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But another dark night wore on to the tardy dawn, and each of its fearful hours numbered miles past and gone. The sun was rising in ruddy glory when Wetzel ran his canoe into the bank just ahead of a sharp bend in the stream. "Do we get out here?" asked Jim, seeing Jonathan turn his canoe toward Wetzel's. "The village lies yonder, around the bend," answered the guide.
"My scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous, is it?" said he, eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell over the hunter's shoulders. "It'll grow," answered Wetzel. Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair, nor did he misunderstand the hunter's simple pride.
At the same moment a shot rang out. Bennet stumbled and fell headlong. An Indian had shot through the hole in the fence. Silas and Alfred sheered off toward the fence, out of line. When within twenty yards of Wetzel they saw a swarthy-faced and athletic savage squeeze through the narrow crevice.
Pipe and Half King won't stand for the singin', prayin' redskins, especially when they've got all these cattle and fields of grain." "Wetzel said the same." "Hev you seen Wetzel?" "Yes; he rescued a girl from Jim Girty, and returned her to us." "That so? I met Wetzel and Jack Zane back a few miles in the woods.
Jim remembered, as he saw the guide vanish over the bank of the creek, that he had heard Colonel Zane say that Jonathan, as well as Wetzel, hated the sight of an Indian. No doubt long years of war and bloodshed had rendered these two great hunters callous. To them there could be no discrimination an Indian was an Indian. "Mr. Wells, welcome to the Village of Peace!" exclaimed Mr.
Although stricken with fear, when Helen saw the bronzed, massive shoulder, the long, powerful arm with its cords of muscles playing under the brown skin, she felt a thrill of admiration. "Just missed the lung," said Mrs. Zane. "Eb, no bullet ever made that hole." Wetzel washed the bloody wound, and, placing on it a wad of leaves he took from his pocket, bound up the shoulder tightly.
"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?
In the early hours of the next morning my mother came into the great night nursery, and, standing by the bedside of each of us in turn, told us, with sobs, that our father was dead, and gave us each a message with his blessing. To me she said, 'He hoped to make something of you. In the afternoon my schoolmaster, Wetzel, came to take me back to the country.
It may be twenty-four hours and it may be ten days. In the meantime I will get the Fort in shape to meet the attack. Lewis, you have your orders. Have you anything to suggest?" "I'll take the dog," answered Wetzel. "He'll save time for me. I'll stick to Miller's trail and find Girty's forces.
His aspect was fierce and threatening. He uttered low growls and then two short barks. Those in the room heard a soft moccasined footfall outside. The next instant the door opened wide and a tall figure stood disclosed. "Wetzel!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. A hush fell on the little company after that exclamation, and all eyes were fastened on the new comer.
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