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Presently a little cloud of white smoke issued from the leafy branches, and it was no sooner seen than Wetzel's rifle was discharged. There was a great commotion among the leaves, the branches swayed and thrashed, and then a dark body plunged downward to strike on the rocky slope of the bluff and roll swiftly out of sight. The hunter's unnatural yell pealed out. "Great God!
There were several stray horses, one being a mare which belonged to Wetzel's sister, with a colt, and the girl had promised him the colt if he would bring the mare back. The two boys were vigorous young fellows, accustomed to life in the forest, and they hunted high and low, and finally heard the sound of horse-bells in a thicket.
"This is a bad trail they're taking up; the worst, perhaps, in border warfare," said Colonel Zane gloomily. "Did you notice how Jack's face darkened when his comrade came? Much of this borderman-life of his is due to Wetzel's influence." "Eb, I'll tell you one thing," returned Betty, with a flash of her old spirit. "This is Jack's last trail." "Why do you think so?"
Almost simultaneously with the red flame that burst from Wetzel's rifle came a sharp yelp of agony from the leader. He rolled over and over. Instantly followed a horrible mingling of snarls and barks, and snapping of jaws as the band fought over the body of their luckless comrade. This short delay gave the advantage to the horses. When the wolves again appeared they were a long way behind.
Even as the short, stinging crack of Wetzel's rifle broke the silence, Jonathan saw the fierce expression of Half King's dark face change to one of vacant wildness. His arms never relaxed from their folded position. He fell, as falls a monarch of the forest trees, a dead weight. "Please do not preach to-day," said Nell, raising her eyes imploringly to Jim's face.
McColloch's Rock still juts boldly out over the river as deep and rugged as when the brave Major leaped to everlasting fame. Wetzel's Cave, so named to this day, remains on the side of the bluff overlooking the creek.
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.
After he leaves the Village of Peace we'll hit his trail, camp on it, and stick to it until it ends in his grave." The earnest voice of the backwoodsman ceased. Both men rose and stood facing each other. Zane's bronzed face was hard and tense, expressive of an indomitable will; Wetzel's was coldly dark, with fateful resolve, as if his decree of vengeance, once given, was as immutable as destiny.
It'll make our job harder; but I can't help it. I can put a bullet just over the Huron's left eye, an' I'm goin' to do it." "You can't do it, Lew; you can't! It's too far for any gun. Wait! Wait!" whispered Jonathan, laying his hand on Wetzel's shoulder. "Wait? Man, can't you see what the unnamable villain is doin'?" "What?" asked Zane, turning his eyes again to the glade.
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.
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