When the first ruddy rays of the rising sun crimsoned the eastern
sky, Wetzel slowly wound his way down a rugged hill far west of
Beautiful Spring. A white dog, weary and footsore, limped by his
side. 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 was
particular about selecting the wood, and threw aside many pieces
which would have burned well; but when he did kindle a flame it
blazed hotly, yet made no smoke.
He sharpened a green stick, and, taking some strips of meat from his
pocket, roasted them over the hot flame. He fed the dog first. Mose
had crouched close on the ground with his head on his paws, and his
brown eyes fastened upon the hunter.
"He had too big a start fer us," said Wetzel, speaking as if the dog
were human. It seemed that Wetzel's words were a protest against the
meaning in those large, sad eyes.
Then the hunter put out the fire, and, searching for a more secluded
spot, finally found one on top of the ledge, where he commanded a
good view of his surroundings. The weary dog was asleep. Wetzel
settled himself to rest, and was soon wrapped in slumber.
About noon he awoke. He arose, stretched his limbs, and then took an
easy position on the front of the ledge, where he could look below.
Evidently the hunter was waiting for something. The dog slept on. It
was the noonday hour, when the stillness of the forest almost
matched that of midnight. The birds were more quiet than at any
other time during daylight.
Wetzel reclined there with his head against the stone, and his rifle
resting across his knees.
He listened now to the sounds of the forest. The soft breeze
fluttering among the leaves, the rain-call of the tree frog, the caw
of crows from distant hilltops, the sweet songs of the thrush and
oriole, were blended together naturally, harmoniously.
But suddenly the hunter raised his head. A note, deeper than the
others, a little too strong, came from far down the shaded hollow.
To Wetzel's trained ear it was a discord. He manifested no more than
this attention, for the birdcall was the signal he had been
awaiting. He whistled a note in answer that was as deep and clear as
the one which had roused him.
Moments passed. There was no repetition of the sound. The songs of
the other birds had ceased. Besides Wetzel there was another
intruder 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 laurels
down the slope. He stopped while gazing up at the ledge. Then, with
noiseless step, he ascended the ridge, climbed the rocky ledge, and
turned the corner of the stone to face Wetzel. The newcomer was
Jonathan Zane.
"Jack, I expected you afore this," was Wetzel's greeting.
"I couldn't make it sooner," answered Zane. "After we left
Williamson and separated, I got turned around by a band of several
hundred 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 makes
for this meetin' place. I've been goin' for some ten hours, and am
hungry."
"I've got some bar ready cooked," said Wetzel, handing Zane several
strips of meat.
"What luck did you have?"
"I found Girty's trail, an old one, over here some eighteen or twenty
miles, an' follered it until I went almost into the Delaware town.
It led to a hut in a deep ravine. I ain't often surprised, but I wus
then. I found the dead body of that girl, Kate Wells, we fetched over
from Fort Henry. Thet's sad, but it ain't the surprisin' part. I also
found Silvertip, the Shawnee I've been lookin' fer. He was all knocked
an' cut up, deader'n a stone. There'd been somethin' of a scrap in the
hut. I calkilate Girty murdered Kate, but I couldn't think then who did
fer Silver, though I 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't calkilate it'd be wise to tackle the bunch single-handed, so
laid back. A mile or so from the hut I came across hoss tracks minglin'
with the moccasin-prints. About fifteen mile or so from the Delaware
town, Girty left his buckskins, an' they went west, while he stuck to
the hoss tracks. I was onto his game in a minute. I cut across country
fer Beautiful Spring, but I got there too late. I found the warm bodies
of Joe and thet Injun girl, Winds. The snake hed murdered them."
"I allow Joe won over Winds, got away from the Delaware town with
her, tried to rescue Kate, and killed Silver in the fight. Girty
probably 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 scattered
about. 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 a
day."
"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 can
lots 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 and
the dog took Girty's trail, but couldn't catch up with him. He's now
with the renegade cutthroats and hundreds of riled Indians over
there in the Village of Peace."
"I reckon you're right."
A long silence ensued. Jonathan finished his simple repast, drank
from the little spring that trickled under the stone, and, sitting
down 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 this
fellow Girty."
"Wal?" said Wetzel, as Zane hesitated.
"Twice in the last few years you and I have had it in for the same
men, both white-livered traitors. You remember? First it was Miller,
who tried to ruin my sister Betty, and next it was Jim Girty, who
murdered 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 the
river, 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 is
lyin' quiet in the woods, and violets have blossomed twice over his
grave, though you never said a word; but I know it's true because I
know you."
Zane looked eagerly into the dark face of his friend, hoping perhaps
to get some verbal assurance there that his belief was true. But
Wetzel 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 for
nothin'. Again you and me trailed a coward and found him to be Jim
Girty. 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're
a better man than me, and because I wanted you to have the
satisfaction. Wal, the months have gone by, and Jim Girty's still
livin' and carryin' on. Now he's over there after them poor
preachers. I ain't sayin', Lew, that you haven't more agin him than
me, but I do say, let me in on it with you. He always has a gang of
redskins with him; he's afraid to travel alone, else you'd had him
long ago. Two of us'll have more chance to get him. Let me go with
you. When it comes to a finish, I'll stand aside while you give it
to him. I'd enjoy seein' you cut him from shoulder to hip. After he
leaves the Village of Peace we'll hit his trail, camp on it, and
stick to it until it ends in his grave."
The earnest voice of the backwoodsman ceased. Both men rose and
stood facing each other. Zane's bronzed face was hard and tense,
expressive of an indomitable will; Wetzel's was coldly dark, with
fateful resolve, as if his decree of vengeance, once given, was as
immutable as destiny. The big, horny hands gripped in a viselike
clasp born of fierce passion, but no word was spoken.
Far to the west somewhere, a befrilled and bedizened renegade
pursued the wild tenor of his ways; perhaps, even now steeping his
soul in more crime, or staining his hands a deeper red, but sleeping
or waking, he dreamed not of this deadly compact that meant his
doom.
The two hunters turned their stern faces toward the west, and passed
silently down the ridge into the depths of the forest. Darkness
found them within rifle-shot of the Village of Peace. With the dog
creeping between them, they crawled to a position which would, in
daylight, command a view of the clearing. Then, while one stood
guard, 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 the
village. All the morning they watched with that wonderful patience
of men who knew how to wait. The visiting savages were quiet, the
missionaries moved about in and out of the shops and cabins; the
Christian Indians worked industriously in the fields, while the
renegades lolled before a prominent teepee.
"This quiet looks bad," whispered Jonathan to Wetzel. No shouts were
heard; not a hostile Indian was seen to move.
"They've come to a decision," whispered Jonathan, and Wetzel
answered 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 log
structure, and then marched in orderly form toward the maple grove
where the service was always held in pleasant weather. This movement
brought the Indians within several hundred yards of the cliff where
Zane and Wetzel lay concealed.
"There's Heckewelder walking with old man Wells," whispered
Jonathan. "There's Young and Edwards, and, yes, there's the young
missionary, brother of Joe. 'Pears to me they're foolish to hold
service 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 of
hostile redskins. They've got their guns, and--by Gum! they're
painted. 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. 'Pears
to me I know some of them redskins. There's Pipe, sure enough, and
Kotoxen. 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. As
I'm a born sinner, that's your old friend, Wingenund. 'Pears to me
we've rounded up all our acquaintances."
The two bordermen lay close under the tall ferns and watched the
proceedings with sharp eyes. They saw the converted Indians seat
themselves before the platform. The crowd of hostile Indians
surrounded the glade on all sides, except one, which, singularly
enough, was next to the woods.
"Look thar!" exclaimed Wetzel, under his breath. He pointed off to
the right of the maple glade. Jonathan gazed in the direction
indicated, and saw two savages stealthily slipping through the
bushes, and behind trees. Presently these suspicious acting spies,
or scouts, stopped on a little knoll perhaps an hundred yards from
the glade.
Wetzel groaned.
"This ain't comfortable," growled Zane, in a low whisper. "Them red
devils are up to somethin' bad. They'd better not move round over
here."
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 precious
gang," said Jonathan. "He's got the whole thing fixed, you can
plainly see that. Bill Elliott, McKee; and who's that renegade with
Jim Girty? I'll allow he must be the fellar we heard was with the
Chippewas. Tough lookin' customer; a good mate fer Jim Girty! A fine
lot of border-hawks!"
"Somethin' comin' off," whispered Wetzel, as Zane's low growl grew
unintelligible.
Jonathan felt, rather than saw, Wetzel tremble.
"The missionaries are consultin'. Ah! there comes one! Which? I
guess it's Edwards. By gum! who's that Injun stalkin' over from the
hostile bunch. Big chief, whoever he is. Blest if it ain't Half
King!"
The watchers saw the chief wave his arm and speak with evident
arrogance to Edwards, who, however, advanced to the platform and
raised 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 King
addressed him as he had the other; but Young raised his hand and
began 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 that
by the way he fell."
Wetzel did not answer. He lay silent and motionless, his long body
rigid, and his face like marble.
"There comes the other young fellar--Joe's brother. He'll get
plugged, too," continued Zane, whispering rather to himself than to
his companion. "Oh, I hoped they'd show some sense! It's noble for
them 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 held
in his hand a black war-club, which he wielded as he spoke.
Jonathan's attention was now directed from the maple grove to the
hunter beside him. He had heard a slight metallic click, as Wetzel
cocked his rifle. Then he saw the black barrel slowly rise.
"Listen, Lew. Mebbe it ain't good sense. We're after Girty, you
remember; 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 help
it. 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 his
war-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 had
Wetzel, and tightened his belt. He knew that in another instant they
would be speeding away through the forest.
"Lew, my rifle's no good fer that distance. But mebbe yours is. You
ought to know. It's not sense, because there's Simon Girty, and
there's Jim, the men we're after. If you can hit one, you can
another. But go ahead, Lew. Plug that cowardly redskin!"
Wetzel knelt on one knee, and thrust the black rifle forward through
the fern leaves. Slowly the fatal barrel rose to a level, and became
as motionless as the immovable stones.
Jonathan fixed his keen gaze on the haughty countenance of Half King
as he stood with folded arms and scornful mien in front of the
Christians he had just condemned.
Even as the short, stinging crack of Wetzel's rifle broke the
silence, Jonathan saw the fierce expression of Half King's dark face
change to one of vacant wildness. His arms never relaxed from their
folded position. He fell, as falls a monarch of the forest trees, a
dead weight.