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Updated: May 9, 2025
They both fired; the Indian missed, but Wetzel's bullet had broken the savage's arm. They rushed at each other with their drawn hunting knives, and fell in a fearful struggle. Wetzel unhurt was no match for the wounded Indian, who sat astride of him with his knife lifted when Wetzel's dog sprung at his throat. Wetzel now flung him off, and while the dog held him helpless, easily dispatched him.
The sight on Jonathan's rifle had several times covered this savage's dark face; but when he was about to press the trigger Wetzel's fleeting form, also in line with the savage, made it extremely hazardous to take a shot. Jonathan stepped from his place of concealment, and let out a yell that pealed high over the cries of the savages. Wetzel suddenly dropped flat on the ground.
"Heckewelder?" "Is safe. He has gone to see Williamson. You did hear a third shot. Half King fell dead with a bullet over his left eye. He had just folded his arms in a grand pose after his death decree to the Christians." "A judgment of God!" "It does seem so, but it came in the form of leaden death from Wetzel's unerring rifle. Do you hear all that yelling?
The evening was very quiet; the birds had ceased their twittering; the wind had died away; it was too early for the bay of a wolf, the wail of a panther, or hoot of an owl; there was simply perfect silence. The lad's deep, even breathing caught Wetzel's ear, and he found himself meditating, as he had often of late, on this new something that had crept into his life.
"Lew, don't draw your knife," cried Betty as she saw Wetzel's hand go inside his hunting shirt. She had thrown herself in front of him as Miller got to his feet. With both little hands she clung to the brawny arm of the hunter, but she could not stay it. Wetzel's hand slipped to his belt.
"I said this'd be my last trail," continued Wetzel. "I felt it, an' I know it'll be yours." "Why?" "If you get away with the girl she'll keep you at home, an' it'll be well. If you don't succeed, you'll die tryin', so it's sure your last trail." Wetzel's deep, cold voice rang with truth.
Betty had never heard it and though she was brave, when the howl from the forest had its answer in another howl from the creek thicket, she slipped her little mittened hand under Wetzel's arm and looked up at him with frightened eyes.
"That's all," the borderman replied grimly. "An' leave you all alone to fight Legget an' the rest of 'em?" "I reckon." "Not to be thought of." "Ther's no other way." "There must be! Let me think; I can't, I'm not myself." "No other way," repeated Wetzel curtly. Jonathan's broad hand fastened on Wetzel's shoulder and wheeled him around. "Have I ever left you alone?"
"My dear, be calm," said Colonel Zane, in that quiet tone he always used during moments of excitement. He turned toward the bordermen, and helped Wetzel lead Jonathan up the walk into the yard. From Wetzel's clothing water ran, his long hair was disheveled, his aspect frightful. Jonathan's face was white and drawn.
It would have been hardly possible to cover him with a rifle, and the outlaw grimly understood that he needed to be careful of that charge in his weapon. "By Heavens, Wetzel's a wonder!" cried Brandt in unwilling admiration. "Now he'll go after Legget and the redskin, while Zane stays here to get me. Well, he'll succeed, most likely, but I'll never quit. What's this?"
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