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Updated: June 12, 2025
"The life of any borderman is that; but Wetzel's is particularly so." "What is he called by the Indians?" "They call him Atelang, or, in English, Deathwind." "By George! That's what Silvertip said in French 'Le Vent de la Mort." "Yes; you have it right. A French fur trader gave Wetzel that name years ago, and it has clung to him.
We'll go on with the hosses, an' then strike across country to find his trail." "It 'pears to me, Lew, that we've taken a long time in makin' a show against these hoss-thieves," said Jonathan. "I ain't sayin' much; but I've felt it," replied Wetzel. "All summer, an' nothin' done. It was more luck than sense that we run into those Injuns with the hosses.
Where's he taking you?" "To the Delaware town." "I don't suppose the chiefs will let any harm befall you; but Kate and I would be better off dead. If we can only delay the march, Wetzel will surely return." "Hush! Girty's up." The renegade staggered to an upright position, and leaned on the Shawnee's arm. Evidently he had not been seriously injured, only stunned.
"I am sorry, too, because Wingenund was a fine Indian. But Wetzel is implacable." "Here's Nell, and Mrs. Clarke too. Come out, both of you," cried Jim. Nell appeared in the doorway with Colonel Zane's sister. The two girls came down the steps and greeted the young man. The bride's sweet face was white and thin, and there was a shadow in her eyes.
Wetzel was speaking with a clearness and a rapidity which were wonderful under the circumstances. "When we let you out you'll have a clear path. Run, but not very fast. Save your speed. Tell the Colonel to empty a keg of powder in a table cloth. Throw it over your shoulder and start back. Run like you was racin' with me, and keep on comin' if you do get hit. Now go!"
Many hours he idled away lying on his back, with the west wind blowing softly over him, his eye on the distant hills, where the cloud shadows swept across with slow, majestic movement, like huge ships at sea. If Wetzel and Joe were far distant from the cave, as was often the case, they made camp in the open woods, and it was here that Joe's contentment was fullest.
He shot the one who was calling and followed the others until he found where they had taken Isaac's trail." Betty turned to the younger man with tearful eyes, and with beseeching voice implored them to save her brother. "I am ready to follow you," said Clarke to Wetzel. The hunter shook his head, but did not answer.
For a minute he remained motionless. Then he waved his hand and plunged into the thicket. Betty sighed and Alfred said: "Poor Wetzel! ever restless, ever roaming." "Hello, there!" exclaimed a gay voice. The lovers turned to see the smiling face of Isaac, and over his shoulder Myeerah's happy face beaming on them. "Alfred, you are a lucky dog.
Christian or pagan, he would not speak one word to save his life. "Oh! tell him you are a Christian," cried Nell, running to the chief. "Yellow-hair, the Delaware is true to his race." As he spoke gently to Nell a noble dignity shone upon his dark face. "Injun, my back bears the scars of your braves' whips," hissed Wetzel, once more advancing.
Remembering, he tossed out a big, fat cricket, which alighted on the water just above the fish. The trout never moved, nor even blinked. The lad tried again, with no better success. The fish would not rise. Thereupon Joe returned to the point where he had left Wetzel. "I couldn't see nothin' over there," said the hunter, who was waiting. "Did you see any? "One, and a big fellow."
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