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It is needless to say that I doubted the existence of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was possible to make inquiries by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose whereabouts was known to his friends in Mannheim. I wrote to him, and received his answer in due time.
He came limping painfully up the road from the direction of the river. When he saw Col. Zane he whined and crawled to the Colonel's feet. The dog was wet and covered with burrs, and his beautiful glossy coat, which had been Betty's pride, was dripping with blood. "Silas, Jonathan, come here," cried Col. Zane. "Here's Tige, back without Wetzel, and the poor dog has been shot almost to pieces.
At daybreak Wetzel was at his post. A little after sunrise he heard a long yell which he believed announced the arrival of an important party. And so it turned out. Amid thrill yelling and whooping, the like of which Wetzel had never before heard, Simon Girty rode into Wingenund's camp at the head of one hundred Shawnee warriors and two hundred British Rangers from Detroit.
He urged the dog on Girty's trail, and followed the eager beast toward the west. As he disappeared, a long, low sound like the sigh of the night wind swelled and moaned through the gloom. 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.
He could not miss this opportunity; he must stay with the hunter. He looked closely at Wetzel. "I won't go back to the village," he said. The hunter stood in his favorite position, leaning on his long rifle, and made no response. "I won't go," continued Joe, earnestly. "Let me stay with you.
He knew not fear. He was daring where daring was the wiser part. Crafty, tireless and implacable, Wetzel was incomparable in his vocation. His long raven-black hair, of which he was vain, when combed out reached to within a foot of the ground. He had a rare scalp, one for which the Indians would have bartered anything.
Grains of sand glided along with the current, little pieces of bark floated on the surface, and minnows darted to and fro nibbling at these drifting particles. "Deer wouldn't roil the water like that. What does it mean?" asked Joe. "Injuns, an' not fer away." Wetzel returned to the shelter and tore it down. Then he bent the branch of a beech tree low over the place.
Indians would steal any kind; but this thief takes only the best." "I'm to meet Wetzel on the ridge soon, an' then we'll know, for he's goin' to find out where the hosses are taken." "That'll help some. On the way back you found where the white girl had been taken from. Murdered father, burned cabin, the usual deviltry." "Exactly." "Poor Mabel!
Five hundred yards farther on the trail turned sharply toward the birch grove in the rear. The trail was fresh. Wetzel was possibly within signal call; surely within sound of a rifle shot. But even more stirring was the certainty that Brandt and his Indians were inside the circle Wetzel had made.
We'll meet under thet big dead tree. I allow we can see it from anywhere around. We'll leave the trail here, an' take it up farther on. Legget's goin' straight for his camp; he ain't losin' an inch. He wants to get in that rocky hole of his'n." Wetzel stepped off the trail, glided into the woods, and vanished.
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