and addressed them. He heldin his hand a black war-club, which he wielded as he spoke. 

Jonathan's attention was now directed from the maple grove to thehunter beside him. He had heard a slight metallic click, as Wetzelcocked his rifle. Then he saw the black barrel slowly rise. 

"Listen, Lew. Mebbe it ain't good sense. We're after Girty, youremember; and it's a long shot from here--full three hundred yards. "

"You're right, Jack, you're right, " answered Wetzel, breathing hard. 

"Let's wait, and see what comes off. "

"Jack, I can't do it. It'll make our job harder; but I can't helpit. I can put a bullet just over the Huron's left eye, an' I'm goin'to do it. "

"You can't do it, Lew; you can't! It's too far for any gun. Wait!Wait!" whispered Jonathan, laying his hand on Wetzel's shoulder. 

"Wait? Man, can't you see what the unnamable villain is doin'?"

"What?" asked Zane, turning his eyes again to the glade. 

The converted Indians sat with bowed heads. Half King raised hiswar-club, and threw it on the ground in front of them. 

"He's announcin' the death decree!" hissed Wetzel. 

"Well! if he ain't!"

Jonathan looked at Wetzel's face. Then he rose to his knees, as hadWetzel, and tightened his belt. He knew that in another instant theywould be speeding away through the forest. 

"Lew, my rifle's no good fer that distance. But mebbe yours is. Youought to know. It's not sense, because there's Simon Girty, andthere's Jim, the men we're after. If you can hit one, you cananother. But go ahead, Lew. Plug that cowardly redskin!"

Wetzel knelt on one knee, and thrust the black rifle forward throughthe fern leaves. Slowly the fatal barrel rose to a level, and becameas motionless as the immovable stones. 

Jonathan fixed his keen gaze on the haughty countenance of Half Kingas he stood with folded arms and scornful mien in front of theChristians he had just condemned. 

Even as the short, stinging crack of Wetzel's rifle broke thesilence, Jonathan saw the fierce expression of Half King's dark facechange to one of vacant wildness. His arms never relaxed from theirfolded position. He fell, as falls a monarch of the forest trees, adead weight. 

Chapter XXV. 

"Please do not preach to-day, " said Nell, raising her eyesimploringly to Jim's face. 

"Nellie, I must conduct the services as usual. I can not shirk myduty, nor let these renegades see I fear to face them. "

"I have such a queer feeling. I am afraid. I don't want to be leftalone. Please do not leave me. "

Jim strode nervously up and down the length of the room. Nell's wornface, her beseeching eyes and trembling hands touched his heart. Rather than almost anything else, he desired to please her, tostrengthen her; yet how could he shirk his duty?

"Nellie, what is it you fear?" he asked, holding her hands tightly. 

"Oh, I don't know what--everything. Uncle is growing weaker everyday. Look at Mr. Young; he is only a shadow of his former self, andthis anxiety is wearing Mr. Heckewelder out. He is more concernedthan he dares admit. You needn't shake your head, for I know it. Then those Indians who are waiting, waiting--for God only knowswhat! Worse than all to me, I saw that renegade, that fearful beastwho made way with poor dear Kate!"

Nell burst into tears, and leaned sobbing on Jim's shoulder. 

"Nell, I've kept my courage only because of you, " replied Jim, hisvoice trembling slightly. 

She looked up quickly. Something in the pale face which was bentover her told that now, if ever, was the time for a woman to forgetherself, and to cheer, to inspire those around her. 

"I am a silly baby, and selfish!" she cried, freeing herself fromhis hold. "Always thinking of myself. " She turned away and wiped thetears from her eyes. "Go, Jim, do you duty; I'll stand by and helpyou all a woman can. "

 * * *

The missionaries were consulting in Heckewelder's cabin. Zeisbergerhad returned that morning, and his aggressive, dominating spirit wasjust what they needed in an hour like this. He raised the downcastspirits of the ministers. 

"Hold the service? I should say we will, " he declared, waving hishands. "What have we to be afraid of?"

"I do not know, " answered Heckewelder, shaking his head doubtfully. "I do not know what to fear. Girty himself told me he bore us no illwill; but I hardly believe him. All this silence, this ominouswaiting perplexes, bewilders me. "

"Gentlemen, our duty at least is plain, " said Jim, impressively. "The faith of these Christian Indians in us is so absolute that theyhave no fear. They believe in God, and in us. These threateningsavages have failed signally to impress our Christians. If we do nothold the service they will think we fear Girty, and that might havea bad influence. "

"I am in favor of postponing the preaching for a few days. I tellyou I am afraid of Girty's Indians, not for myself, but for theseChristians whom we love so well. I am afraid. " Heckewelder's facebore testimony to his anxious dread. 

"You are our leader; we have but to obey, " said Edwards. "Yet Ithink we owe it to our converts to stick to our work until we areforced by violence to desist. "

"Ah! What form will that violence take?" cried Heckewelder, his facewhite. "You cannot tell what these savages mean. I fear! I fear!"

"Listen, Heckewelder, you must remember we had this to go throughonce before, " put in Zeisberger earnestly. "In '78 Girty came downon us like a wolf on the fold. He had not so many Indians at hisbeck and call as now; but he harangued for days, trying to scare usand our handful of Christians. He set his drunken fiends to frightenus, and he failed. We stuck it out and won. He's trying the samegame. Let us stand against him, and hold our services as usual. Weshould trust in God!"

"Never give up!" cried Jim. 

"Gentlemen, you are right; you shame me, even though I feel that Iunderstand the situation and its dread possibilities better than anyone of you. Whatever befalls we'll stick to our post. I thank youfor reviving the spirit in my cowardly heart. We will hold theservice to-day as usual and to make it more impressive, each shalladdress the congregation in turn. "

"And, if need be, we will give our lives for our Christians, " saidYoung, raising his pale face. 

 * * *

The deep mellow peals of the church bell awoke the slumberingechoes. Scarcely had its melody died away in the forest when a lineof Indians issued from the church and marched toward the maplegrove. Men, women, youths, maidens and children. 

Glickhican, the old Delaware chief, headed the line. His step wasfirm, his head erect, his face calm in its noble austerity. Hisfollowers likewise expressed in their countenances the steadfastnessof their belief. The maidens' heads were bowed, but with shyness, not fear. The children were happy, their bright faces expressive ofthe joy they felt in the anticipation of listening to their belovedteachers. 

This procession passed between rows of painted savages, standingimmovable, with folded arms, and somber eyes. 

No sooner had the Christians reached the maple grove, when from allover the clearing appeared hostile Indians, who took positions nearthe knoll where the missionaries stood. 

Heckewelder's faithful little band awaited him on the platform. Theconverted Indians seated themselves as usual at the foot of theknoll. The other savages crowded closely on both sides. They carriedtheir weapons, and maintained the same silence that had sosingularly marked their mood of the last twenty-four hours. No humanskill could have divined their intention. This coldness might beonly habitual reserve, and it might be anything else. 

Heckewelder approached at the same time that Simon Girty and hisband of renegades appeared. With the renegades were Pipe and HalfKing. These two came slowly across the clearing, passed through theopening in the crowd, and stopped close to the platform. 

Heckewelder went hurriedly up to his missionaries. He seemed besidehimself with excitement, and spoke with difficulty. 

"Do not preach to-day. I have been warned again, " he said, in a lowvoice. 

"Do you forbid it?" inquired Edwards. 

"No, no. I have not that authority, but I implore it. Wait, waituntil the Indians are in a better mood. "

Edwards left the group, and, stepping upon the platform, faced theChristians. 

At the same moment Half King stalked majestically from before hisparty. He carried no weapon save a black, knotted war-club. Asurging forward of the crowd of savages behind him showed theintense interest which his action had aroused. He walked forwarduntil he stood half way between the platform and the converts. Heran his evil glance slowly over the Christians, and then rested itupon Edwards. 

"Half King's orders are to be obeyed. Let the paleface keep hismouth closed, " he cried in the Indian tongue. The imperious commandcame as a thunderbolt from a clear sky. The missionaries behindEdwards stood bewildered, awaiting the outcome. 

But Edwards, without a moment's hesitation, calmly lifted his handand spoke. 

"Beloved Christians, we meet to-day as we have met before, as wehope to meet in---"

"Spang!"

The whistling of a bullet over the heads of the Christiansaccompanied the loud report of a rifle. All presently plainly heardthe leaden missile strike. Edwards wheeled, clutching his side, breathed hard, and then fell heavily without uttering a cry. He hadbeen shot by an Indian concealed in the thicket. 

For a moment no one moved, nor spoke. The missionaries were strickenwith horror; the converts seemed turned to stone, and the hostilethrong waited silently, as they had for hours. 

"He's shot! He's shot! Oh, I feared this!" cried Heckewelder, running forward. The missionaries followed him. Edwards was lying onhis back, with a bloody hand pressed to his side. 

"Dave, Dave, how is it with you?" asked Heckewelder, in a voice lowwith fear. 

"Not bad. It's too far out to be bad, but it knocked me over, "answered Edwards, weakly. "Give me--water. "

They carried him from the platform, and laid him on the grass undera tree. 

Young pressed Edwards' hand; he murmured something that sounded likea prayer, and then walked straight upon the platform, as he raisedhis face, which was sublime with a white light. 

"Paleface! Back!" roared Half King, as he waved his war-club. 

"You Indian dog! Be silent!"

Young's clear voice rolled out on the quiet air so imperiously, sopowerful in its wonderful scorn and passion, that the hostilesavages were overcome by awe, and the Christians thrilled anew withreverential love. 

Young spoke again in a voice which had lost its passion, and wassingularly sweet in its richness. 

"Beloved Christians, if it is God's will that we must die to proveour faith, then as we have taught you how to live, so we can showyou how to die---"

"Spang!"

Again a whistling sound came with the bellow of an overchargedrifle; again the sickening thud of a bullet striking flesh. 

Young fell backwards from the platform. 

The missionaries laid him beside Edwards, and then stood inshuddering silence. A smile shone on Young's pale face; a stream ofdark blood welled from his breast. His lips moved; he whispered:

"I ask no more--God's will. "

Jim looked down once at his brother missionaries; then with blanchedface, but resolute and stern, he marched toward the platform. 

Heckewelder ran after him, and dragged him back. 

"No! no! no! My God! Would you be killed? Oh! I tried to preventthis!" cried Heckewelder, wringing his hands. 

One long, fierce, exultant yell pealed throughout the grove. It camefrom those silent breasts in which was pent up hatred; it greetedthis action which proclaimed victory over the missionaries. 

All eyes turned on Half King. With measured stride he paced to andfro before the Christian Indians. 

Neither cowering nor shrinking marked their manner; to a man, to achild, they rose with proud mien, heads erect and eyes flashing. This mighty chief with his blood-thirsty crew could burn the Villageof Peace, could annihilate the Christians, but he could never changetheir hope and trust in God. 

"Blinded fools!" cried Half King. "The Huron is wise; he tells nolies. Many moons ago he told the Christians they were sitting halfway between two angry gods, who stood with mouths open wide andlooking ferociously at each other. If they did not move back out ofthe road they would be ground to powder by the teeth of one or theother, or both. Half King urged them to leave the peaceful village, to forget the paleface God; to take their horses, and flocks, andreturn to their homes. The Christians scorned the Huron King'scounsel. The sun has set for the Village of Peace. The time hascome. Pipe and the Huron are powerful. They will not listen to thepaleface God. They will burn the Village of Peace. Death to theChristians!"

Half King threw the black war-club with a passionate energy on thegrass before the Indians. 

They heard this decree of death with unflinching front. Even thechildren were quiet. Not a face paled, not an eye was lowered. 

Half King cast their doom in their teeth. The Christians eyed himwith unspoken scorn. 

"My God! My God! It is worse than I thought!" moaned Heckewelder. "Utter ruin! Murder! Murder!"

In the momentary silence which followed his outburst, a tiny cloudof blue-white smoke came from the ferns overhanging a cliff. 

Crack!

All heard the shot of a rifle; all noticed the difference betweenits clear, ringing intonation and the loud reports of the other two. All distinctly heard the zip of a bullet as it whistled over theirheads. 

All? No, not all. One did not hear that speeding bullet. He who wasthe central figure in this tragic scene, he who had doomed theChristians might have seen that tiny puff of smoke which heraldedhis own doom, but before the ringing report could reach his ears asmall blue hole appeared, as if by magic, over his left eye, andpulse, and sense, and life had fled forever. 

Half King, great, cruel chieftain, stood still for an instant as ifhe had been an image of stone; his haughty head lost its erectpoise, the fierceness seemed to fade from his dark face, his proudplume waved gracefully as he swayed to and fro, and then fell beforethe Christians, inert and lifeless. 

No one moved; it was as if no one breathed. The superstitioussavages awaited fearfully another rifle shot; another lightningstroke, another visitation from the paleface's God. 

But Jim Girty, with a cunning born of his terrible fear, hadrecognized the ring of that rifle. He had felt the zip of a bulletwhich could just as readily have found his brain as Half King's. Hehad stood there as fair a mark as the cruel Huron, yet the Avengerhad not chosen him. Was he reserved for a different fate? Was notsuch a death too merciful for the frontier Deathshead? He yelled inhis craven fear:

"Le vent de la Mort!"

The well known, dreaded appellation aroused the savages from afearful stupor into a fierce manifestation of hatred. A tremendousyell rent the air. Instantly the scene changed. 

Chapter XXVI. 

In the confusion the missionaries carried Young and Edwards into Mr. Wells' cabin. Nell's calm, white face showed that she had expectedsome such catastrophe as this, but she of all was the least excited. Heckewelder left them at the cabin and hurried away to consultCaptain Williamson. While Zeisberger, who was skilled in surgery, attended to the wounded men, Jim barred the heavy door, shut therude, swinging windows, and made the cabin temporarily a refuge fromprowling savages. 

Outside the clamor increased. Shrill yells rent the air, long, rolling war-cries sounded above all the din. The measured stamp ofmoccasined feet, the rush of Indians past the cabin, the dull thudof hatchets struck hard into the trees--all attested to theexcitement of the savages, and the imminence of terrible danger. 

In the front room of Mr. Wells' cabin Edwards lay on a bed, his faceturned to the wall, and his side exposed. There was a bloody hole inhis white skin. Zeisberger was probing for the bullet. He had noinstruments, save those of his own manufacture, and they weredarning needles with bent points, and a long knife-blade groundthin. 

"There, I have it, " said Zeisberger. "Hold still, Dave. There!" AsEdwards moaned Zeisberger drew forth the bloody bullet. "Jim, washand dress this wound. It isn't bad. Dave will be all right in acouple of days. Now I'll look at George. "

Zeisberger hurried into the other room. Young lay with quiet faceand closed eyes, breathing faintly. Zeisberger opened the woundedman's shirt and exposed the wound, which was on the right side, rather high up. Nell, who had followed Zeisberger that she might beof some assistance if needed, saw him look at the wound and thenturn a pale face away for a second. That hurried, shudderingmovement of the sober, practical missionary was most significant. Then he bent over Young and inserted on of the probes into thewound. He pushed the steel an inch, two, three, four inches intoYoung's breast, but the latter neither moved nor moaned. Zeisbergershook his head, and finally removed the instrument. He raised thesufferer's shoulder to find the bed saturated with blood. The bulletwound extended completely through the missionary's body, and wasbleeding from the back. Zeisberger folded strips of linsey clothinto small pads and bound them tightly over both apertures of thewound. 

"How is he?" asked Jim, when the amateur surgeon returned to theother room, and proceeded to wash the blood from his hands. 

Zeisberger shook his head gloomily. 

"How is George?" whispered Edwards, who had heard Jim's question. 

"Shot through the right lung. Human skill can not aid him! Only Godcan save. "

"Didn't I hear a third shot?" whispered Dave, gazing round with sad, questioning eyes. "Heckewelder?"

"Is safe. He has gone to see Williamson. You did hear a third shot. Half King fell dead with a bullet over his left eye. He had justfolded his arms in a grand pose after his death decree to theChristians. "

"A judgment of God!"

"It does seem so, but it came in the form of leaden death fromWetzel's unerring rifle. Do you hear all that yelling? Half King'sdeath has set the Indians wild. "

There was a gentle knock at the door, and then the word, "Open, " inHeckewelder's voice. 

Jim unbarred the door. Heckewelder came in carrying over hisshoulder what apparently was a sack of meal. He was accompanied byyoung Christy. Heckewelder put the bag down, opened it, and liftedout a little Indian boy. The child gazed round with fearful eyes. 

"Save Benny! Save Benny!" he cried, running to Nell, and she claspedhim closely in her arms. 

Heckewelder's face was like marble as he asked concerning Edwards'condition. 

"I'm not badly off, " said the missionary with a smile. 

"How's George?" whispered Heckewelder. 

No one answered him. Zeisberger raised his hands. All followedHeckewelder into the other room, where Young lay in the sameposition as when first brought in. Heckewelder stood gazing downinto the wan face with its terribly significant smile. 

"I brought him out here. I persuaded him to come!" whisperedHeckewelder. "Oh, Almighty God!" he cried. His voice broke, and hisprayer ended with the mute eloquence of clasped hands and uplifted, appealing face. 

"Come out, " said Zeisberger, leading him into the larger room. Theothers followed, and Jim closed the door. 

"What's to be done?" said Zeisberger, with his practical commonsense. "What did Williamson say? Tell us what you learned?"

"Wait--directly, " answered Heckewelder, sitting down and coveringhis face with his hands. There was a long silence. At length heraised his white face and spoke calmly:

"Gentlemen, the Village of Peace is doomed. I entreated CaptainWilliamson to help us, but he refused. Said he dared not interfere. I prayed that he would speak at least a word to Girty, but he deniedmy request. "

"Where are the converts?"

"Imprisoned in the church, every one of them except Benny. Mr. Christy and I hid the child in the meal sack and were thus able toget him here. We must save him. "

"Save him?" asked Nell, looking from Heckewelder to the tremblingIndian boy. 

"Nellie, the savages have driven all our Christians into the church, and shut them up there, until Girty and his men shall give the wordto complete their fiendish design. The converts asked but onefavor--an hour in which to pray. It was granted. The savages intendto murder them all. "

"Oh! Horrible! Monstrous!" cried Nell. "How can they be so inhuman?"She lifted Benny up in her arms. "They'll never get you, my boy. We'll save you--I'll save you!" The child moaned and clung to herneck. 

"They are scouring the clearing now for Christians, and will searchall the cabins. I'm positive. "

"Will they come here?" asked Nell, turning her blazing eyes onHeckewelder. 

"Undoubtedly. We must try to hide Benny. Let me think; where wouldbe a good place? We'll try a dark corner of the loft. "

"No, no, " cried Nell. 

"Put Benny in Young's bed, " suggested Jim. 

"No, no, " cried Nell. 

"Put him in a bucket and let him down in the well, " whisperedEdwards, who had listened intently to the conversation. 

"That's a capital place, " said Heckewelder. "But might he not fallout and drown?"

"Tie him in the bucket, " said Jim. 

"No, no, no, " cried Nell. 

"But Nellie, we must decide upon a hiding place, and in a hurry. "

"I'll save Benny. "

"You? Will you stay here to face those men? Jim Girty and Deeringare searching the cabins. Could you bear it to see them? Youcouldn't. "

"Oh! No, I believe it would kill me! That man! that beast! will hecome here?" Nell grew ghastly pale, and looked as if about to faint. She shrunk in horror at the thought of again facing Girty. "ForGod's sake, Heckewelder, don't let him see me! Don't let him comein! Don't!"

Even as the imploring voice ceased a heavy thump sounded on thedoor. 

"Who's there?" demanded Heckewelder. 

Thump! Thump!

The heavy blows shook the cabin. The pans rattled on the shelves. Noanswer came from without. 

"Quick! Hide Benny! It's as much as our lives are worth to have himfound here, " cried Heckewelder in a fierce whisper, as he dartedtoward the door. 

"All right, all right, in a moment, " he called out, fumbling overthe bar. 

He opened the door a moment later and when Jim Girty and Deeringentered he turned to his friends with a dread uncertainty in hishaggard face. 

Edwards lay on the bed with wide-open eyes staring at the intruders. Mr. Wells sat with bowed head. Zeisberger calmly whittled a stick, and Jim stood bolt upright, with a hard light in his eyes. 

Nell leaned against the side of a heavy table. Wonderful was thechange that had transformed her from a timid, appealing, fear-agonized girl to a woman whose only evidence of unusualexcitement were the flame in her eyes and the peculiar whiteness ofher face. 

Benny was gone!

Heckewelder's glance returned to the visitors. He thought he hadnever seen such brutal, hideous men. 

"Wal, I reckon a preacher ain't agoin' to lie. Hev you seen anyInjun Christians round here?" asked Girty, waving a heavysledge-hammer. 

"Girty, we have hidden no Indians here, " answered Heckewelder, calmly. 

"Wal, we'll hev a look, anyway, " answered the renegade. 

Girty surveyed the room with wolfish eyes. Deering was so drunk thathe staggered. Both men, in fact, reeked with the vile fumes of rum. Without another word they proceeded to examine the room, by lookinginto every box, behind a stone oven, and in the cupboard. They drewthe bedclothes from the bed, and with a kick demolished a pile ofstove wood. Then the ruffians passed into the other apartments, where they could be heard making thorough search. At length bothreturned to the large room, when Girty directed Deering to climb aladder leading to the loft, but because Deering was too much underthe influence of liquor to do so, he had to go himself. He rummagedaround up there for a few minutes, and then came down. 

"Wal, I reckon you wasn't lyin' about it, " said Girty, with hisghastly leer. 

He and his companion started to go out. Deering had stood withbloodshot eyes fixed on Nell while Girty searched the loft, and asthey passed the girl on their way to the open air, the renegadelooked at Girty as he motioned with his head toward her. Hisbesotted face expressed some terrible meaning. 

Girty had looked at Nell when he first entered, but had not glancedtwice at her. As he turned now, before going out of the door, hefixed on her his baleful glance. His aspect was more full of meaningthan could have been any words. A horrible power, of which he wasboastfully conscious, shone from his little, pointed eyes. His merepresence was deadly. Plainly as if he had spoken was thesignificance of his long gaze. Any one could have translated thatlook. 

Once before Nell had faced it, and fainted when its dread meaninggrew clear to her. But now she returned his gaze with one in whichflashed lightning scorn, and repulsion, in which glowed a wonderfuldefiance. 

The cruel face of this man, the boastful barbarity of his manner, the long, dark, bloody history which his presence recalled, was, indeed, terrifying without the added horror of his intent towardher, but now the self-forgetfulness of a true woman sustained her. 

Girty and Deering backed out of the door. Heckewelder closed it, anddropped the bar in place. 

Nell fell over the table with a long, low gasp. Then with one handshe lifted her skirt. Benny walked from under it. His big eyes werebright. The young woman clasped him again in her arms. Then shereleased him, and, laboring under intense excitement, ran to thewindow. 

"There he goes! Oh, the horrible beast! If I only had a gun andcould shoot! Oh, if only I were a man! I'd kill him. To think ofpoor Kate! Ah! he intends the same for me!"

Suddenly she fell upon the floor in a faint. Mr. Wells and Jimlifted her on the bed beside Edwards, where they endeavored torevive her. It was some moments before she opened her eyes. 

Jim sat holding Nell's hand. Mr. Wells again bowed his head. Zeisberger continued to whittle a stick, and Heckewelder paced thefloor. Christy stood by with every evidence of sympathy for thisdistracted group. Outside the clamor increased. 

"Just listen!" cried Heckewelder. "Did you ever hear the like? Alldrunk, crazy, fiendish! They drank every drop of liquor the Frenchtraders had. Curses on the vagabond dealers! Rum has made theserenegades and savages wild. Oh! my poor, innocent Christians!"

Heckewelder leaned his head against the mantle-shelf. He had brokendown at last. Racking sobs shook his frame. 

"Are you all right again?" asked Jim of Nell. 

"Yes. "

"I am going out, first to see Williamson, and then the Christians, "he said, rising very pale, but calm. 

"Don't go!" cried Heckewelder. "I have tried everything. It was allof no use. "

"I will go, " answered Jim. 

"Yes, Jim, go, " whispered Nell, looking up into his eyes. It was anearnest gaze in which a faint hope shone. 

Jim unbarred the door and went out. 

"Wait, I'll go along, " cried Zeisberger, suddenly dropping his knifeand stick. 

As the two men went out a fearful spectacle met their eyes. Theclearing was alive with Indians. But such Indians! They were painteddemons, maddened by rum. Yesterday they had been silent; if theymoved at all it had been with deliberation and dignity. To-day theywere a yelling, running, blood-seeking mob. 

"Awful! Did you ever see human beings like these?" asked Zeisberger. 

"No, no!"

"I saw such a frenzy once before, but, of course, only in a smallband of savages. Many times have I seen Indians preparing for thewar-path, in search of both white men and redskins. They were fiercethen, but nothing like this. Every one of these frenzied fiends ishonest. Think of that! Every man feels it his duty to murder theseChristians. Girty has led up to this by cunning, and now the time iscome to let them loose. "

"It means death for all. "

"I have given up any thought of escaping, " said Zeisberger, with thecalmness that had characterized his manner since he returned to thevillage. "I shall try to get into the church. "

"I'll join you there as soon as I see Williamson. "

Jim walked rapidly across the clearing to the cabin where CaptainWilliamson had quarters. The frontiersmen stood in groups, watchingthe savages with an interest which showed little or no concern. 

"I want to see Captain Williamson, " said Jim to a frontiersman onguard at the cabin door. 

"Wal, he's inside, " drawled the man. 

Jim thought the voice familiar, and he turned sharply to see thesun-burnt features of Jeff Lynn, the old riverman who had taken Mr. Wells' party to Fort Henry. 

"Why, Lynn! I'm glad to see you, " exclaimed Jim. 

"Purty fair to middlin', " answered Jeff, extending his big hand. "Say, how's the other one, your brother as wus called Joe?"

"I don't know. He ran off with Wetzel, was captured by Indians, andwhen I last heard of him he had married Wingenund's daughter. "

"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" Jeff shook his grizzled head and slappedhis leg. "I jest knowed he'd raise somethin'. "

"I'm in a hurry. Do you think Captain Williamson will stand stilland let all this go on?"

"I'm afeerd so. "

Evidently the captain heard the conversation, for he appeared at thecabin door, smoking a long pipe. 

"Captain Williamson, I have come to entreat you to save theChristians from this impending massacre. "

"I can't do nuthin', " answered Williamson, removing his pipe to puffforth a great cloud of smoke. 

"You have eighty men here!"

"If we interfered Pipe would eat us alive in three minutes. Youpreacher fellows don't understand this thing. You've got Pipe andGirty to deal with. If you don't know them, you'll be betteracquainted by sundown. "

"I don't care who they are. Drunken ruffians and savages! That'senough. Will you help us? We are men of your own race, and we cometo you for help. Can you withhold it?"

"I won't hev nuthin' to do with this bizness. The chiefs hevcondemned the village, an' it'll hev to go. If you fellars hed beencareful, no white blood would hev been spilled. I advise you all tolay low till it's over. "

"Will you let me speak to your men, to try and get them to followme?"

"Heckewelder asked that same thing. He was persistent, and I took avote fer him just to show how my men stood. Eighteen of them saidthey'd follow him; the rest wouldn't interfere. "

"Eighteen! My God!" cried Jim, voicing the passion which consumedhim. "You are white men, yet you will stand by and see theseinnocent people murdered! Man, where's your humanity? Your manhood?These converted Indians are savages no longer, they are Christians. Their children are as good, pure, innocent as your own. Can youremain idle and see these little ones murdered?"

Williamson made no answer, the men who had crowded round wereequally silent. Not one lowered his head. Many looked at theimpassioned missionary; others gazed at the savages who werecircling around the trees brandishing their weapons. If any pitiedthe unfortunate Christians, none showed it. They were indifferent, with the indifference of men hardened to cruel scenes. 

Jim understood, at last, as he turned from face to face to findeverywhere that same imperturbability. These bordermen were likeWetzel and Jonathan Zane. The only good Indian was a dead Indian. Years of war and bloodshed, of merciless cruelty at the hands ofredmen, of the hard, border life had rendered these frontiersmenincapable of compassion for any savage. 

Jim no longer restrained himself. 

"Bordermen you may be, but from my standpoint, from any man's, fromGod's, you are a lot of coldly indifferent cowards!" exclaimed Jim, with white, quivering lips. "I understand now. Few of you will riskanything for Indians. You will not believe a savage can be aChristian. You don't care if they are all murdered. Any man amongyou--any man, I say--would step out before those howling fiends andboldly demand that there be no bloodshed. A courageous leader with aband of determined followers could avert this tragedy. You mightreadily intimidate yonder horde of drunken demons. CaptainWilliamson, I am only a minister, far removed from a man of war andleader, as you claim to be, but, sir, I curse you as a miserablecoward. If I ever get back to civilization I'll brand this inhumancoldness of yours, as the most infamous and dastardly cowardice thatever disgraced a white man. You are worse than Girty!"

Williamson turned a sickly yellow; he fumbled a second with thehandle of his tomahawk, but made no answer. The other bordermenmaintained the same careless composure. What to them was the ravingof a mad preacher?

Jim saw it and turned baffled, fiercely angry, and hopeless. As hewalked away Jeff Lynn took his arm, and after they were clear of thecrowd of frontiersmen he said:

"Young feller, you give him pepper, an' no mistake. An' mebbe you'reright from your side the fence. But you can't see the Injuns fromour side. We hunters hevn't much humanity--I reckon that's what youcalled it--but we've lost so many friends an' relatives, an' hearnof so many murders by the reddys that we look on all of 'em as wildvarmints that should be killed on sight. Now, mebbe it'll interestyou to know I was the feller who took the vote Williamson told youabout, an' I did it 'cause I had an interest in you. I wus watchin'you when Edwards and the other missionary got shot. I like grit in aman, an' I seen you had it clear through. So when Heckewelder comesover I talked to the fellers, an' all I could git interested waseighteen, but they wanted to fight simply fer fightin' sake. Now, ole Jeff Lynn is your friend. You just lay low until this is over. "

Jim thanked the old riverman and left him. He hardly knew which wayto turn. He would make one more effort. He crossed the clearing towhere the renegades' teepee stood. McKee and Elliott were sitting ona log. Simon Girty stood beside them, his hard, keen, roving eyes onthe scene. The missionary was impressed by the white leader. Therewas a difference in his aspect, a wilder look than the others wore, as if the man had suddenly awakened to the fury of his Indians. Nevertheless the young man went straight toward him. 

"Girty, I come---"

"Git out! You meddlin' preacher!" yelled the renegade, shaking hisfist at Jim. 

Simon Girty was drunk. 

Jim turned from the white fiends. He knew his life to them was notworth a pinch of powder. 

"Lost! Lost! All lost!" he exclaimed in despair. 

As he went toward the church he saw hundreds of savages boundingover the grass, brandishing weapons and whooping fiendishly. Theywere concentrating around Girty's teepee, where already a greatthrong had congregated. Of all the Indians to be seen not onewalked. They leaped by Jim, and ran over the grass nimble as deer. 

He saw the eager, fire in their dusky eyes, and the cruelly clenchedteeth like those of wolves when they snarl. He felt the hissingbreath of many savages as they raced by him. More than one whirled atomahawk close to Jim's head, and uttered horrible yells in his ear. They were like tigers lusting for blood. 

Jim hurried to the church. Not an Indian was visible near the logstructure. Even the savage guards had gone. He entered the open doorto be instantly struck with reverence and awe. 

The Christians were singing. 

Miserable and full of sickening dread though Jim was, he could notbut realize that the scene before him was one of extraordinarybeauty and pathos. The doomed Indians lifted up their voices insong. Never had they sung so feelingly, so harmoniously. 

When the song ended Zeisberger, who stood upon a platform, openedhis Bible and read:

"In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment, but witheverlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thyRedeemer. "

In a voice low and tremulous the venerable missionary began hissermon. 

The shadow of death hovered over these Christian martyrs; it wasreflected in their somber eyes, yet not one was sullen or sad. Thechildren who were too young to understand, but instinctively feelingthe tragedy soon to be enacted there, cowered close to theirmothers. 

Zeisberger preached a touching and impressive, though short, sermon. At its conclusion the whole congregation rose and surrounded themissionary. The men shook his hands, the women kissed them, thechildren clung to his legs. It was a wonderful manifestation ofaffection. 

Suddenly Glickhican, the old Delaware chief, stepped on theplatform, raised his hand and shouted one Indian word. 

A long, low wail went up from the children and youths; the womenslowly, meekly bowed their heads. The men, due to the stoicism oftheir nature and the Christianity they had learned, stood proudlyerect awaiting the death that had been decreed. 

Glickhican pulled the bell rope. 

A deep, mellow tone pealed out. 

The sound transfixed all the Christians. No one moved. 

Glickhican had given the signal which told the murderers theChristians were ready. 

"Come, man, my God! We can't stay here!" cried Jim to Zeisberger. 

As they went out both men turned to look their last on the martyrs. The death knell which had rung in the ears of the Christians, was tothem the voice of God. Stern, dark visages of men and the sweet, submissive faces of women were uplifted with rapt attention. A lightseemed to shine from these faces as if the contemplation of God hadillumined them. 

As Zeisberger and Jim left the church and hurried toward the cabins, they saw the crowd of savages in a black mass round Girty's teepee. The yelling and leaping had ceased. 

Heckewelder opened the door. Evidently he had watched for them. 

"Jim! Jim!" cried Nell, when he entered the cabin. "Oh-h! I wasafraid. Oh! I am glad you're back safe. See, this noble Indian hascome to help us. "

Wingenund stood calm and erect by the door. 

"Chief, what will you do?"

"Wingenund will show you the way to the big river, " answered thechieftain, in his deep bass. 

"Run away? No, never! That would be cowardly. Heckewelder, you wouldnot go? Nor you, Zeisberger? We may yet be of use, we may yet savesome of the Christians. "

"Save the yellow-hair, " sternly said Wingenund. 

"Oh, Jim, you don't understand. The chief has come to warn me ofGirty. He intends to take me as he has others, as he did poor Kate. Did you not see the meaning in his eyes to-day? How they scorchedme! Ho! Jim, take me away! Save me! Do not leave me here to thathorrible fate? Oh! Jim, take me away!"

"Nell, I will take you, " cried Jim, grasping her hands. 

"Hurry! There's a blanket full of things I packed for you, " saidHeckewelder. "Lose no time. Ah! hear that! My Heavens! what a yell!"Heckewelder rushed to the door and looked out. "There they go, ablack mob of imps; a pack of hungry wolves! Jim Girty is in thelead. How he leaps! How he waves his sledge! He leads the savagestoward the church. Oh! it's the end!"

"Benny? Where's Benny?" cried Jim, hurriedly lacing the hunting coathe had flung about him. 

"Benny's safe. I've hidden him. I'll get him away from here, "answered young Christy. "Go! Now's your time. Godspeed you!"

"I'm ready, " declared Mr. Wells. "I--have--finished!"

"There goes Wingenund! He's running. Follow him, quick! Good-by!Good-by! God be with you!" cried Heckewelder. 

"Good-by! Good-by!"

Jim hurried Nell toward the bushes where Wingenund's tall form coulddimly be seen. Mr. Wells followed them. On the edge of the clearingJim and Nell turned to look back. 

They saw a black mass of yelling, struggling, fighting savagescrowding around the church. 

"Oh! Jim, look back! Look back!" cried Nell, holding hard to hishand. "Look back! See if Girty is coming!"

Chapter XXVII. 

At last the fugitives breathed free under the gold and red cover ofthe woods. Never speaking, never looking back, the guide hurriedeastward with long strides. His followers were almost forced to runin order to keep him in sight. He had waited at the edge of theclearing for them, and, relieving Jim of the heavy pack, which heswung slightly over his shoulder, he set a pace that was mostdifficult to maintain. The young missionary half led, half carriedNell over the stones and rough places. Mr. Wells labored in therear. 

"Oh! Jim! Look back! Look back! See if we are pursued!" cried Nellfrequently, with many a earful glance into the dense thickets. 

The Indian took a straight course through the woods. He leaped thebrooks, climbed the rough ridges, and swiftly trod the glades thatwere free of windfalls. His hurry and utter disregard for the plaintrail left behind, proved his belief in the necessity of placingmany miles between the fugitives and the Village of Peace. Evidentlythey would be followed, and it would be a waste of valuable time totry to conceal their trail. Gradually the ground began to rise, theway become more difficult, but Wingenund never slackened his pace. Nell was strong, supple, and light of foot. She held her own withJim, but time and time again they were obliged to wait for heruncle. Once he was far behind. Wingenund halted for them at theheight of a ridge where the forest was open. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed the chieftain, as they finished the ascent. Hestretched a long arm toward the sun; his falcon eye gleamed. 

Far in the west a great black and yellow cloud of smoke rolledheavenward. It seemed to rise from out the forest, and to hang lowover the trees; then it soared aloft and grew thinner until it lostits distinct line far in the clouds. The setting sun stood yet anhour high over a distant hill, and burned dark red through the greatpall of smoke. 

"Is it a forest fire?" asked Nell, fearfully. 

"Fire, of course, but---" Jim did not voice his fear; he lookedclosely at Wingenund. 

The chieftain stood silent a moment as was his wont when addressed. The dull glow of the sun was reflected in the dark eyes that gazedfar away over forest and field. 

"Fire, " said Wingenund, and it seemed that as he spoke a sternershadow flitted across his bronzed face. "The sun sets to-night overthe ashes of the Village of Peace. "

He resumed his rapid march eastward. With never a backward glancethe saddened party followed. Nell kept close beside Jim, and the oldman tramped after them with bowed head. The sun set, but Wingenundnever slackened his stride. Twilight deepened, yet he kept on. 

"Indian, we can go no further to-night, we must rest, " cried Jim, asNell stumbled against him, and Mr. Wells panted wearily in the rear. 

"Rest soon, " replied the chief, and kept on. 

Darkness had settled down when Wingenund at last halted. Thefugitives could see little in the gloom, but they heard the music ofrunning water, and felt soft moss beneath their feet. 

They sank wearily down upon a projecting stone. The moss was restfulto their tired limbs. Opening the pack they found food with which tosatisfy the demands of hunger. Then, close under the stone, thefugitives sank into slumber while the watchful Indian stood silentand motionless. 

Jim thought he had but just closed his eyes when he felt a gentlepressure on his arm. 

"Day is here, " said the Indian. 

Jim opened his eyes to see the bright red sun crimsoning the easternhills, and streaming gloriously over the colored forests. He raisedhimself on his elbow to look around. Nell was still asleep. Theblanket was tucked close to her chin. Her chestnut hair was tumbledlike a schoolgirl's; she looked as fresh and sweet as the morning. 

"Nell, Nell, wake up, " said Jim, thinking the while how he wouldlove to kiss those white eyelids. 

Nell's eyes opened wide; a smile lay deep in their hazel shadows. 

"Where a I? Oh, I remember, " she cried, sitting up. "Oh, Jim, I hadsuch a sweet dream. I was at home with mother and Kate. Oh, to wakeand find it all a dream! I am fleeing for life. But, Jim, we aresafe, are we not?"

"Another day, and we'll be safe. "

"Let us fly, " she cried, leaping up and shaking out her crumpledskirt. "Uncle, come!"

Mr. Wells lay quietly with his mild blue eyes smiling up at her. Heneither moved nor spoke. 

"Eat, drink, " said the chief, opening the pack. 

"What a beautiful place, " exclaimed Nell, taking the bread and meathanded to her. "This is a lovely little glade. Look at those goldenflowers, the red and purple leaves, the brown shining moss, andthose lichen-covered stones. Why! Some one has camped here. See thelittle cave, the screens of plaited ferns, and the stone fireplace. "

"It seems to me this dark spring and those gracefully spreadingbranches are familiar, " said Jim. 

"Beautiful Spring, " interposed Wingenund. 

"Yes, I know this place, " cried Nell excitedly. "I remember thisglade though it was moonlight when I saw it. Here Wetzel rescued mefrom Girty. "

"Nell, you're right, " replied Jim. "How strange we should run acrossthis place again. "

Strange fate, indeed, which had brought them again to BeautifulSpring! It was destined that the great scenes of their lives were tobe enacted in this mossy glade. 

"Come, uncle, you are lazy, " cried Nell, a touch of her oldroguishness making playful her voice. 

Mr. Wells lay still, and smiled up at them. 

"You are not ill?" cried Nell, seeing for the first time how pallidwas his face. 

"Dear Nellie, I am not ill. I do not suffer, but I am dying, " heanswered, again with that strange, sweet smile. 

"Oh-h-h!" breathed Nell, falling on her knees. 

"No, no, Mr. Wells, you are only weak; you will be all right againsoon, " cried Jim. 

"Jim, Nellie, I have known all night. I have lain here wakeful. Myheart never was strong. It gave out yesterday, and now it is slowlygrowing weaker. Put your hand on my breast. Feel. Ah! you see! Mylife is flickering. God's will be done. I am content. My work isfinished. My only regret is that I brought you out to this terribleborderland. But I did not know. If only I could see you safe fromthe peril of this wilderness, at home, happy, married. "

Nell bent over him blinded by her tears, unable to see or speak, crushed by this last overwhelming blow. Jim sat on the other side ofthe old missionary, holding his hand. For many moments neitherspoke. They glanced at the pale face, watching with eager, wistfuleyes for a smile, or listening for a word. 

"Come, " said the Indian. 

Nell silently pointed toward her uncle. 

"He is dying, " whispered Jim to the Indian. 

"Go, leave me, " murmured Mr. Wells. "You are still in danger. "

"We'll not leave you, " cried Jim. 

"No, no, no, " sobbed Nell, bending over to kiss him. 

"Nellie, may I marry you to Jim?" whispered Mr. Wells into her ear. "He has told me how it is with him. He loves you, Nellie. I'd diehappier knowing I'd left you with him. "

Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell's fairface flushed. 

"Nell, will you marry me?" asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, hehad heard Mr. Wells' whisper. 

Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, whoinclosed it in his own. Her eyes met his. Through her tears shonefaintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, wouldhave beamed radiant. 

"Find the place, " said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible. It was theone he always carried in his pocket. 

With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves. At last he found thelines, and handed the book back to the old man. 

Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service. Nell and Jim kneltwith hands clasped over Mr. Wells. The old missionary's voice wasfaint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep andtender feeling. Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificentfigure. 

"There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile, closing the Bible. 

"Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand. 

"Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of abell. 

Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect, motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air. His dark eyesseemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed todrink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves. Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were noquicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes. The breeze hadborne faint, suspicious sounds. 

"Keep--the--Bible, " said Mr. Wells, "remember--its--word. " His handclosely clasped Nell's, and then suddenly loosened. His pallid facewas lighted by a meaning, tender smile which slowly faded--faded, and was gone. The venerable head fell back. The old missionary wasdead. 

Nell kissed the pale, cold brow, and then rose, half dazed andshuddering. Jim was vainly trying to close the dead man's eyes. Shecould no longer look. On rising she found herself near the Indianchief. He took her fingers in his great hand, and held them with astrong, warm pressure. Strangely thrilled, she looked up atWingenund. His somber eyes, fixed piercingly on the forest, and hisdark stern face, were, as always, inscrutable. No compassion shonethere; no emotion unbefitting a chieftain would ever find expressionin that cold face, but Nell felt a certain tenderness in thisIndian, a response in his great heart. Felt it so surely, sopowerfully that she leaned her head against him. She knew he was herfriend. 

"Come, " said the chief once more. He gently put Nell aside beforeJim arose from his sad task. 

"We can not leave him unburied, " expostulated Jim. 

Wingenund dragged aside a large stone which formed one wall of thecavern. Then he grasped a log which was half covered by dirt, and, exerting his great strength, pulled it from its place. There was acrash, a rumble, the jar of a heavy weight striking the earth, thenthe rattling of gravel, and, before Nell and Jim realized what hadhappened, the great rock forming the roof of the cavern slipped downthe bank followed by a small avalanche. The cavern was completelycovered. Mr. Wells was buried. A mossy stone marked the oldmissionary's grave. 

Nell and Jim were lost in wonder and awe. 

"Ugh!" cried the chief, looking toward the opening in the glade. 

Fearfully Nell and Jim turned, to be appalled by four naked, paintedsavages standing with leveled rifles. Behind them stood Deering andJim Girty. 

"Oh, God! We are lost! Lost! Lost!" exclaimed Jim, unable to commandhimself. Hope died in his heart. 

No cry issued from Nell's white lips. She was dazed by this finalblow. Having endured so much, this last misfortune, apparently theruin of her life, brought no added suffering, only a strange, numbfeeling. 

"Ah-huh! Thought you'd give me the slip, eh?" croaked Girty, striding forward, and as he looked at Wingenund his little, yelloweyes flared like flint. "Does a wolf befriend Girty's captives?Chief you hev led me a hard chase. "

Wingenund deigned no reply. He stood as he did so often, still andsilent, with folded arms, and a look that was haughty, unresponsive. 

The Indians came forward into the glade, and one of them quicklybound Jim's hands behind his back. The savages wore a wild, brutishlook. A feverish ferocity, very near akin to insanity, possessedthem. They were not quiet a moment, but ran here and there, for noapparent reason, except, possibly, to keep in action with the ragingfire in their hearts. The cleanliness which characterized the normalIndian was absent in them; their scant buckskin dress was bedraggledand stained. They were still drunk with rum and the lust for blood. Murder gleamed from the glance of their eyes. 

"Jake, come over here, " said Girty to his renegade friend. "Ain'tshe a prize?"

Girty and Deering stood before the poor, stricken girl, and gloatedover her fair beauty. She stood as when first transfixed by thehorror from which she had been fleeing. Her pale face was lowered, her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her skirt. 

Never before had two such coarse, cruel fiends as Deering and Girtyencumbered the earth. Even on the border, where the best men werebad, they were the worst. Deering was yet drunk, but Girty hadrecovered somewhat from the effects of the rum he had absorbed. Theformer rolled his big eyes and nodded his shaggy head. He waspassing judgment, from his point of view, on the fine points of thegirl. 

"She cer'aintly is, " he declared with a grin. "She's a littlebeauty. Beats any I ever seen!"

Jim Girty stroked his sharp chin with dirty fingers. His yelloweyes, his burnt saffron skin, his hooked nose, his thin lips--allhis evil face seemed to shine with an evil triumph. To look at himwas painful. To have him gaze at her was enough to drive any womanmad. 

Dark stains spotted the bright frills of his gaudy dress, hisbuckskin coat and leggins, and dotted his white eagle plumes. Darkstains, horribly suggestive, covered him from head to foot. Bloodstains! The innocent blood of Christians crimsoned his renegade'sbody, and every dark red blotch cried murder. 

"Girl, I burned the Village of Peace to git you, " growled Girty. "Come here!"

With a rude grasp that tore open her dress, exposing her beautifulwhite shoulder and bosom, the ruffian pulled her toward him. Hisface was transfixed with a fierce joy, a brutal passion. 

Deering looked on with a drunken grin, while his renegade friendhugged the almost dying girl. The Indians paced the glade with shortstrides like leashed tigers. The young missionary lay on the mosswith closed eyes. He could not endure the sight of Nell in Girty'sarms. 

No one noticed Wingenund. He stood back a little, half screened bydrooping branches. Once again the chief's dark eyes gleamed, hishead turned a trifle aside, and, standing in the statuesque positionhabitual with him when resting, he listened, as one who hearsmysterious sounds. Suddenly his keen glance was riveted on the fernsabove the low cliff. He had seen their graceful heads quivering. Then two blinding sheets of flame burst from the ferns. 

Spang! Spang!

The two rifle reports thundered through the glade. Two Indiansstaggered and fell in their tracks--dead without a cry. 

A huge yellow body, spread out like a panther in his spring, descended with a crash upon Deering and Girty. The girl fell awayfrom the renegade as he went down with a shrill screech, draggingDeering with him. Instantly began a terrific, whirling, wrestlingstruggle. 

A few feet farther down the cliff another yellow body came crashingdown to alight with a thud, to bound erect, to rush forward swift asa leaping deer. The two remaining Indians had only time to drawtheir weapons before this lithe, threatening form whirled upon them. Shrill cries, hoarse yells, the clash of steel and dull blowsmingled together. One savage went down, twisted over, writhed andlay still. The other staggered, warded off lightninglike blows untilone passed under his guard, and crashed dully on his head. Then hereeled, rose again, but only to have his skull cloven by a bloodytomahawk. 

The victor darted toward the whirling mass. 

"Lew, shake him loose! Let him go!" yelled Jonathan Zane, swinginghis bloody weapon. 

High above Zane's cry, Deering's shouts and curses, Girty's shrieksof fear and fury, above the noise of wrestling bodies and dullblows, rose a deep booming roar. 

It was Wetzel's awful cry of vengeance. 

"Shake him loose, " yelled Jonathan. 

Baffled, he ran wildly around the wrestlers. Time and time again hisgory tomahawk was raised only to be lowered. He found no opportunityto strike. Girty's ghastly countenance gleamed at him from the whirlof legs, and arms and bodies. Then Wetzel's dark face, lighted bymerciless eyes, took its place, and that gave way to Deering's broadfeatures. The men being clad alike in buckskin, and their motions sorapid, prevented Zane from lending a helping hand. 

Suddenly Deering was propelled from the mass as if by a catapult. His body straightened as it came down with a heavy thud. Zanepounced upon it with catlike quickness. Once more he swung aloft thebloody hatchet; then once more he lowered it, for there was no needto strike. The renegade's side was torn open from shoulder to hip. Adeluge of blood poured out upon the moss. Deering choked, a bloodyfroth formed on his lips. His fingers clutched at nothing. His eyesrolled violently and then were fixed in an awful stare. 

The girl lying so quiet in the woods near the old hut was avenged!

Jonathan turned again to Wetzel and Girty, not with any intention toaid the hunter, but simply to witness the end of the struggle. 

Without the help of the powerful Deering, how pitifully weak was theDeathshead of the frontier in the hands of the Avenger!

Jim Girty's tomahawk was thrown in one direction and his knife inanother. He struggled vainly in the iron grip that held him. 

Wetzel rose to his feet clutching the renegade. With his left arm, which had been bared in the fight, he held Girty by the front of hisbuckskin shirt, and dragged him to that tree which stood alone inthe glade. He pushed him against it, and held him there. 

The white dog leaped and snarled around the prisoner. 

Girty's hands pulled and tore at the powerful arm which forced himhard against the beech. It was a brown arm, and huge with itsbulging, knotted, rigid muscles. A mighty arm, strong as the justicewhich ruled it. 

"Girty, thy race is run!" Wetzel's voice cut the silence like asteel whip. 

The terrible, ruthless smile, the glittering eyes of doom seemedliterally to petrify the renegade. 

The hunter's right arm rose slowly. The knife in his hand quiveredas if with eagerness. The long blade, dripping with Deering's blood, pointed toward the hilltop. 

"Look thar! See 'em! Thar's yer friends!" cried Wetzel. 

On the dead branches of trees standing far above the hilltop, weremany great, dark birds. They sat motionless as if waiting. 

"Buzzards! Buzzards!" hissed Wetzel. 

Girty's ghastly face became an awful thing to look upon. No livingcountenance ever before expressed such fear, such horror, suchagony. He foamed at the mouth, he struggled, he writhed. With aterrible fascination he watched that quivering, dripping blade, nowpoised high. 

Wetzel's arm swung with the speed of a shooting star. He drove theblade into Girty's groin, through flesh and bone, hard and fast intothe tree. He nailed the renegade to the beech, there to await hislingering doom. 

"Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h!" shrieked Girty, in cries of agony. He fumbledand pulled at the haft of the knife, but could not loosen it. Hebeat his breast, he tore his hair. His screams were echoed from thehilltop as if in mockery. 

The white dog stood near, his hair bristling, his teeth snapping. 

The dark birds sat on the dead branches above the hilltop, as ifwaiting for their feast. 

Chapter XXVIII. 

Zane turned and cut the young missionary's bonds. Jim ran to whereNell was lying on the ground, and tenderly raised her head, callingto her that they were saved. Zane bathed the girl's pale face. Presently she sighed and opened her eyes. 

Then Zane looked from the statuelike form of Wingenund to themotionless figure of Wetzel. The chief stood erect with his eyes onthe distant hills. Wetzel remained with folded arms, his cold eyesfixed upon the writhing, moaning renegade. 

"Lew, look here, " said Zane, unhesitatingly, and pointed toward thechief. 

Wetzel quivered as if sharply stung; the cold glitter in his eyeschanged to lurid fire. With upraised tomahawk he bounded across thebrook. 

"Lew, wait a minute!" yelled Zane. 

"Wetzel! wait, wait!" cried Jim, grasping the hunter's arm; but thelatter flung him off, as the wind tosses a straw. 

"Wetzel, wait, for God's sake, wait!" screamed Nell. She had risenat Zane's call, and now saw the deadly resolve in the hunter's eyes. Fearlessly she flung herself in front of him; bravely she risked herlife before his mad rush; frantically she threw her arms around himand clung to his hands desperately. 

Wetzel halted; frenzied as he was at the sight of his foe, he couldnot hurt a woman. 

"Girl, let go!" he panted, and his broad breast heaved. 

"No, no, no! Listen, Wetzel, you must not kill the chief. He is afriend. "

"He is my great foe!"

"Listen, oh! please listen!" pleaded Nell. "He warned me to fleefrom Girty; he offered to guide us to Fort Henry. He has saved mylife. For my sake, Wetzel, do not kill him! Don't let me be thecause of his murder! Wetzel, Wetzel, lower your arm, drop yourhatchet. For pity's sake do not spill more blood. Wingenund is aChristian!"

Wetzel stepped back breathing heavily. His white face resembledchiseled marble. With those little hands at his breast he hesitatedin front of the chief he had hunted for so many long years. 

"Would you kill a Christian?" pleaded Nell, her voice sweet andearnest. 

"I reckon not, but this Injun ain't one, " replied Wetzel slowly. 

"Put away your hatchet. Let me have it. Listen, and I will tell you, after thanking you for this rescue. Do you know of my marriage?Come, please listen! Forget for a moment your enmity. Oh! you mustbe merciful! Brave men are always merciful!"

"Injun, are you a Christian?" hissed Wetzel. 

"Oh! I know he is! I know he is!" cried Nell, still standing betweenWetzel and the chief. 

Wingenund spoke no word. He did not move. His falcon eyes gazedtranquilly at his white foe. Christian or pagan, he would not speakone word to save his life. 

"Oh! tell him you are a Christian, " cried Nell, running to thechief. 

"Yellow-hair, the Delaware is true to his race. "

As he spoke gently to Nell a noble dignity shone upon his dark face. 

"Injun, my back bears the scars of your braves' whips, " hissedWetzel, once more advancing. 

"Deathwind, your scars are deep, but the Delaware's are deeper, "came the calm reply. "Wingenund's heart bears two scars. His sonlies under the moss and ferns; Deathwind killed him; Deathwind aloneknows his grave. Wingenund's daughter, the delight of his waningyears, freed the Delaware's great foe, and betrayed her father. Canthe Christian God tell Wingenund of his child?"

Wetzel shook like a tree in a storm. Justice cried out in theIndian's deep voice. Wetzel fought for mastery of himself. 

"Delaware, your daughter lays there, with her lover, " said Wetzelfirmly, and pointed into the spring. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Indian, bending over the dark pool. He lookedlong into its murky depths. Then he thrust his arm down into thebrown water. 

"Deathwind tells no lie, " said the chief, calmly, and pointed towardGirty. The renegade had ceased struggling, his head was bowed uponhis breast. "The white serpent has stung the Delaware. "

"What does it mean?" cried Jim. 

"Your brother Joe and Whispering Winds lie in the spring, " answeredJonathan Zane. "Girty murdered them, and Wetzel buried the twothere. "

"Oh, is it true?" cried Nell. 

"True, lass, " whispered Jim, brokenly, holding out his arms to her. Indeed, he needed her strength as much as she needed his. The girlgave one shuddering glance at the spring, and then hid her face onher husband's shoulder. 

"Delaware, we are sworn foes, " cried Wetzel. 

"Wingenund asks no mercy. "

"Are you a Christian?"

"Wingenund is true to his race. "

"Delaware, begone! Take these weapons an' go. When your shadow fallsshortest on the ground, Deathwind starts on your trail. "

"Deathwind is the great white chief; he is the great Indian foe; heis as sure as the panther in his leap; as swift as the wild goose inhis northern flight. Wingenund never felt fear. " The chieftain'ssonorous reply rolled through the quiet glade. "If Deathwind thirstsfor Wingenund's blood, let him spill it now, for when the Delawaregoes into the forest his trail will fade. "

"Begone!" roared Wetzel. The fever for blood was once more risingwithin him. 

The chief picked up some weapons of the dead Indians, and withhaughty stride stalked from the glade. 

"Oh, Wetzel, thank you, I knew---" Nell's voice broke as she facedthe hunter. She recoiled from this changed man. 

"Come, we'll go, " said Jonathan Zane. "I'll guide you to FortHenry. " He lifted the pack, and led Nell and Jim out of the glade. 

They looked back once to picture forever in their minds the lovelyspot with its ghastly quiet bodies, the dark, haunting spring, therenegade nailed to the tree, and the tall figure of Wetzel as hewatched his shadow on the ground. 

 * * *

When Wetzel also had gone, only two living creatures remained in theglade--the doomed renegade, and the white dog. The gaunt beastwatched the man with hungry, mad eyes. 

A long moan wailed through the forest. It swelled mournfully on theair, and died away. The doomed man heard it. He raised his ghastlyface; his dulled senses seemed to revive. He gazed at the stiffeningbodies of the Indians, at the gory corpse of Deering, at the savageeyes of the dog. 

Suddenly life seemed to surge strong within him. 

"Hell's fire! I'm not done fer yet, " he gasped. "This damned knifecan't kill me; I'll pull it out. "

He worked at the heavy knife hilt. Awful curses passed his lips, butthe blade did not move. Retribution had spoken his doom. 

Suddenly he saw a dark shadow moving along the sunlit ground. Itswept past him. He looked up to see a great bird with wide wingssailing far above. He saw another still higher, and then a third. Helooked at the hilltop. The quiet, black birds had taken wing. Theywere floating slowly, majestically upward. He watched their gracefulflight. How easily they swooped in wide circles. He remembered thatthey had fascinated him when a boy, long, long ago, when he had ahome. Where was that home? He had one once. Ah! the long, cruelyears have rolled back. A youth blotted out by evil returned. He sawa little cottage, he saw the old Virginia homestead, he saw hisbrothers and his mother. 

"Ah-h!" A cruel agony tore his heart. He leaned hard against theknife. With the pain the present returned, but the past remained. All his youth, all his manhood flashed before him. The long, bloody, merciless years faced him, and his crimes crushed upon him withawful might. 

Suddenly a rushing sound startled him. He saw a great bird swoopdown and graze the tree tops. Another followed, and another, andthen a flock of them. He saw their gray, spotted breasts and hookedbeaks. 

"Buzzards, " he muttered, darkly eyeing the dead savages. The carrionbirds were swooping to their feast. 

"By God! He's nailed me fast for buzzards!" he screamed in sudden, awful frenzy. "Nailed fast! Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h! Eaten alive bybuzzards! Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h!"

He shrieked until his voice failed, and then he gasped. 

Again the buzzards swooped overhead, this time brushing the leaves. One, a great grizzled bird, settled upon a limb of the giant oak, and stretched its long neck. Another alighted beside him. Otherssailed round and round the dead tree top. 

The leader arched his wings, and with a dive swooped into the glade. He alighted near Deering's dead body. He was a dark, uncanny bird, with long, scraggy, bare neck, a wreath of white, grizzled feathers, a cruel, hooked beak, and cold eyes. 

The carrion bird looked around the glade, and put a great claw onthe dead man's breast. 

"Ah-h! Ah-h!" shrieked Girty. His agonized yell of terror and horrorechoed mockingly from the wooded bluff. 

The huge buzzard flapped his wings and flew away, but soon returnedto his gruesome feast. His followers, made bold by their leader, floated down into the glade. Their black feathers shone in the sun. They hopped over the moss; they stretched their grizzled necks, andturned their heads sideways. 

Girty was sweating blood. It trickled from his ghastly face. All thesuffering and horror he had caused in all his long career was asnothing to that which then rended him. He, the renegade, the whiteIndian, the Deathshead of the frontier, panted and prayed for amerciful breath. He was exquisitely alive. He was human. 

Presently the huge buzzard, the leader, raised his hoary head. Hesaw the man nailed to the tree. The bird bent his head wisely to oneside, and then lightly lifted himself into the air. He sailed roundthe glade, over the fighting buzzards, over the spring, and over thedoomed renegade. He flew out of the glade, and in again. He swoopedclose to Girty. His broad wings scarcely moved as he sailed along. 

Girty tried to strike the buzzard as he sailed close by, but his armfell useless. He tried to scream, but his voice failed. 

Slowly the buzzard king sailed by and returned. Every time heswooped a little nearer, and bent his long, scraggy neck. 

Suddenly he swooped down, light and swift as a hawk; his wide wingsfanned the air; he poised under the tree, and then fastened sharptalons in the doomed man's breast. 

Chapter XXIX. 

The fleeting human instinct of Wetzel had given way to the habit ofyears. His merciless quest for many days had been to kill thefrontier fiend. Now that it had been accomplished, he turned hisvengeance into its accustomed channel, and once more became theruthless Indian-slayer. 

A fierce, tingling joy surged through him as he struck theDelaware's trail. Wingenund had made little or no effort to concealhis tracks; he had gone northwest, straight as a crow flies, towardthe Indian encampment. He had a start of sixty minutes, and it wouldrequire six hours of rapid traveling to gain the Delaware town. 

"Reckon he'll make fer home, " muttered Wetzel, following the trailwith all possible speed. 

The hunter's method of trailing an Indian was singular. Intuitionplayed as great a part as sight. He seemed always to divine hisvictim's intention. Once on the trail he was as hard to shake off asa bloodhound. Yet he did not, by any means, always stick to theIndian's footsteps. With Wetzel the direction was of the greatestimportance. 

For half a mile he closely followed the Delaware's plainly markedtrail. Then he stopped to take a quick survey of the forest beforehim. He abruptly left the trail, and, breaking into a run, wentthrough the woods as fleetly and noiselessly as a deer, running fora quarter of a mile, when he stopped to listen. All seemed well, forhe lowered his head, and walked slowly along, examining the moss andleaves. Presently he came upon a little open space where the soilwas a sandy loam. He bent over, then rose quickly. He had come uponthe Indian's trail. Cautiously he moved forward, stopping everymoment to listen. In all the close pursuits of his maturer years hehad never been a victim of that most cunning of Indian tricks, anambush. He relied solely on his ear to learn if foes were close by. The wild creatures of the forest were his informants. As soon as heheard any change in their twittering, humming or playing--whicheverway they manifested their joy or fear of life--he became as hard tosee, as difficult to hear as a creeping snake. 

The Delaware's trail led to a rocky ridge and there disappeared. Wetzel made no effort to find the chief's footprints on the flintyground, but halted a moment and studied the ridge, the lay of theland around, a ravine on one side, and a dark impenetrable forest onthe other. He was calculating his chances of finding the Delaware'strail far on the other side. Indian woodcraft, subtle, wonderful asit may be, is limited to each Indian's ability. Savages, as well asother men, were born unequal. One might leave a faint trail throughthe forest, while another could be readily traced, and a third, morecunning and skillful than his fellows, have flown under the shadytrees, for all the trail he left. But redmen followed the samemethods of woodcraft from tradition, as Wetzel had learned afterlong years of study and experience. 

And now, satisfied that he had divined the Delaware's intention, heslipped down the bank of the ravine, and once more broke into a run. He leaped lightly, sure-footed as a goat, from stone to stone, overfallen logs, and the brawling brook. At every turn of the ravine, atevery open place, he stopped to listen. 

Arriving on the other side of the ridge, he left the ravine andpassed along the edge of the rising ground. He listened to thebirds, and searched the grass and leaves. He found not the slightestindication of a trail where he had expected to find one. He retracedhis steps patiently, carefully, scrutinizing every inch of theground. But it was all in vain. Wingenund had begun to show hissavage cunning. In his warrior days for long years no chief couldrival him. His boast had always been that, when Wingenund sought toelude his pursuers, his trail faded among the moss and the ferns. 

Wetzel, calm, patient, resourceful, deliberated a moment. TheDelaware had not crossed this rocky ridge. He had been cunningenough to make his pursuer think such was his intention. The hunterhurried to the eastern end of the ridge for no other reason thanapparently that course was the one the savage had the least reasonto take. He advanced hurriedly because every moment was precious. Not a crushed blade of grass, a brushed leaf, an overturned pebblenor a snapped twig did he find. He saw that he was getting near tothe side of the ridge where the Delaware's trail had abruptly ended. Ah! what was there? A twisted bit of fern, with the drops of dewbrushed off. Bending beside the fern, Wetzel examined the grass; itwas not crushed. A small plant with triangular leaves of dark green, lay under the fern. Breaking off one of these leaves, he exposed itslower side to the light. The fine, silvery hair of fuzz that grewupon the leaf had been crushed. Wetzel knew that an Indian couldtread so softly as not to break the springy grass blades, but theunder side of one of these leaves, if a man steps on it, alwaysbetrays his passage through the woods. To keen eyes this leaf showedthat it had been bruised by a soft moccasin. Wetzel had located thetrail, but was still ignorant of its direction. Slowly he traced theshaken ferns and bruised leaves down over the side of the ridge, andat last, near a stone, he found a moccasin-print in the moss. Itpointed east. The Delaware was traveling in exactly the oppositedirection to that which he should be going. He was, moreover, exercising wonderful sagacity in hiding his trail. This, however, did not trouble Wetzel, for if it took him a long time to find thetrail, certainly the Delaware had expended as much, or more, inchoosing hard ground, logs or rocks on which to tread. 

Wetzel soon realized that his own cunning was matched. He trusted nomore to his intuitive knowledge, but stuck close to the trail, as ahungry wolf holds to the scent of his quarry. 

The Delaware trail led over logs, stones and hard-baked ground, upstony ravines and over cliffs. The wily chief used all of his oldskill; he walked backward over moss and sand where his footprintsshowed plainly; he leaped wide fissures in stony ravines, and thenjumped back again; he let himself down over ledges by branches; hecrossed creeks and gorges by swinging himself into trees andclimbing from one to another; he waded brooks where he found hardbottom, and avoided swampy, soft ground. 

With dogged persistence and tenacity of purpose Wetzel stuck to thisgradually fading trail. Every additional rod he was forced to gomore slowly, and take more time in order to find any sign of hisenemy's passage through the forests. One thing struck him forcibly. Wingenund was gradually circling to the southwest, a course thattook him farther and farther from the Delaware encampment. 

Slowly it dawned upon Wetzel that the chief could hardly have anyreason for taking this circling course save that of pride and savagejoy in misleading, in fooling the foe of the Delawares, indeliberately showing Deathwind that there was one Indian who couldlaugh at and loose him in the forests. To Wetzel this was bitter asgall. To be led a wild goose chase! His fierce heart boiled withfury. His dark, keen eyes sought the grass and moss with terribleearnestness. Yet in spite of the anger that increased to the whiteheat of passion, he became aware of some strange sensation creepingupon him. He remembered that the Delawares had offered his life. Slowly, like a shadow, Wetzel passed up and down the ridges, throughthe brown and yellow aisles of the forest, over the babbling brooks, out upon the golden-flecked fields--always close on the trail. 

At last in an open part of the forest, where a fire had once sweptaway the brush and smaller timber, Wetzel came upon the spot wherethe Delaware's trail ended. 

There in the soft, black ground was a moccasin-print. The forest wasnot dense; there was plenty of light; no logs, stones or trees werenear, and yet over all that glade no further evidence of theIndian's trail was visible. 

It faded there as the great chief had boasted it would. 

Wetzel searched the burnt ground; he crawled on his hands and knees;again and again he went over the surroundings. The fact that onemoccasin-print pointed west and the other east, showed that theDelaware had turned in his tracks, was the most baffling thing thathad ever crossed the hunter in all his wild wanderings. 

For the first time in many years he had failed. He took his defeathard, because he had been successful for so long he thought himselfalmost infallible, and because the failure lost him the opportunityto kill his great foe. In his passion he cursed himself for being soweak as to let the prayer of a woman turn him from his life'spurpose. 

With bowed head and slow, dragging steps he made his way westward. The land was strange to him, but he knew he was going towardfamiliar ground. For a time he walked quietly, all the time thefierce fever in his veins slowly abating. Calm he always was, exceptwhen that unnatural lust for Indians' blood overcame him. 

On the summit of a high ridge he looked around to ascertain hisbearings. He was surprised to find he had traveled in a circle. Amile or so below him arose the great oak tree which he recognized asthe landmark of Beautiful Spring. He found himself standing on thehill, under the very dead tree to which he had directed Girty'sattention a few hours previous. 

With the idea that he would return to the spring to scalp the deadIndians, he went directly toward the big oak tree. Once out of theforest a wide plain lay between him and the wooded knoll whichmarked the glade of Beautiful Spring. He crossed this stretch ofverdant meadow-land, and entered the copse. 

Suddenly he halted. His keen sense of the usual harmony of theforest, with its innumerable quiet sounds, had received a severeshock. He sank into the tall weeds and listened. Then he crawled alittle farther. Doubt became certainty. A single note of an oriolewarned him, and it needed not the quick notes of a catbird to tellhim that near at hand, somewhere, was human life. 

Once more Wetzel became a tiger. The hot blood leaped from hisheart, firing all his veins and nerves. But calmly noiseless, certain, cold, deadly as a snake he began the familiar crawlingmethod of stalking his game. 

On, on under the briars and thickets, across the hollows full ofyellow leaves, up over stony patches of ground to the fern-coveredcliff overhanging the glade he glided--lithe, sinuous, a tiger inmovement and in heart. 

He parted the long, graceful ferns and gazed with glittering eyesdown into the beautiful glade. 

He saw not the shining spring nor the purple moss, nor the ghastlywhite bones--all that the buzzards had left of the dead--noranything, save a solitary Indian standing erect in the glade. 

There, within range of his rifle, was his great Indian foe, Wingenund. 

Wetzel sank back into the ferns to still the furious exultationswhich almost consumed him during the moment when he marked hisvictim. He lay there breathing hard, gripping tightly his rifle, slowly mastering the passion that alone of all things might renderhis aim futile. 

For him it was the third great moment of his life, the last of threemoments in which the Indian's life had belonged to him. Once beforehe had seen that dark, powerful face over the sights of his rifle, and he could not shoot because his one shot must be for another. Again had that lofty, haughty figure stood before him, calm, disdainful, arrogant, and he yielded to a woman's prayer. 

The Delaware's life was his to take, and he swore he would have it!He trembled in the ecstasy of his triumphant passion; his greatmuscles rippled and quivered, for the moment was entirely beyond hiscontrol. Then his passion calmed. Such power for vengeance had hethat he could almost still the very beats of his heart to make sureand deadly his fatal aim. Slowly he raised himself; his eyes of coldfire glittered; slowly he raised the black rifle. 

Wingenund stood erect in his old, grand pose, with folded arms, buthis eyes, instead of being fixed on the distant hills, were loweredto the ground. 

An Indian girl, cold as marble, lay at his feet. Her garments werewet, and clung to her slender form. Her sad face was frozen into aneternal rigidity. 

By her side was a newly dug grave. 

The bead on the front sight of the rifle had hardly covered thechief's dark face when Wetzel's eye took in these other details. Hehad been so absorbed in his purpose that he did not dream of theDelaware's reason for returning to the Beautiful Spring. 

Slowly Wetzel's forefinger stiffened; slowly he lowered the blackrifle. 

Wingenund had returned to bury Whispering Winds. 

Wetzel's teethe clenched, an awful struggle tore his heart. Slowlythe rifle rose, wavered and fell. It rose again, wavered and fell. Something terrible was wrong with him; something awful was awakeningin his soul. 

Wingenund had not made a fool of him. The Delaware had led him along chase, had given him the slip in the forest, not to boast ofit, but to hurry back to give his daughter Christian burial. 

Wingenund was a Christian!

Had he not been, once having cast his daughter from him, he wouldnever have looked upon her face again. 

Wingenund was true to his race, but he was a Christian. 

Suddenly Wetzel's terrible temptation, his heart-racking struggleceased. He lowered the long, black rifle. He took one last look atthe chieftain's dark, powerful face. 

Then the Avenger fled like a shadow through the forest. 

Chapter XXX. 

It was late afternoon at Fort Henry. The ruddy sun had already sunkbehind the wooded hill, and the long shadows of the trees lengthenedon the green square in front of the fort. 

Colonel Zane stood in his doorway watching the river with eagereyes. A few minutes before a man had appeared on the bank of theisland and hailed. The colonel had sent his brother Jonathan tolearn what was wanted. The latter had already reached the othershore in his flatboat, and presently the little boat put out againwith the stranger seated at the stern. 

"I thought, perhaps, it might be Wetzel, " mused the colonel, "thoughI never knew of Lew's wanting a boat. "

Jonathan brought the man across the river, and up the winding pathto where Colonel Zane was waiting. 

"Hello! It's young Christy!" exclaimed the colonel, jumping off thesteps, and cordially extending his hand. "Glad to see you! Where'sWilliamson. How did you happen over here?"

"Captain Williamson and his men will make the river eight or tenmiles above, " answered Christy. "I came across to inquire about theyoung people who left the Village of Peace. Was glad to learn fromJonathan they got out all right. "

"Yes, indeed, we're all glad. Come and sit down. Of course you'llstay over night. You look tired and worn. Well, no wonder, when yousaw that Moravian massacre. You must tell me about it. I saw SamBrady yesterday, and he spoke of seeing you over there. Sam told mea good deal. Ah! here's Jim now. "

The young missionary came out of the open door, and the two youngmen greeted each other warmly. 

"How is she?" asked Christy, when the first greetings had beenexchanged. 

"Nell's just beginning to get over the shock. She'll be glad to seeyou. "

"Jonathan tells me you got married just before Girty came up withyou at Beautiful Spring. "

"Yes; it is true. In fact, the whole wonderful story is true, yet Icannot believe as yet. You look thin and haggard. When we last metyou were well. "

"That awful time pulled me down. I was an unwilling spectator of allthat horrible massacre, and shall never get over it. I can still seethe fiendish savages running about with the reeking scalps of theirown people. I actually counted the bodies of forty-nine grownChristians and twenty-seven children. An hour after you left us thechurch was in ashes, and the next day I saw the burned bodies. Oh!the sickening horror of the scene! It haunts me! That monster JimGirty killed fourteen Christians with his sledge-hammer. "

"Did you hear of his death?" asked Colonel Zane. 

"Yes, and a fitting end it was to the frontier 'Skull andCross-bones'. "

"It was like Wetzel to think of such a vengeance. "

"Has Wetzel come in since?"

"No. Jonathan says he went after Wingenund, and there's no tellingwhen he'll return. "

"I hoped he would spare the Delaware. "

"Wetzel spare an Indian!"

"But the chief was a friend. He surely saved the girl. "

"I am sorry, too, because Wingenund was a fine Indian. But Wetzel isimplacable. "

"Here's Nell, and Mrs. Clarke too. Come out, both of you, " criedJim. 

Nell appeared in the doorway with Colonel Zane's sister. The twogirls came down the steps and greeted the young man. The bride'ssweet face was white and thin, and there was a shadow in her eyes. 

"I am so glad you got safely away from--from there, " said Christy, earnestly. 

"Tell me of Benny?" asked Nell, speaking softly. 

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Why, Benny is safe and well. He was the onlyChristian Indian to escape the Christian massacre. Heckewelder hidhim until it was all over. He is going to have the lad educated. "

"Thank Heaven!" murmured Nell. 

"And the missionaries?" inquired Jim, earnestly. 

"Were all well when I left, except, of course, Young. He was dying. The others will remain out there, and try to get another hold, but Ifear it's impossible. "

"It is impossible, not because the Indian does not wantChristianity, but because such white men as the Girty's rule. Thebeautiful Village of Peace owes its ruin to the renegades, " saidColonel Zane impressively. 

"Captain Williamson could have prevented the massacre, " remarkedJim. 

"Possibly. It was a bad place for him, and I think he was wrong notto try, " declared the colonel. 

"Hullo!" cried Jonathan Zane, getting up from the steps where he satlistening to the conversation. 

A familiar soft-moccasined footfall sounded on the path. All turnedto see Wetzel come slowly toward them. His buckskin hunting costumewas ragged and worn. He looked tired and weary, but the dark eyeswere calm. 

It was the Wetzel whom they all loved. 

They greeted him warmly. Nell gave him her hands, and smiled up athim. 

"I'm so glad you've come home safe, " she said. 

"Safe an' sound, lass, an' glad to find you well, " answered thehunter, as he leaned on his long rifle, looking from Nell to ColonelZane's sister. "Betty, I allus gave you first place among borderlasses, but here's one as could run you most any kind of a race, " hesaid, with the rare smile which so warmly lighted his dark, sternface. 

"Lew Wetzel making compliments! Well, of all things!" exclaimed thecolonel's sister. 

Jonathan Zane stood closely scanning Wetzel's features. ColonelZane, observing his brother's close scrutiny of the hunter, guessedthe cause, and said:

"Lew, tell us, did you see Wingenund over the sights of your rifle?"

"Yes, " answered the hunter simply. 

A chill seemed to strike the hearts of the listeners. That simpleanswer, coming from Wetzel, meant so much. Nell bowed her headsadly. Jim turned away biting his lip. Christy looked across thevalley. Colonel Zane bent over and picked up some pebbles which hethrew hard at the cabin wall. Jonathan Zane abruptly left the group, and went into the house. 

But the colonel's sister fixed her large, black eyes on Wetzel'sface. 

"Well?" she asked, and her voice rang. 

Wetzel was silent for a moment. He met her eyes with that old, inscrutable smile in his own. A slight shade flitted across hisface. 

"Betty, I missed him, " he said, calmly, and, shouldering his longrifle, he strode away. 

 * * *

Nell and Jim walked along the bluff above the river. Twilight wasdeepening. The red glow in the west was slowly darkening behind theboldly defined hills. 

"So it's all settled, Jim, that we stay here, " said Nell. 

"Yes, dear. Colonel Zane has offered me work, and a church besides. We are very fortunate, and should be contented. I am happy becauseyou're my wife, and yet I am sad when I think of--him. Poor Joe!"

"Don't you ever think we--we wronged him?" whispered Nell. 

"No, he wished it. I think he knew how he would end. No, we did notwrong him; we loved him. "

"Yes, I loved him--I loved you both, " said Nell softly. 

"Then let us always think of him as he would have wished. "

"Think of him? Think of Joe? I shall never forget. In winter, springand summer I shall remember him, but always most in autumn. For Ishall see that beautiful glade with its gorgeous color and the dark, shaded spring where he lies asleep. "

 * * *

The years rolled by with their changing seasons; every autumn thegolden flowers bloomed richly, and the colored leaves fell softlyupon the amber moss in the glade of Beautiful Spring. 

The Indians camped there no more; they shunned the glade and calledit the Haunted Spring. They said the spirit of a white dog ran thereat night, and the Wind-of-Death mourned over the lonely spot. 

At long intervals an Indian chief of lofty frame and dark, powerfulface stalked into the glade to stand for many moments silent andmotionless. 

And sometimes at twilight when the red glow of the sun had faded togray, a stalwart hunter slipped like a shadow out of the thicket, and leaned upon a long, black rifle while he gazed sadly into thedark spring, and listened to the sad murmur of the waterfall. Thetwilight deepened while he stood motionless. The leaves fell intothe water with a soft splash, a whippoorwill caroled his melancholysong. 

From the gloom of the forest came a low sigh which swelledthrillingly upon the quiet air, and then died away like the wailingof the night wind. 

Quiet reigned once more over the dark, murky grave of the boy whogave his love and his life to the wilderness.