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The light in Joe's eyes was the old steely flash, the indomitable spirit while there was life there was hope. "Let the Shawnee chief paint his prisoner black," commanded Wingenund. When the missionary left the lodge with the runner, Whispering Winds had smiled, for she had saved him whom she loved to hear speak; but the dread command that followed paled her cheek. Black paint meant hideous death.
The strong figures were the same, the white faces alike, the stern resolve in the gray eyes identical they were twin brothers. Wingenund once more paced before his silent chiefs. To deal rightly with this situation perplexed him. To kill both palefaces did not suit him. Suddenly he thought of a way to decide. "Let Wingenund's daughter come," he ordered. A slight, girlish figure entered.
I saw the war chiefs, Pipe and Wingenund; I saw Simon Girty and a British officer in uniform. The chiefs and Girty were once Crawford's friends. They stood calmly by and watched the poor victim slowly burn to death. The Indians yelled and danced round the stake; they devised every kind of hellish torture.
Their hopes had been flickering, they thought that Simon Girty might help them, but on the way Chief Pipe and Chief Wingenund had painted them black. Then nine of them were killed by a mob. And at Pipe's Town Doctor Knight had sickened in watching his colonel burned before his eyes. That was an afternoon and night of horror.
Wait till Heckewelder comes. He'll be here soon. Nell thinks you're dead, and the surprise might be bad for her." Heckewelder came in at that moment, and shook hands warmly with Jim. "The Delaware runner told me you were here. I am overjoyed that Wingenund freed you," said the missionary. "It is a most favorable sign. I have heard rumors from Goshocking and Sandusky that have worried me.
Chivalrous deeds always stir an Indian's heart. It was like a redman to die for his brother. The indifference, the contempt for death, won their admiration. "Let the white father stand forth," sternly called Wingenund. A hundred somber eyes turned on the prisoners. Except that one wore a buckskin coat, the other a linsey one, there was no difference.
Well, of all things!" exclaimed the colonel's sister. Jonathan Zane stood closely scanning Wetzel's features. Colonel Zane, observing his brother's close scrutiny of the hunter, guessed the cause, and said: "Lew, tell us, did you see Wingenund over the sights of your rifle?" "Yes," answered the hunter simply. A chill seemed to strike the hearts of the listeners.
The bead on the front sight of the rifle had hardly covered the chief's dark face when Wetzel's eye took in these other details. He had been so absorbed in his purpose that he did not dream of the Delaware's reason for returning to the Beautiful Spring. Slowly Wetzel's forefinger stiffened; slowly he lowered the black rifle. Wingenund had returned to bury Whispering Winds.
The great council-lodge of the Delawares rang with savage and fiery eloquence. Wingenund paced slowly before the orators. Wise as he was, he wanted advice before deciding what was to be done with the missionary. The brothers had been taken to the chief, who immediately called a council. The Indians sat in a half circle around the lodge.
Among the chiefs Glickhican pointed out to Jim were Wingenund, the Delaware; Tellane, the Half-King; Shingiss and Kotoxen all of the Wolf tribe of the Delawares. Glickhican was careful to explain that the Delaware nation had been divided into the Wolf and Turtle tribes, the former warlike people, and the latter peaceable.
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