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When he got well enough to stand a few days' travel I got him across the river and givin' him a hunk of deer meat I told him to go, and if I ever saw him again I'd make a better shot. "A year afterwards I trailed two Shawnees into Wingenund's camp and got surrounded and captured. The Delaware chief is my great enemy.
This was because, as she came by with her companions, while they all turned away, she looked at him with her soft, dark eyes. She was a young girl, whose delicate beauty bloomed fresh and sweet as that of a wild rose. Her costume, fringed, beaded, and exquisitely wrought with fanciful design, betrayed her rank, she was Wingenund's daughter.
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.
In the days of long ago, when Wingenund's forefathers heard not the paleface's ax, they lived in love and happiness such as the young White Father dreams may come again. They waged no wars. A white dove sat in every wigwam. The lands were theirs and they were rich. The paleface came with his leaden death, his burning firewater, his ringing ax, and the glory of the redmen faded forever.
What does it mean?" "Indians," said Jonathan, coming out of the house with Silas, and Mrs. Zane and Betty, who had heard the Colonel's call. "He has come a long way. Look at his feet. They are torn and bruised," continued Jonathan. "And he has been near Wingenund's camp. You see that red clay on his paws.
Wetzel recoiled when he saw the red uniforms of the Britishers and their bayonets. Including Pipe's and Wingenund's braves the total force which was going to march against the Fort exceeded six hundred. An impotent frenzy possessed Wetzel as he watched the orderly marching of the Rangers and the proud bearing of the Indian warriors. Miller had spoken the truth. Ft. Henry vas doomed.
Wells, with a happy smile, closing the Bible. "Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand. "Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of a bell. Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect, motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air.
His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn; his glance alone revealed the passion that swayed him. "Wingenund's ears are keen; they have heard a feather fall in the storm; now they hear a soft-voiced thrush.
It was Whispering Winds. Her beautiful face glowed while she listened to her father. "Wingenund's daughter has her mother's eyes, that were beautiful as a doe's, keen as a hawk's, far-seeing as an eagle's. Let the Delaware maiden show her blood. Let her point out the white father." Shyly but unhesitatingly Whispering Winds laid her hand Jim's arm.
"Missionary, begone!" came the chieftain's command. "Thank Wingenund's daughter for your life, not the God of your Christians!" He waved his hand to the runner. The brave grasped Jim's arm. "Good-by, Joe," brokenly said Jim. "Old fellow, good-by," came the answer. They took one last, long look into each others' eyes. Jim's glance betrayed his fear he would never see his brother again.
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