A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley
by Zane Grey
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

BY ZANE GREY

1906

To my brother

With many fond recollections of days spent in the solitude of the forests
where only can be satisfied that wild fever of freedom of which this book
tells; where to hear the whirr of a wild duck in his rapid flight is joy;
where the quiet of an autumn afternoon swells the heart, and where one may
watch the fragrant wood-smoke curl from the campfire, and see the starspeep
over dark, wooded hills as twilight deepens, and know a happiness that dwells
in the wilderness alone.

Introduction

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

The writer is the fortunate possessor of historical material of undoubted
truth and interest. It is the long-lost journal of Colonel Ebenezer Zane, one
of the most prominent of the hunter-pioneer, who labored in the settlement of
the Western country.

The story of that tragic period deserves a higher place in historical
literature than it has thus far been given, and this unquestionably because of
a lack of authentic data regarding the conquering of the wilderness.
Considering how many years the pioneers struggled on the border of this
country, the history of their efforts is meager and obscure.

If the years at the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of the
nineteenth century were full of stirring adventure on the part of the
colonists along the Atlantic coast, how crowded must they have been for the
almost forgotten pioneers who daringly invaded the trackless wilds! None there
was to chronicle the fight of these sturdy, travelers toward the setting sun.
The story of their stormy lives, of their heroism, and of their sacrifice for
the benefit of future generations is too little known.

It is to a better understanding of those days that the author has labored to
draw from his ancestor's notes a new and striking portrayal of the frontier;
one which shall paint the fever of freedom, that powerful impulse which lured
so many to unmarked graves; one which shall show his work, his love, the
effect of the causes which rendered his life so hard, and surely one which
does not forget the wronged Indian.

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

And while the border produced such outlaws so did it produce hunters Eke
Boone, the Zanes, the McCollochs, and Wetzel, that strange, silent man whose
deeds are still whispered in the country where he once roamed in his insatiate
pursuit of savages and renegades, and who was purely a product of the times.
Civilization could not have brought 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 more years in
which to make permanent homes had it not been for him. He was never a pioneer;
but always a hunter after Indians. When not on the track of the savage foe, he
was in the settlement, with his keen eye and ear ever alert for signs of the
enemy. To the superstitious Indians he was a shadow; a spirit of the border,
which breathed menace from the dark forests. To the settlers he was the right
arm of defense, a fitting leader for those few implacable and unerring
frontiersmen who made the settlement of the West a possibility.

And if this story of one of his relentless pursuits shows the man as he truly
was, loved by pioneers, respected and feared by redmen, and hated by
renegades; if it softens a little the ruthless name history accords 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 which was
characteristic of her. Playful words, arch smiles, and a touch of coquetry had
seemed natural to Nell; but now her grave tone and her almost wistful glance
disconcerted Joe.

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

The scene impressed its quietness upon the young couple and brought more
forcibly to their minds the fact that they were at the gateway of the unknown
West; that somewhere beyond this rude frontier settlement, out there in those
unbroken forests stretching dark and silent before them, was to be their
future home.

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

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

Below Nell and Joe, on the bank, were many log cabins. The yellow clay which
filled the chinks between the logs gave these a peculiar striped appearance.
There was life and bustle in the vicinity of these dwellings, in sharp
contrast with the still grandeur of the neighboring forests. There were
canvas-covered wagons around which curly-headed youngsters were playing.
Several horses were grazing on the short grass, and six red and white oxen
munched at the hay that had been thrown to them. The smoke of many fires
curled upward, and near the blaze hovered ruddy-faced women who stirred the
contents of steaming kettles. One man swung an axe with a vigorous sweep, and
the clean, sharp strokes rang on the air; another hammered stakes into the
ground on which to hang a kettle. Before a large cabin a fur-trader was
exhibiting his wares to three Indians. A second redskin was carrying a pack of
pelts from a canoe drawn up on the river bank. A small group of persons stood
near; some were indifferent, and others gazed curiously at the savages. Two
children peeped 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 he saw; one that was
sedate, but had a promise of innumerable smiles. The blue eyes could not long
hide flashes of merriment. The girl turned, and,the two young people looked at
each other. Her eyes softened with a woman's gentleness as they rested upon
him, for, broad of shoulder, and lithe and strong as a deer stalker, he was
good 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 so helpful to make
that long, rough ride endurable, you have won my regard. I--I cannot say more,
even if I would. You told me you ran away from your Virginian home to seek
adventure on the frontier, and that you knew no one in all this wild country.
You even said you could not, or would not, work at farming. Perhaps my sister
and I are as unfitted as you for this life; but we must cling to our uncle
because he is the only relative we have. He has come out here to join the
Moravians, and to preach the gospel to these Indians. We shall share his
life, and help him all we can. You have been telling me you--you cared for me,
and now that we are about to part I--I don't know what to say to you--unless
it is: Give up this intention of yours to seek adventure, and come with us. It
seems to me you need 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 our people,
as are you and Kate of yours. Jim's a preacher, and the best fellow--oh! I
cared a lot for Jim."

"Then, why did you leave him?"

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

"Was Jim the only one you cared for?" asked Nell, smiling. She was surprised
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 uncle convert
the Indians?"

"Yes, partly that, but mostly because--somehow--something you've said or done
has made me care for you in a different way, and I'd like 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 was bright now,
and the promise of smiles was made good.

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

Before he could answer, a cry from some one on the plain below attracted their
attention. They turned and saw another wagon-train pulling into the
settlement. The children were shooting and running alongside 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 gained a clump
of willows near the cabins he bent forward and took her hand. 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," said Joe.

"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, but in vain;
the more she struggled the firmer was his hold. A frown wrinkled her brow and
her eyes. sparkled with spirit. She saw the fur-tader's wife looking out of
the window, and remembered laughing and telling the good woman she did not
like this young man; it was, perhaps, because she feared those sharp eyes that
she resented his audacity. She opened her mouth to rebuke him; but no words
came. Joe had bent his head and softly closed her lips with his own.

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

Joe's tall figure stood out distinctly as he leisurely strolled toward the
incoming wagon-train without looking backward. Flashing after him a glance
that boded wordy trouble in the future, she ran into the cabin.

As she entered the door it seemed certain the grizzled frontiersman sitting on
the bench outside had grinned knowingly at her, and winked as if to say he
would keep her secret. Mrs. Wentz, the fur-trader's wife, was seated by the
open window which faced the fort; she was a large woman, strong of feature,
and with that calm placidity of expression common to people who have lived
long in sparsely populated districts. Nell glanced furtively at her and
thought 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 hide to 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 was sweethearts, 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'll take to the frontier like a duck does to water. I'm sorry you'll not
tarry here awhile. We don't see many lasses, especially any as pretty as you,
and you'll find it more quiet and lonesome the farther West you get. Jake
knows all about Fort Henry, and Jeff Lynn, the hunter outside, he knows Eb and
Jack Zane, and Wetzel, and all those Fort Henry men. You'll be gettin' married
out there, won't you?"

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

Then Nell hesitated and finally ceased speaking. She saw that denials or
explanations were futile; the simple woman had seen the kiss, and formed her
own conclusions. During the few days Nell had spent at Fort Pitt, she had come
to understand that the dwellers on the frontier took everything as a matter of
course. She had seen them manifest a certain pleasure; but neither surprise,
concern, nor any of the quick impulses so common among other people. And this
was another lesson Nell took to heart. She realized that she was entering upon
a life absolutely different from her former one, and the thought caused her to
shrink from the ordeal. Yet all the suggestions regarding her future home;
the stories told about Indians, renegades, and of the wild border-life,
fascinated her. These people who had settled in this wild region were simple,
honest and brave; they accepted what came as facts not to be questioned, and
believed what looked true. Evidently the fur-trader's wife and her female
neighbors had settled in their minds the relation in which the girl stood to
Joe.

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

"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 a number of
canvas-covered wagons drawn up in front of the cabins; the vehicles were dusty
and the wheels encrusted with yellow mud. The grizzled frontiersman who had
smiled at Nell stood leaning on his gun, talking to three men, whose
travel-stained and worn homespun clothes suggested a long and toilsome
journey. There was the bustle of excitement incident to the arrival of
strangers; to the quick exchange of greetings, the unloading of wagons and
unharnessing of horses and oxen.

Nell looked here and there for her sister. Finally she saw her standing near
her uncle while he conversed with one of the teamsters. The girl did not
approach them; but glanced quickly around in search of some one else. At
length she saw Joe unloading goods from one of the wagons; his back was turned
toward her, but she at once recognized the challenge conveyed by the broad
shoulders. She saw no other person; gave heed to nothing save what was to her,
righteous indignation.

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

"Good evening, Miss."

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

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

His coolness was exasperating. Instead of the contrition and apology she had
expected, and which was her due, he evidently intended to tease 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 vague idea of
forgiving him, after he had sued sufficiently for pardon; but now, forgetting
her good intentions in the belief that he was making sport of her when he
should have pleaded for forgiveness, she swiftly raised her hand and slapped
him smartly.

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

When Nell turned she was amazed to see Joe standing beside the wagon, while a
big white dog was leaping upon him. Suddenly she felt faint. Bewildered, she
looked from Joe to the man she had just struck; but could not say which was
the man who professed to love her.

"Jim! So you followed me!" cried Joe, starting forward and flinging his 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 on earth did
you know? Where did you strike my trail? What are you going to do out here on
the frontier? Tell me all. What happened after I left---"

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

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

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

"Slapped you? What for?" Then the truth dawned on Joe, and he laughed 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; but she tried
bravely to stand her ground. Humiliation had taken the place of anger.

"I--I--am sorry, Mr. Downs. I did take you for him. He--he has insulted 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, while their grey eyes and,
indeed, every feature of their clean-cut faces corresponded so exactly as to
proclaim them brothers.

"Already up to your old tricks?" asked Jim, with his hand on Joe's shoulder,
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 by your being
here."

"You're going to do as you ever have--make some sacrifice. You are always
devoting yourself; if not to me, to some other. Now it's your life you're
giving up. To try to convert the redskins and influence me for good is in both
cases impossible. How often have I said there wasn't any good in me! My desire
is to kill Indians, not preach to them, Jim. I'm glad to see you; but I wish
you hadn't come. This wild 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 he turned
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 was too fond of
admiration, and I rebuked you; but now I see that your wider experience of
women had taught you things I could not then understand. She was untrue. When
you left Williamsburg, apparently because you had gambled with Jewett and
afterward fought him, I was not misled. You made the game of cards a pretense;
you sought it simply as an opportunity to wreak your vengeance on him for his
villainy toward me. Well, it's all over now. Though you cruelly beat and left
him disfigured for life, he will live, and you are saved from murder, thank
God! When I learned of your departure I yearned to follow. Then I met a
preacher who spoke of having intended to go West with a Mr. Wells, of the
Moravian Mission. I immediately said I would go in his place, and here I am.
I'm fortunate in that I have found 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 a sneaking, cold-blooded
fellow, with his white hair and pale face, and always fawning round the girls.
I hated him, and gave it to him good." Joe spoke musingly and complacently as
though it was a trivial thing to compass the killing of a man.

"Well, Jim, you're here now, and there's no help for it. We'll go along with
this Moravian preacher and his nieces. If you haven't any great regrets for
the past, why, all may be well yet. I can see that the border is the place for
me. But now, Jim, for once in your life take a word of advice from me. We're
out on the frontier, where every man looks after himself. Your being a
minister won't protect you here where every man wears a knife and a tomahawk,
and where most of them are desperadoes. Cut out that soft voice and most of
your gentle ways, and be a little more like your brother. Be as kind as you
like, and preach all you want to; but when some of these buckskin-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 my lesson the first few days out
with that wagon-train. It was a case of four fights; but I'm all right now."

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

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

"Look behind the wagon."

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

"Lance, old fellow, how did I ever leave you!" murmured Joe, as he threw his
arm over the arched neck. Mose stood by looking up, and wagging his tail in
token of happiness at the reunion of the three old friends. There were tears
in Joe's eyes when, with a last affectionate 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 the wagon;
but at a word from Joe he bounded after them, trotting contentedly at their
heels. Half way to the cabins a big, raw-boned teamster, singing in a drunken
voice, came staggering toward them. Evidently he had just left the group of
people who had gathered near the Indians.

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

"There's lots of it. I saw that fellow yesterday when he, couldn't walk.
Wentz told me he was a bad customer."

The teamster, his red face bathed in perspiration, and his sleeves rolled up,
showing brown, knotty arms, lurched toward them. As they met he aimed a kick
at the dog; but Mose leaped nimbly aside, avoiding the heavy boot. He did not
growl, nor show his teeth; but the great white head sank forward a little, and
the lithe body crouched 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 a friendly leer.

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

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

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

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

The old minister arose, and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at the
new-comer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in his quick
scrutiny of the other's face, for his lips were wreathed with a 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 enough to carry on the
work when my days are done."

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

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

"I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the redman. I have
had an opportunity of studying Indian nature and believe 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 in her hand several
rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener, a young woman, that the
toys were for the children, having been brought 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 and hair contrasted
sharply with Nell's. The greatest difference in the sisters lay in that Nell's
face was sparkling and full of the fire of her eager young life, while Kate's
was calm, like the unruffled surface 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 handsome earnest 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 Joe laughingly.
"Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God for Jim!"

He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look at him
wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; never until then had
they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A moment's silence ensued. Mrs.
Wentz gazed lovingly at the children who were playing with the trinkets; while
Kate mused over the young man's remark, and began studying his, half-averted
face. She felt warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he
had given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with much
of this wild and reckless boy's behavior. To Kate he had always seemed so
bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet here was proof that Master
Joe loved his brother.

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

"Hol' on, my purty lass."'

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

"I'll jes' hev' to kiss this lassie fer luck," he said in a tone of good
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 bending his red,
moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped his neck with an angry
clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth opened, his tongue protruded; his
eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he
was lifted and flung with a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in
a heap on the 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 I was
comin' for that purpose," said the frontiersman. "Leffler was tryin' to kiss
the lass. He's been drunk fer two days. That little girl's sweetheart kin
handle himself some, now you take my word on it."

"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 comes around."

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

As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was the third time
he had injured a man because of her. She had on several occasions seen that
cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had always frightened her. It was gone,
however, before they were inside the building. He said something which she did
not hear distinctly, and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been
angry with him; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He
had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he considered
himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet and subtle as the
taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fear because of his strength was
mingled with her pride in it. Any other girl would have been only too glad to
have such a champion; she would, 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, so engrossed had she been
with her reflections. "Are you mad with me yet?" he continued. "Why, Nell, I'm
in--I love you!"

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

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

Chapter III.

Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplating two quiet
figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One he recognized as the
Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour that morning; the red son of
the woods was wrapped in slumber. He had placed under his head a many-hued
homespun shirt which the young preacher had given him; but while asleep his
head had rolled off this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free,
attracting the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had
found lodgment in Joe's fertile brain.

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

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an expression on
his face which told that he thought in them were great possibilities for
sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared within the cabin, and when
he showed himself at the door, surveying the village square with mirthful
eyes, he held in his hand a small basket of Indian design. It was made of
twisted grass, and simply contained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as
the Indians used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the
fur-trader's wares.

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were busy with
their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckled when there was no
response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the Indians' gaudy shirt, and,
lifting Loorey, slipped it around him, shoved the latter's arms through the
sleeves, and buttoned it in front. He streaked the round face with red and
white paint, and then, dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the
Indian's head-dress, stuck it in Loorey's thick shock of hair. It was all done
in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went down to the river.

Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf where Jeff Lynn, the
grizzled old frontiersman, busied himself with preparations for the
raft-journey down the Ohio. Lynn had been employed to guide the missionary's
party to Fort Henry, and, as the brothers had acquainted him with their
intention of accompanying the travelers, 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 slight protection from sun and
storm was all the brothers would have on their long journey.

Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with some thought
for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hut was raised so that
the waves which broke over the logs could not reach it. Taking a peep into
the structure, Joe was pleased to see that Nell and Kate would be comfortable,
even during a storm. A buffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior
a cozy, warm look. He observed that some of the girls' luggage was already on
board.

"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 the river," replied
Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply.

"It's a beautiful river, and I'd like to sail on it from here to where 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 red devils, with
feathers in their hair, slipping among the trees along the bank, and mebbe
you'll hear the ping which's made when whistlin' lead hits. Perhaps you'll
want to be back here by termorrer sundown."

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

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

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

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put together,
and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. At length he seated himself
beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions; to know about the rafts, the
river, the forest, the Indians--everything in connection with this wild life;
but already he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means
of 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 had taken four or
five puffs at his pipe.

"Squirrels."

"Good practice, shootin' squirrels," observed Jeff, after another silence,
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 an apologetic
tone in his answer.

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

"Hev' a chaw," he said.

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

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a little nearer the
stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly this was the
borderman's way of oiling up his conversational machinery. At all events, he
commenced to talk.

"Yer brother's goin' to preach out here, ain't he? Preachin' is all right,
I'll allow; but I'm kinder doubtful about preachin' to redskins. Howsumever,
I've knowed Injuns who are good fellows, and there'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 the forest; I
want to fish and hunt; and I think I'd like to--to see Indians."

"I kinder thought so," said the old frontiersman, nodding his head as though
he perfectly understood Joe's case. "Well, lad, where you'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 on the border, and I'm thinkin' wuss is
comin'. Did ye ever hear the name Girty?"

"Yes; he's a renegade."

"He's a traitor, and Jim and George Girty, his brothers, are p'isin
rattlesnake 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 the lookout to capture
white wimen to take to his Injun teepee. Simon Girty and his pals, McKee and
Elliott, deserted from that thar fort right afore yer eyes. They're now livin'
among the redskins down Fort 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 below Fort Henry."

"Where is the Moravian Mission located?"

"Why, lad, the Village of Peace, as the Injuns call it, is right in the midst
of that Injun country. I 'spect it's a matter of a hundred miles 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 of men. The Injuns
hev swarmed down on it time and ag'in, but they hev never 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' with such scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he allus knows
what's goin' on among 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 are they?"

"Jack Zane is a hunter an' guide. I knowed him well a few years back. He's a
quiet, mild chap; but a streak of chain-lightnin' when he's riled. Wetzel is
an Injun-killer. Some people say as how he's crazy over scalp-huntin'; but I
reckon that's not so. I've seen him a few times. He don't hang round the
settlement 'cept when the Injuns are up, an' nobody sees him much. At home he
sets round silent-like, an' then mebbe next mornin' he'll be gone, an' won't
show 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 their cabins. 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 to their cabins they find nothin' but ashes.
There couldn't be any farmin' 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 go sideways to git
his shoulders in that door, but he's as light of foot an' fast as a deer. An'
his eyes--why, lad, ye kin hardly look into 'em. If you ever see Wetzel you'll
know him to onct."

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

"Is he? Lew Wetzel is the heftiest of 'em all, an' we hev some as kin fight
out here. I was down the river a few years ago and joined a 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 a lot of the pesky varmints. We was all
fer goin' home, because we had a 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 not
goin' to run away.' An' we left him settin' thar. Oh, Wetzel is a fighter!"

"I hope I shall see him," said Joe once more, the warm light, which made 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 in on the
conversation. Joe saw several persons run toward the large cabin and disappear
behind it. He smiled as he thought perhaps the commotion had been caused by
the awakening of the Indian brave.

Rising to his feet, Joe went toward the cabin, and soon saw the cause of the
excitement. A small crowd of men and women, all laughing and talking,
surrounded the Indian brave and the little stout fellow. Joe heard some one
groan, and then a deep, guttural voice:

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

After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holding Loorey 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 of paint did not hide his look of
fear and bewilderment. The poor half-witted fellow was so badly frightened
that he could only groan.

"Silvertip scalp paleface. Ugh!" growled the savage, giving Loorey another
blow on the side. This time he bent over in pain. The bystanders were divided
in feeling; the men laughed, while the women murmured sympathetically.

"This's not a bit funny," muttered Joe, as he pushed his way nearly to 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 him loosen his hold on Loorey instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never did like Silver. He's a crafty redskin, an' not to be trusted," 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, and for an
instant had ceased paddling. The sun shone brightly on his eagle plumes. He
remained motionless for a moment, and even at such a distance the dark,
changeless face could be discerned. He lifted his hand and shook it
menacingly.

"If ye don't hear from that redskin agin Jeff Lynn don't know nothin'," calm
said the old frontiersman.

Chapter IV.

As the rafts drifted with the current the voyagers saw the settlers on the
landing-place diminish until they had faded from indistinct figures to mere
black specks against the green background. Then came the last wave of a white
scarf, faintly in the distance, and at length the dark outline of the fort was
all that remained to their regretful gaze. Quickly that, too, disappeared
behind the green hill, which, with its bold front, forces the river to take a
wide turn.

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

Beautiful as was the ever-changing scenery, rugged gray-faced cliffs on one
side contrasting with green-clad hills on the other, there hovered 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 which might have
been found in the picturesque scenery, and caused the voyagers, to whom this
country was new, to take less interest in the gaily-feathered birds and
stealthy animals that were to be seen on the 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. The sandhill crane, stalking along the shore, lifted his long
neck as the unfamiliar thing came floating by, and then stood still and silent
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 away along the shore. The crows circled above
the voyagers, cawing in not unfriendly excitement. Smaller birds alighted on
the raised poles, and several--a robin, a catbird and a little brown
wren--ventured with hesitating boldness to peck at the crumbs the girls threw
to them. Deer waded knee-deep in the shallow water, and, lifting their heads,
instantly became motionless and absorbed. Occasionally a buffalo appeared on a
level stretch of bank, and, tossing his huge head, seemed inclined to resent
the coming of this stranger into his domain.

All day the rafts drifted steadily and swiftly down the river, presenting to
the little party ever-varying pictures of densely wooded 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 of woodland songsters, and now and then the whistle and
bellow of the horned watchers in the forest.

The intense blue of the vault above began to pale, and low down in the west a
few fleecy clouds, gorgeously golden for a fleeting instant, then
crimson-crowned for another, shaded and darkened as the setting sun sank
behind the hills. Presently the red rays disappeared, a pink glow suffused the
heavens, and at last, as gray twilight stole down over the hill-tops, the
crescent moon peeped above the wooded fringe of the western bluffs.

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

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

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

They all climbed the sandy slope, and found themselves on the summit of an
oval island, with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded by birches. Bill,
the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at once swung his axe upon a log of
driftwood. Mr. Wells and Jim walked to and fro under the birches, and Kate and
Nell sat on the grass watching with great interest the old helmsman as he came
u from the river, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he had
given them. Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after laying out the
few utensils, he addressed himself to Joe:

"I'll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by bad cuttin' and
cookin'. You're slicin' it too thick. See--thar! Now salt 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 a few
moments. Then he laid them aside on some clean white-oak chips Bill's axe had
provided. The simple meal of meat, bread, and afterward a drink of the cold
spring water, was keenly relished by the hungry voyagers. When it had been
eaten, Jeff threw a log on the fire and remarked:

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

"How far have we come to-day?" inquired Mr. Wells, his mind always intent 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 rafts hev to go
separate."

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

"Beautiful!" impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joe. A quick flash from his
gray eyes answered her; he did not speak; indeed he had said little to her
since the start, but his glance showed her how glad he was that she felt the
sweetness and content of this wild land.

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

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

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

"So, little 'un, ye want a story?" queried Jeff, taking up a live coal and
placing it in the bowl of his pipe. He took off his coon-skin cap and
carefully laid it aside. His weather-beaten face beamed in answer to the
girl's request. He drew a long and audible pull at his black pipe, and send
forth slowly a cloud of white smoke. Deliberately poking the fire with a
stick, as if stirring into life dead embers of the past, he sucked again at
his pipe, and emitted a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the
grizzled head. From out that white cloud came his drawling voice.

"Ye've seen thet big curly birch over that--thet 'un as bends kind of
sorrowful like. Wal, it used to stand straight an' proud. I've knowed thet
tree all the years I've navigated this river, an' it seems natural like to me
thet it now droops dyin', fer it shades the grave of as young, an' sweet, an'
purty a lass as yerself, Miss Nell. Rivermen called this island George's
Island, 'cause Washington onct camped here; but of late years the name's got
changed, an' the men say suthin' like this: 'We'll try an' make Milly's birch
afore sundown,' jest as Bill and me hev done to-day. Some years agone I was
comin' up from Fort Henry, an' had on board my slow old scow a lass named
Milly--we never learned her other name. She come to me at the 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'in her comin' all along, an' fust off I said
'No." But when I seen tears in her blue eyes, an' she puts her little hand on
mine, I jest wilted, an' says to Jim Blair, 'She goes.'  Wal, jest as might
hev' been expected--an' fact is I looked fer it--we wus tackled by redskins.
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, called Shawnee Rock, an' I'll show it to
ye termorrer. The renegade, with his 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 the time wus so patient, an' sweet, an' brave with thet renegade's
bullet in her--fer he shot her when he seen he couldn't capture her--thet thar
wusn't a blame man of us who wouldn't hev died to grant her prayer, which wus
that she could live to onct more see her lover."

There was a long silence, during which the old frontiersman sat gazing 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 since then the river has been
eatn' away at this island. It's only half as big 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 elder minister
bowed his head and prayed that no such fate might overtake his nieces. The
young minister looked again, as he had many times that day, at Nell's winsome
face. The girls cast grave glances at the drooping birch, and their bright
tears glistened in the fire-glow. Once more Joe's eyes glinted with that
steely flash, and as he gazed out over the wide, darkening expanse of water
his face grew cold and rigid.

"I'll allow I might hev told a more cheerful story, an' I'll do so next time;
but I wanted ye all, particular the lasses, to know somethin' of the kind of
country ye're goin' into. The frontier needs 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's a cunnin'
an' fierce redskin in his ways an' life. He knows the woods as a crow does,
an' keeps outer sight 'cept when he's least expected. Then ag'in, he's got
Simon Girty, his brother, an' almost the whole redskin tribe behind him.
Injuns stick close to a white man that has turned ag'inst his own people, an'
Jim Girty hain't ever been ketched. Howsumever, I heard last trip thet he'd
been tryin' some of his tricks round Fort Henry, an' thet Wetzel is on his
trail. Wal, if it's so thet Lew Wetzel is arter him, I wouldn't give a pinch
o' powder fer the white-redskin's chances of a long life."

No one spoke, and Jeff, after knocking the ashes from his pipe, went down to
the raft, returning shortly afterward with his blanket. This he laid down and
rolled himself in it. Presently from under his coon-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 time the young
couple sat close together on the bank, gazing at the moonlight on the river.

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

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

Joe had a pleasurable sense of her nearness, and there was a delight in the
fragrance of her hair as it waved against his cheek; but just then love was
not uppermost in his mind. All day he had been silent under the force of an
emotion which he could not analyze. Some power, some feeling in which the
thought of Nell had no share, was drawing him with irresistible strength. Nell
had just begun to surrender to him in the sweetness of her passion; and yet
even with that knowledge knocking reproachfully at his heart, he could not
help being absorbed in the shimmering water, in the dark reflection of the
trees, the gloom and shadow of the forest.

Presently he felt her form relax in his arms; then her soft regular breathing
told him she had fallen asleep and he laughed low to himself. How she would
pout on the morrow when he teased her about it! Then, realizing that she was
tired with her long day's journey, he reproached himself for keeping her from
the needed rest, and instantly decided to carry her to the raft. Yet such was
the novelty of the situation that he yielded to its charm, and did not go at
once. The moonlight found bright threads in her wavy hair; it shone
caressingly on her quiet face, and tried to steal under the downcast lashes.

Joe made a movement to rise with her, when she muttered indistinctly as if
speaking to some one. He remembered then she had once told him that she talked
in her sleep, and how greatly it annoyed her. He might 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 distinguished his own
name, and presently she called clearly, as if answering some inward
questioner.

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

Joe lifted her as if she were a baby, and carrying her down to the raft,
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 been revealed in her
dreams. He recalled the glance of Jim's eyes as it had rested on Nell many
times that day, and now these things were most significant.

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

When the first faint rays of red streaked over the eastern hill-tops, and the
river mist arose from the water in a vapory cloud, Jeff Lynn rolled out of his
blanket, stretched his long limbs, and gave a hearty call to the morning. His
cheerful welcome awakened all the voyagers except Joe, who had spent the night
in watching 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'd ye ketch
'em?"

"I fished for them."

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

"I stayed up all night. I saw three deer swim from the mainland, but nothing
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 the frontier, 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 to Bill, started
down-stream with Mr. Wells and the girls.

The rafts remained close together for a while, but as the current quickened
and was more skillfully taken advantage of by Jeff, the larger raft gained
considerable headway, gradually widening the gap between the two.

All day they drifted. From time to time Joe and Jim waved their hands to the
girls; but the greater portion of their attention was given to quieting the
horses. Mose, Joe's big white dog, retired in disgust to the hut, where he
watched and dozed by turns. He did not fancy this kind of voyaging. Bill
strained his sturdy arms all day on the steering-oar.

About the middle of the afternoon Joe observed that the hills grew more rugged
and precipitous, and the river ran faster. He kept a constant lookout for the
wall of rock which marked the point of danger. When the sun had disappeared
behind the hills, he saw ahead a gray rock protruding from the green foliage.
It was ponderous, overhanging, and seemed to frown down on the river. This was
Shawnee Rock. Joe looked long at the cliff, and wondered if there was now an
Indian scout hidden behind the pines that skirted the edge. Prominent on the
top of the bluff a large, dead tree projected its hoary, twisted branches.

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

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

Bill worked the clumsy craft over toward the right shore where the current was
more rapid. He pushed with all his strength, and when the oar had reached its
widest sweep, he lifted it and ran back across the raft for another push. Joe
scanned the river ahead. He saw no rapids; only rougher water whirling over
some rocks. They were where the channel narrowed and ran close to the
right-hand bank. Under a willow-flanked ledge was a sand-bar. To Joe there
seemed 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 to float
logs, an' the river's run out considerable. I'm only afeerd fer 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 rocks several
times, but finally gained the channel safely, and everything seemed propitious
for an easy passage.

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

"Hold hard on the horses!" yelled Bill. "Somethin's wrong. I never seen a snag
here."

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

Joe would have found keen enjoyment in the situation, had it not been for his
horse, Lance. The thoroughbred was difficult to hold. As Bill was making
strenuous efforts to get in a lucky stroke of the oar, he failed to see a long
length of grapevine floating like a brown snake of the water below. In the
excitement they heeded not the barking of Mose. Nor did they see the grapevine
straighten and become taut just as they drifted upon it; but the felt the raft
strike and hold on some submerged object. It creaked and groaned and the foamy
water surged, gurgling, between the logs.

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

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

CRACK!

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

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

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

He saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows. Then the branches
parted, revealing the dark forms of several Indian warriors. From the rifle in
the foremost savage's had a slight veil of smoke rose. With the leap of a
panther the redskin sprang from the 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! Stripped of the
blanket he had worn at the settlement, now standing naked but for his buckskin
breech-cloth, with his perfectly proportioned form disclosed in all its sinewy
beauty, and on his swarthy, evil face an expression of savage scorn, he surely
looked a warrior and a chief.

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

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

Chapter V.

Silvertip turned to his braves, and giving a brief command, sprang from the
raft. The warriors closed in around the brothers; two grasping each by the
arms, and the remaining Indian taking care of the horse. The captives were
then led ashore, where Silvertip awaited them.

When the horse was clear of the raft, which task necessitated considerable
labor on the part of the Indians, the chief seized the grapevine, that was now
plainly in sight, and severed it with one blow of his tomahawk. The raft
dashed forward with a lurch and drifted downstream.

In the clear water Joe could see the cunning trap which had caused the death
of Bill, and insured the captivity of himself and his brother. The crafty
savages had trimmed a six-inch sapling and anchored it under the water. They
weighted the heavy end, leaving the other pointing upstream. To this last had
been tied the grapevine. When the drifting raft reached the sapling, the
Indians concealed in the willows pulled hard on the improvised rope; the end
of the sapling stuck up like a hook, and the aft was caught and held. The
killing of the helmsman showed the Indians' foresight; even had the raft
drifted on downstream the brothers would have been helpless 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 lay behind Shawnee Rock, and he marveled at this
clever trick which had so easily effected their capture.

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

Once upon level ground Joe saw before him an open forest. On the border of
this the Indians stopped long enough to bind the prisoners' wrists with thongs
of deerhide. While two of the braves performed this office, Silvertip leaned
against a tree and took no notice of the brothers. When they were thus
securely tied one of their captors addressed the chief, who at once led the
way westward through the forest. The savages followed in single file, with Joe
and Jim in the middle of the line. The last Indian tried to mount Lance; but
the thoroughbred would have none of him, and after several efforts the savage
was compelled to desist. Mose trotted reluctantly along behind the horse.

Although the chief preserved a dignified mien, his braves were disposed to be
gay. They were in high glee over their feat of capturing the palefaces, and
kept up an incessant jabbering. One Indian, who walked directly behind Joe,
continually prodded him with the stock of a rifle; and whenever Joe turned,
the brawny redskin grinned as he grunted, "Ugh!"  Joe observed that this huge
savage had a broad face of rather a lighter shade of red than his companions.
Perhaps he intended those rifle-prods in friendliness, for although they
certainly amused him, he would allow no one else to touch Joe; but it would
have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship in a gentle manner. This
Indian carried Joe's pack, much to his own delight, 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 his attention to
the course over which he was being taken. Here was his first opportunity to
learn something of Indians and their woodcraft. It occurred to him that his
captors would not have been so gay and careless had they not believed
themselves safe from pursuit, and he concluded they were leisurely conducting
him to one of the Indian towns. He watched the supple figure before him,
wondering at the quick step, light as the fall of a leaf, and tried to walk as
softly. He found, however, that where the Indian readily avoided the sticks
and brush, he was unable to move without snapping twigs. Now and then he would
look up and study the lay of the land ahead; and as he came nearer to certain
rocks and trees he scrutinized them closely, in order to remember their shape
and general appearance. He believed he was blazing out in his mind this
woodland trail, so that should fortune favor him and he contrive to escape, he
would be able to find his way back to the river. Also, he was enjoying the
wild scenery.

This forest would have appeared beautiful, even to one indifferent to such
charms, and Joe was far from that. Every moment he felt steal stronger over
him a subtle influence which he could not define. Half unconsciously he tried
to analyze it, but it baffled him. He could no more explain what fascinated
him than he could understand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over
the glades and hollows. He had pictured a real forest so differently from
this. Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fenced by bright-green
sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted with pale-blue blossoms, over which
the giant cottonwoods leaned their heads, jealously guarding the delicate
flowers from the sun. Beech trees, growing close in clanny groups, spread
their straight limbs gracefully; the white birches gleamed like silver
wherever a stray sunbeam stole through the foliage, and the oaks, monarchs of
the forest, 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, kept clear of broken
ground, matted thickets and tangled windfalls. Joe got a glimpse of dark
ravines and heard the music of tumbling waters; he saw gray cliffs grown over
with vines, and full of holes and crevices; steep ridges, covered with dense
patches of briar and hazel, rising in the way. Yet the Shawnee always found an
easy path.

The sun went down behind the foliage in the west, and shadows appeared low in
the glens; then the trees faded into an indistinct mass; a purple shade
settled down over the forest, and night brought the party to a halt.

The Indians selected a sheltered spot under the lee of a knoll, at the base of
which ran a little brook. Here in this inclosed space were the remains of a
camp-fire. Evidently the Indians had halted there that same day, for the logs
still smouldered. While one brave fanned the embers, another took from a
neighboring branch a haunch of deer meat. A blaze was soon coaxed from the
dull coals, more fuel was added, and presently a cheerful fire shone on the
circle of dusky forms.

It was a picture which Joe had seen in many a boyish dream; now that he was a
part of it he did not dwell on the hopelessness of the situation, nor of the
hostile chief whose enmity he had incurred. Almost, it seemed, he was glad of
this chance to watch the Indians and listen to them. He had been kept apart
from Jim, and it appeared to Joe that their captors treated his brother with a
contempt which they did not show him. Silvertip had, no doubt, informed them
that Jim 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 took the most
disheartening view of his capture. When he had eaten the slice of venison
given him he lay down with his back to the fire.

Silvertip, in these surroundings, showed his real character. He had appeared
friendly in the settlement; but now he was the relentless savage, a son of the
wilds, free as an eagle. His dignity as a chief kept him aloof from his
braves. He had taken no notice of the prisoners since the capture. He remained
silent, steadily regarding the fire with his somber eyes. At length, glancing
at the big Indian, he motioned toward the prisoners and with a single word
stretched himself on the leaves.

Joe noted the same changelessness of expression in the other dark faces as he
had seen in Silvertip's. It struck him forcibly. When they spoke in their
soft, guttural tones, or burst into a low, not unmusical laughter, or sat
gazing stolidly into the fire, their faces seemed always the same,
inscrutable, like the depths of the forest now hidden in night. One thing Joe
felt rather than saw--these savages were fierce and untamable. He was sorry
for Jim, because, as he believed, it would be as easy to teach the panther
gentleness toward his prey as to instill into one of these wild creatures a
belief in Christ.

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

Finally the pack was opened. It contained a few articles of wearing apparel, a
pair of boots, and a pipe and pouch of tobacco. The big Indian kept the latter
articles, grunting with satisfaction, and threw the boots and clothes to the
others. Immediately there was a scramble. One brave, after a struggle with
another, got possession of both boots. He at once slipped off his moccasins
and drew on the white man's foot-coverings. He strutted around in them a few
moments, but his proud manner soon changed to disgust.

Cowhide had none of the soft, yielding qualities of buckskin, and hurt the
Indian's feet. Sitting down, he pulled one off, not without difficulty, for
the boots were wet; but he could not remove the other. He hesitated a moment,
being aware of the subdued merriment of his comrades, and then held up his
foot to the nearest one. This chanced to be the big Indian, who evidently had
a keen sense of humor. Taking hold of the boot with both hands, he dragged the
luckless brave entirely around the camp-fire. The fun, however, was not to be
all one-sided. The big Indian gave a more strenuous pull, and the boot came
off suddenly. Unprepared for this, he lost his balance and fell down the bank
almost into the creek. He held on to the 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 brief command, acting, as
guard. Observing Joe watching him as he puffed on his new pipe, he grinned,
and spoke in broken English that was intelligible, and much of a surprise to
the young man.

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

Then, seeing that Joe made no effort to follow his brother's initiative, for
Jim was fast asleep, he pointed to the recumbent figures and spoke again in.

"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 cut and the party took
up its westward march.

The Indians, though somewhat quieter, displayed the same carelessness: they
did not hurry, nor use particular caution, but selected the most open paths
through the forest. They even halted while one of their number crept up on a
herd of browsing deer. About noon the leader stopped to drink from a spring;
his braves followed suit and permitted the white prisoners to quench their
thirst.

When they were about to start again the single note of a bird far away in the
woods sounded clearly on the quiet air. Joe would not have given heed to it
had he been less attentive. He instantly associated this peculiar bird-note
with the sudden stiffening of Silvertip's body and his attitude of intense
listening. Low exclamations came from the braves as they bent to catch the
lightest sound. Presently, above the murmur of the gentle fall of water over
the stones, rose that musical note once more. It was made by a bird, Joe
thought, and yet, judged by the actions of the Indians, how potent with
meaning beyond that of the simple melody of the woodland songster! He turned,
half expecting to see somewhere in the tree-tops the bird which had wrought so
sudden a change in his captors. As he did so from close at hand came the same
call, now louder, but identical with the one that had deceived him. It was an
answering 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 communicating with them. Soon dark
figures could be discerned against the patches of green thicket; they came
nearer and nearer, and now entered the open 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 the head-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 whom Silvertip now
advanced with every show of respect. In this Indian's commanding stature, in
his reddish-bronze face, stern and powerful, there were readable the
characteristics of a king. In his deep-set eyes, gleaming from under a
ponderous brow; in his mastiff-like jaw; in every feature of his haughty face
were visible all the high intelligence, the consciousness of past valor, and
the power and authority that denote a great chieftain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe paled deathly white at this cowardly action, and his eyes, as they met the
gaze of the ruffian, contracted with their characteristic steely glow, as if
some powerful force within the depths of his being were at white heat and only
this pale flash came to the surface.

"You ain't a preacher?" questioned the man, meeting something in Joe'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 to remember
me after this."

"I figured there was only one so-called white man in these woods who is 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 he still
retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's left wrist. 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 the powerful grip of his
fingers. Girty uttered a frightful curse; he writhed with pain, but could not
free himself from the vise-like clutch. He drew his tomahawk and with a scream
aimed a vicious blow at Joe. He missed his aim, however, for Silvertip had
intervened and turned the course of the keen hatchet. But the weapon struck
Joe a glancing blow, inflicting a painful, though not dangerous wound.

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

The nose-pulling incident added to the gayety of the Shawnees, who evidently
were pleased with Girty's discomfiture. They jabbered among themselves and
nodded approvingly at Joe, until a few words spoken by Silvertip produced a
sudden change.

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

"Did you hear what Silvertip said, and did you notice the effect it had?"
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 a scholar.

"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 to the
trees, and once more led the way; this time he avoided the open forest and
kept on low ground. For a long time he traveled in the bed of the brook,
wading when the water was shallow, and always stepping where there was the
least possibility of leaving a footprint. Not a word was spoken. If either of
the brothers made the lightest splash in the water, or tumbled a stone into
the brook, the Indian behind rapped him on the head with a tomahawk handle.

At certain places, indicated by the care which Silvertip exercised in walking,
the Indian in front of the captives turned and pointed where they were to
step. They were hiding the trail. Silvertip hurried them over the stony
places; went more slowly through the water, and picked his way carefully over
the soft ground it became necessary to cross. At times he stopped, remaining
motionless many seconds.

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

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

Joe reviewed the afternoon's march and dwelt upon the possible meaning of the
cat-like steps, the careful brushing aside of branches, the roving eyes,
suspicious and gloomy, the eager watchfulness of the advance as well as to the
ear, and always the strained effort to listen, all of which gave him the
impression of some grave, unseen danger.

And now as he lay on the hard ground, nearly exhausted by the long march and
suffering from the throbbing wound, his courage lessened somewhat, and he
shivered with dread. The quiet and gloom of the forest; these fierce, wild
creatures, free in the heart of their own wilderness yet menaced by a foe, and
that strange French phrase which kept recurring in his mind--all had the
effect of conjuring up giant shadows in Joe's fanciful mind. During all his
life, until this moment, he had never feared anything; now he was afraid of
the darkness. The spectral trees spread long arms overhead, and phantom forms
stalked abroad; somewhere out in that dense gloom stirred this mysterious
foe--the "Wind of Death."

Nevertheless, he finally slept. In the dull-gray light of early morning the
Indians once more took up the line of march toward the west. 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, yet it was
lighter than when he had fallen asleep. A pale, crescent moon shown dimly
through the murky clouds. There was neither movement of the air nor the chirp
of an insect. Absolute silence prevailed.

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

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

At this moment from out of the depths of the woods came a swelling sigh, 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 glints of 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 but clear, and
ended in a wail like that of a lost soul.

The break it made in t