Chapter XVII.
Joe awoke as from a fearsome nightmare. Returning consciousnessbrought a vague idea that he had been dreaming of clashing weapons,of yelling savages, of a conflict in which he had been clutched bysinewy fingers. An acute pain pulsed through his temples; a bloodymist glazed his eyes; a sore pressure cramped his arms and legs.Surely he dreamed this distress, as well as the fight. The red filmcleared from his eyes. His wandering gaze showed the stern reality.
The bright sun, making the dewdrops glisten on the leaves, lightedup a tragedy. Near him lay an Indian whose vacant, sightless eyeswere fixed in death. Beyond lay four more savages, the peculiar,inert position of whose limbs, the formlessness, as it were, as ifthey had been thrown from a great height and never moved again,attested that here, too, life had been extinguished. Joe took inonly one detail--the cloven skull of the nearest--when he turnedaway sickened. He remembered it all now. The advance, the rush, thefight--all returned. He saw again Wetzel's shadowy form darting likea demon into the whirl of conflict; he heard again that hoarse,booming roar with which the Avenger accompanied his blows. Joe'sgaze swept the glade, but found no trace of the hunter.
He saw Silvertip and another Indian bathing a wound on Girty's head.The renegade groaned and writhed in pain. Near him lay Kate, withwhite face and closed eyes. She was unconscious, or dead. Jim satcrouched under a tree to which he was tied.
"Joe, are you badly hurt?" asked the latter, in deep solicitude.
"No, I guess not; I don't know," answered Joe. "Is poor Kate dead?"
"No, she has fainted."
"Where's Nell?"
"Gone," replied Jim, lowering his voice, and glancing at theIndians. They were too busy trying to bandage Girty's head to payany attention to their prisoners. "That whirlwind was Wetzel, wasn'tit?"
"Yes; how'd you know?"
"I was awake last night. I had an oppressive feeling, perhaps apresentiment. Anyway, I couldn't sleep. I heard that wind blowthrough the forest, and thought my blood would freeze. The moan isthe same as the night wind, the same soft sigh, only louder andsomehow pregnant with superhuman power. To speak of it in broaddaylight one seems superstitious, but to hear it in the darkness ofthis lonely forest, it is fearful! I hope I am not a coward; Icertainly know I was deathly frightened. No wonder I was scared!Look at these dead Indians, all killed in a moment. I heard themoan; I saw Silvertip disappear, and the other two savages rise.Then something huge dropped from the rock; a bright object seemed tocircle round the savages; they uttered one short yell, and sank torise no more. Somehow at once I suspected that this shadowy form,with its lightninglike movements, its glittering hatchet, wasWetzel. When he plunged into the midst of the other savages Idistinctly recognized him, and saw that he had a bundle, possiblyhis coat, wrapped round his left arm, and his right hand held theglittering tomahawk. I saw him strike that big Indian there, the onelying with split skull. His wonderful daring and quickness seemed tomake the savages turn at random. He broke through the circle, swungNell under his arm, slashed at my bonds as he passed by, and thenwas gone as he had come. Not until after you were struck, andSilvertip came up to me, was I aware my bonds were cut. Wetzel'shatchet had severed them; it even cut my side, which was bleeding. Iwas free to help, to fight, and I did not know it. Fool that I am!"
"I made an awful mess of my part of the rescue," groaned Joe. "Iwonder if the savages know it was Wetzel."
"Do they? Well, I rather think so. Did you not hear them scream thatFrench name? As far as I am able to judge, only two Indians werekilled instantly. The others died during the night. I had to sithere, tied and helpless, listening as they groaned and called thename of their slayer, even in their death-throes. Deathwind! Theyhave named him well."
"I guess he nearly killed Girty."
"Evidently, but surely the evil one protects the renegade."
"Jim Girty's doomed," whispered Joe, earnestly. "He's as good asdead already. I've lived with Wetzel, and know him. He told me Girtyhad murdered a settler, a feeble old man, who lived near Fort Henrywith his son. The hunter has sworn to kill the renegade; but, mindyou, he did not tell me that. I saw it in his eyes. It wouldn'tsurprise me to see him jump out of these bushes at any moment. I'mlooking for it. If he knows there are only three left, he'll beafter them like a hound on a trail. Girty must hurry. Where's hetaking you?"
"To the Delaware town."
"I don't suppose the chiefs will let any harm befall you; but Kateand I would be better off dead. If we can only delay the march,Wetzel will surely return."
"Hush! Girty's up."
The renegade staggered to an upright position, and leaned on theShawnee's arm. Evidently he had not been seriously injured, onlystunned. Covered with blood from a swollen, gashed lump on histemple, he certainly presented a savage appearance.
"Where's the yellow-haired lass?" he demanded, pushing awaySilvertip's friendly arm. He glared around the glade. The Shawneeaddressed him briefly, whereupon he raged to and fro under the tree,cursing with foam-flecked lips, and actually howling with baffledrage. His fury was so great that he became suddenly weak, and wascompelled to sit down.
"She's safe, you villainous renegade!" cried Joe.
"Hush, Joe! Do not anger him. It can do no good," interposed Jim.
"Why not? We couldn't be worse off," answered Joe.
"I'll git her, I'll git her agin," panted Girty. "I'll keep her, an'she'll love me."
The spectacle of this perverted wretch speaking as if he had beencheated out of love was so remarkable, so pitiful, so monstrous,that for a moment Joe was dumbfounded.
"Bah! You white-livered murderer!" Joe hissed. He well knew it wasnot wise to give way to his passion; but he could not help it. Thisbeast in human guise, whining for love, maddened him. "Any whitewoman on earth would die a thousand deaths and burn for a millionyears afterward rather than love you!"
"I'll see you killed at the stake, beggin' fer mercy, an' be feedfer buzzards," croaked the renegade.
"Then kill me now, or you may slip up on one of your cherishedbuzzard-feasts," cried Joe, with glinting eye and taunting voice."Then go sneaking back to your hole like a hyena, and stay there.Wetzel is on your trail! He missed you last night; but it wasbecause of the girl. He's after you, Girty; he'll get you one ofthese days, and when he does--My God!---"
Nothing could be more revolting than that swarthy, evil face turnedpale with fear. Girty's visage was a ghastly, livid white. Soearnest, so intense was Joe's voice, that it seemed to all as ifWetzel was about to dart into the glade, with his avenging tomahawkuplifted to wreak an awful vengeance on the abductor. The renegade'swhite, craven heart contained no such thing as courage. If he everfought it was like a wolf, backed by numbers. The resemblance ceasedhere, for even a cornered wolf will show his teeth, and Girty,driven to bay, would have cringed and cowered. Even now at themention of Wetzel's enmity he trembled.
"I'll shet yer wind," he cried, catching up his tomahawk and makingfor Joe.
Silvertip intervened, and prevented the assault. He led Girty backto his seat and spoke low, evidently trying to soothe the renegade'sfeelings.
"Silvertip, give me a tomahawk, and let me fight him," implored Joe.
"Paleface brave--like Injun chief. Paleface Shawnee's prisoner--nospeak more," answered Silvertip, with respect in his voice.
"Oh, where's Nellie?"
A grief-stricken whisper caught Jim's ear. He turned to see Kate'swide, questioning eyes fixed upon him.
"Nell was rescued."
"Thank God!" murmured the girl.
"Come along," shouted Girty, in his harsh voice, as, grasping Kate'sarm, he pulled the girl violently to her feet. Then, picking up hisrifle, he led her into the forest. Silvertip followed with Joe,while the remaining Indian guarded Jim.
* * *
The great council-lodge of the Delawares rang with savage and fieryeloquence. Wingenund paced slowly before the orators. Wise as hewas, he wanted advice before deciding what was t
o be done with themissionary. The brothers had been taken to the chief, whoimmediately called a council. The Indians sat in a half circlearound the lodge. The prisoners, with hands bound, guarded by twobrawny braves, stood in one corner gazing with curiosity andapprehension at this formidable array. Jim knew some of the braves,but the majority of those who spoke bitterly against the palefaceshad never frequented the Village of Peace. Nearly all were of theWolf tribe of Delawares. Jim whispered to Joe, interpreting thatpart of the speeches bearing upon the disposal to be made of them.Two white men, dressed in Indian garb, held prominent positionsbefore Wingenund. The boys saw a resemblance between one of thesemen and Jim Girty, and accordingly concluded he was the famousrenegade, or so-called white Indian, Simon Girty. The other man wasprobably Elliott, the Tory, with whom Girty had deserted from FortPitt. Jim Girty was not present. Upon nearing the encampment he hadtaken his captive and disappeared in a ravine.
Shingiss, seldom in favor of drastic measures with prisoners,eloquently urged initiating the brothers into the tribe. Severalother chiefs were favorably inclined, though not so positive asShingiss. Kotoxen was for the death penalty; the implacable Pipe fornothing less than burning at the stake. Not one was for returningthe missionary to his Christian Indians. Girty and Elliott, thoughrequested to speak, maintained an ominous silence.
Wingenund strode with thoughtful mien before his council. He hadheard all his wise chiefs and his fiery warriors. Supreme was hispower. Freedom or death for the captives awaited the wave of hishand. His impassive face gave not the slightest inkling of what toexpect. Therefore the prisoners were forced to stand there withthrobbing hearts while the chieftain waited the customary dignifiedinterval before addressing the council.
"Wingenund has heard the Delaware wise men and warriors. The whiteIndian opens not his lips; his silence broods evil for thepalefaces. Pipe wants the blood of the white men; the Shawnee chiefdemands the stake. Wingenund says free the white father who harms noIndian. Wingenund hears no evil in the music of his voice. The whitefather's brother should die. Kill the companion of Deathwind!"
A plaintive murmur, remarkable when coming from an assembly ofstern-browed chiefs, ran round the circle at the mention of thedread appellation.
"The white father is free," continued Wingenund. "Let one of myrunners conduct him to the Village of Peace."
A brave entered and touched Jim on the shoulder.
Jim shook his head and pointed to Joe. The runner touched Joe.
"No, no. I am not the missionary," cried Joe, staring aghast at hisbrother. "Jim, have you lost your senses?"
Jim sadly shook his head, and turning to Wingenund made known in abroken Indian dialect that his brother was the missionary, and wouldsacrifice himself, taking this opportunity to practice theChristianity he had taught.
"The white father is brave, but he is known," broke in Wingenund'sdeep voice, while he pointed to the door of the lodge. "Let him goback to his Christian Indians."
The Indian runner cut Joe's bonds, and once more attempted to leadhim from the lodge. Rage and misery shown in the lad's face. Hepushed the runner aside. He exhausted himself trying to explain, tothink of Indian words enough to show he was not the missionary. Heeven implored Girty to speak for him. When the renegade sat therestolidly silent Joe's rage burst out.
"Curse you all for a lot of ignorant redskins. I am not amissionary. I am Deathwind's friend. I killed a Delaware. I was thecompanion of Le Vent de la Mort!"
Joe's passionate vehemence, and the truth that spoke from hisflashing eyes compelled the respect, if not the absolute belief ofthe Indians. The savages slowly shook their heads. They beheld thespectacle of two brothers, one a friend, the other an enemy of allIndians, each willing to go to the stake, to suffer an awful agony,for love of the other. Chivalrous deeds always stir an Indian'sheart. It was like a redman to die for his brother. Theindifference, 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 worea buckskin coat, the other a linsey one, there was no difference.The strong figures were the same, the white faces alike, the sternresolve in the gray eyes identical--they were twin brothers.
Wingenund once more paced before his silent chiefs. To deal rightlywith this situation perplexed him. To kill both palefaces did notsuit him. Suddenly he thought of a way to decide.
"Let Wingenund's daughter come," he ordered.
A slight, girlish figure entered. It was Whispering Winds. Herbeautiful face glowed while she listened to her father.
"Wingenund's daughter has her mother's eyes, that were beautiful asa doe's, keen as a hawk's, far-seeing as an eagle's. Let theDelaware 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. "ThankWingenund'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 glancebetrayed his fear--he would never see his brother again. The lightin Joe's eyes was the old steely flash, the indomitablespirit--while there was life there was hope.
"Let the Shawnee chief paint his prisoner black," commandedWingenund.
When the missionary left the lodge with the runner, Whispering Windshad smiled, for she had saved him whom she loved to hear speak; butthe dread command that followed paled her cheek. Black paint meanthideous death. She saw this man so like the white father. Herpiteous gaze tried to turn from that white face; but the cold,steely eyes fascinated her.
She had saved one only to be the other's doom!
She had always been drawn toward white men. Many prisoners had sherescued. She had even befriended her nation's bitter foe, Deathwind.She had listened to the young missionary with rapture; she had beenhis savior. And now when she looked into the eyes of this younggiant, whose fate had rested on her all unwitting words, sheresolved to save him.
She had been a shy, shrinking creature, fearing to lift her eyes toa paleface's, but now they were raised clear and steadfast.
As she stepped toward the captive and took his hand, her wholeperson radiated with conscious pride in her power. It was theknowledge that she could save. When she kissed his hand, and kneltbefore him, she expressed a tender humility.
She had claimed questionable right of an Indian maiden; she askedwhat no Indian dared refuse a chief's daughter; she took thepaleface for her husband.
Her action was followed by an impressive silence. She remainedkneeling. Wingenund resumed his slow march to and fro. Silvertipretired to his corner with gloomy face. The others bowed their headsas if the maiden's decree was irrevocable.
Once more the chieftain's sonorous command rang out. An old Indian,wrinkled and worn, weird of aspect, fanciful of attire, entered thelodge and waved his wampum wand. He mumbled strange words, anddeparted chanting a long song.
Whispering Winds arose, a soft, radiant smile playing over her face,and, still holding Joe's hand, she led him out of the lodge, throughlong rows of silent Indians, down a land bordered by teepees, hefollowing like one in a dream.
He expected to awaken at any minute to see the stars shining throughthe leaves. Yet he felt the warm, soft pressure of a little hand.Surely this slender, graceful figure was real.
She bade him enter a lodge of imposing proportions. Still silent, inamazement and gratitude, he obeyed.
The maiden turned to Joe. Though traces of pride still lingered, allher fire had vanished. Her bosom rose with each quick-pantingbreath; her lips quivered, she trembled like a trapped doe.
But at last the fluttering lashes rose. Joe saw two velvety eyesdark with timid fear, yet veiling in their lustrous depths anunuttered hope and love.
"Whispering Winds--save--paleface," she said, in a voice low andtremulous. "Fear--father. Fear--tell--Wingenund--she--Christian."
* * *
Indian summer, that enchanted time, unfolded its golden, dreamy hazeover the Delaware village. The forests blazed with autumn fire, themeadows boomed in rich luxuriance. All day low down in the valleyshung a purple smoke which changed, as the cool evening shades creptout of the woodland, into a cloud of white mist. All day the astersalong the brooks lifted golden-brown faces to the sun as if to catchthe warning warmth of his smile. All day the plains and forests layin melancholy repose. The sad swish of the west wind over the tallgrass told that he was slowly dying away before his enemy, the northwind. The sound of dropping nuts was heard under the motionlesstrees.
For Joe the days were days of enchantment. His wild heart had foundits mate. A willing captive he was now. All his fancy for otherwomen, all his memories faded into love for his Indian bride.
Whispering Winds charmed the eye, mind, and heart. Every day herbeauty seemed renewed. She was as apt to learn as she was quick toturn her black-crowned head, but her supreme beauty was her loving,innocent soul. Untainted as the clearest spring, it mirrored thepurity and simplicity of her life. Indian she might be, one of arace whose morals and manners were alien to the man she loved, yetshe would have added honor to the proudest name.
When Whispering Winds raised her dark eyes they showed radiant as alone star; when she spoke low her voice made music.
"Beloved," she whispered one day to him, "teach the Indian maidenmore love for you, and truth, and God. Whispering Winds yearns to goto the Christians, but she fears her stern father. Wingenund wouldburn the Village of Peace. The Indian tribes tremble before thethunder of his wrath. Be patient, my chief. Time changes the leaves,so it will the anger of the warriors. Whispering Winds will set youfree, and be free herself to go far with you toward the rising sun,where dwell your people. She will love, and be constant, as thenorthern star. Her love will be an eternal spring where blossomsbloom ever anew, and fresh, and sweet. She will love your people,and raise Christian children, and sit ever in the door of your homepraying for the west wind to blow. Or, if my chief wills, we shalllive the Indian life, free as two eagles on their lonely crag."
Although Joe gave himself up completely to his love for his bride,he did not forget that Kate was in the power of the renegade, andthat he must rescue her. Knowing Girty had the unfortunate girlssomewhere near the Delaware encampment, he resolved to find theplace. Plans of all kinds he resolved in his mind. The best one hebelieved lay through Whispering Winds. First to find the whereaboutsof Girty; kill him if possible, or at least free Kate, and then getaway with her and his Indian bride. Sanguine as he invariably was,he could not but realize the peril of this undertaking. IfWhispering Winds betrayed her people, it meant death to her as wellas to him. He would far rather spend the remaining days of his lifein the Indian village, than doom the maiden whose love had savedhim. Yet he thought he might succeed in getting away with her, andplanned to that end. His natural spirit, daring, reckless, hadgained while he was associated with Wetzel.
Meanwhile he mingled freely with the Indians, and here, aselsewhere, his winning personality, combined with his athleticprowess, soon made him well liked. He was even on friendly termswith Pipe. The swarthy war chief liked Joe because, despite theanimosity he had aroused in some former lovers of Whispering Winds,he actually played jokes on them. In fact, Joe's pranks raised manya storm; but the young braves who had been suitors for Wingenund'slovely daughter, feared the muscular paleface, and the tribe'sridicule more; so he continued his trickery unmolested. Joe's ideawas to lead the savages to believe he was thoroughly happy in hisnew life, and so he was, but it suited him better to be free. Hesucceeded in misleading the savages. At first he was closelywatched, the the vigilance relaxed, and finally ceased.
This last circumstance was owing, no doubt, to a ferment ofexcitement that had suddenly possessed the Delawares. Council aftercouncil was held in the big lodge. The encampment was visited byrunner after runner. Some important crisis was pending.
Joe could not learn what it all meant, and the fact that WhisperingWinds suddenly lost her gladsome spirit and became sad caused himfurther anxiety. When he asked her the reason for her unhappiness,she was silent. Moreover, he was surprised to learn, when hequestioned her upon the subject of their fleeing together, that shewas eager to go immediately. While all this mystery puzzled Joe, itdid not make any difference to him or in his plans. It ratherfavored the latter. He understood that the presence of Simon Girtyand Elliott, with several other renegades unknown to him, wassignificant of unrest among the Indians. These presagers of evilwere accustomed to go from village to village, exciting the savagesto acts of war. Peace meant the downfall and death of these men.They were busy all day and far into the night. Often Joe heardGirty's hoarse voice lifted in the council lodge. Pipe thunderedincessantly for war. But Joe could not learn against whom. Elliott'ssuave, oily oratory exhorted the Indians to vengeance. But Joe couldnot guess upon whom. He was, however, destined to learn.
The third day of the councils a horseman stopped before WhisperingWinds' lodge, and called out. Stepping to the door, Joe saw a whiteman, whose dark, keen, handsome face seemed familiar. Yet Joe knewhe had never seen this stalwart man.
"A word with you," said the stranger. His tone was curt,authoritative, as that of a man used to power.
"As many as you like. Who are you?"
"I am Isaac Zane. Are you Wetzel's companion, or the renegadeDeering?"
"I am not a renegade any more than you are. I was rescued by theIndian girl, who took me as her husband," said Joe coldly. He wassurprised, and did not know what to make of Zane's manner.
"Good! I'm glad to meet you," instantly replied Zane, his tone andexpression changing. He extended his hand to Joe. "I wanted to besure. I never saw the renegade Deering. He is here now. I am on myway to the Wyandot town. I have been to Fort Henry, where my brothertold me of you and the missionaries. When I arrived here I heardyour story from Simon Girty. If you can, you must get away fromhere. If I dared I'd take you to the Huron village, but it'simpossible. Go, while you have a chance."
"Zane, I thank you. I've suspected something was wrong. What is it?"
"Couldn't be worse," whispered Zane, glancing round to see if theywere overheard. "Girty and Elliott, backed by this Deering, aregrowing jealous of the influence of Christianity on the Indians.They are plotting against the Village of Peace. Tarhe, the Huronchief, has been approached, and asked to join in a concertedmovement against religion. Seemingly it is not so much themissionaries as the converted Indians, that the renegades are fumingover. They know if the Christian savages are killed, the strength ofthe missionaries' hold will be forever broken. Pipe is wild forblood. These renegades are slowly poisoning the minds of the fewchiefs who are favorably disposed. The outlook is bad! bad!"
"What can I do?"
"Cut out for yourself. Get away, if you can, with a gun. Take thecreek below, follow the current down to the Ohio, and then make eastfor Fort Henry.
"But I want to rescue the white girl Jim Girty has concealed heresomewhere."
"Impossible! Don't attempt it unless you want to throw your lifeaway. Buzzard Jim, as we call Girty, is a butcher; he has probablymurdered the girl."
"I won't leave without trying. And there's my wife, the Indian girlwho saved me. Zane, she's a Christian. She wants to go with me. Ican't leave her."
"I am warning you, that's all. If I were you I'd never leave withouta try to find the white girl, and I'd never forsake my Indian bride.I've been through the same thing. You must be a good woodsman, orWetzel wouldn't have let you stay with him. Pick out a favorabletime and make the attempt. I suggest you make your Indian girl showyou where Girty is. She knows, but is afraid to tell you, for shefears Girty. Get your dog and horse from the Shawnee. That's a finehorse. He can carry you both to safety. Take him away fromSilvertip."
&nbs
p; "How?"
"Go right up and demand your horse and dog. Most of these Delawaresare honest, for all their blood-shedding and cruelty. With themmight is right. The Delawares won't try to get your horse for you;but they'll stick to you when you assert your rights. They don'tlike the Shawnee, anyhow. If Silvertip refuses to give you thehorse, grab him before he can draw a weapon, and beat him good.You're big enough to do it. The Delawares will be tickled to see youpound him. He's thick with Girty; that's why he lays round here.Take my word, it's the best way. Do it openly, and no one willinterfere."
"By Heavens, Zane, I'll give him a drubbing. I owe him one, and amitching to get hold of him."
"I must go now. I shall send a Wyandot runner to your brother at thevillage. They shall be warned. Good-by. Good luck. May we meetagain."
Joe watched Zane ride swiftly down the land and disappear in theshrubbery. Whispering Winds came to the door of the lodge. Shelooked anxiously at him. He went within, drawing her along with him,and quickly informed her that he had learned the cause of thecouncil, that he had resolved to get away, and she must find outGirty's hiding place. Whispering Winds threw herself into his arms,declaring with an energy and passion unusual to her, that she wouldrisk anything for him. She informed Joe that she knew the directionfrom which Girty always returned to the village. No doubt she couldfind his retreat. With a cunning that showed her Indian nature, shesuggested a plan which Joe at once saw was excellent. After Joe gothis horse, she would ride around the village, then off into thewoods, where she could leave the horse and return to say he had runaway from her. As was their custom during afternoons, they wouldwalk leisurely along the brook, and, trusting to the excitementcreated by the councils, get away unobserved. Find the horse, ifpossible rescue the prisoner, and then travel east with all speed.
Joe left the lodge at once to begin the working out of the plan.Luck favored him at the outset, for he met Silvertip before thecouncil lodge. The Shawnee was leading Lance, and the dog followedat his heels. The spirit of Mose had been broken. Poor dog, Joethought, he had been beaten until he was afraid to wag his tail athis old master. Joe's resentment blazed into fury, but he kept cooloutwardly.
Right before a crowd of Indians waiting for the council to begin,Joe planted himself in front of the Shawnee, barring his way.
"Silvertip has the paleface's horse and dog," said Joe, in a loudvoice.
The chief stared haughtily while the other Indians sauntered nearer.They all knew how the Shawnee had got the animals, and now awaitedthe outcome of the white man's challenge.
"Paleface--heap--liar," growled the Indian. His dark eyes glowedcraftily, while his hand dropped, apparently in careless habit, tothe haft of his tomahawk.
Joe swung his long arm; his big fist caught the Shawnee on the jaw,sending him to the ground. Uttering a frightful yell, Silvertip drewhis weapon and attempted to rise, but the moment's delay in seizingthe hatchet, was fatal to his design. Joe was upon him withtigerlike suddenness. One kick sent the tomahawk spinning, anotherlanded the Shawnee again on the ground. Blind with rage, Silvertipleaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but theIndian was not a boxer, and he failed to get his hands on Joe.Shifty and elusive, the lad dodged around the struggling savage.One, two, three hard blows staggered Silvertip, and a fourth,delivered with the force of Joe's powerful arm, caught the Indianwhen he was off his balance, and felled him, battered and bloody, onthe grass. The surrounding Indians looked down at the vanquishedShawnee, expressing their approval in characteristic grunts.
With Lance prancing proudly, and Mose leaping lovingly beside him,Joe walked back to his lodge. Whispering Winds sprang to meet himwith joyful face. She had feared the outcome of trouble with theShawnee, but no queen ever bestowed upon returning victorious lord aloftier look of pride, a sweeter glance of love, than the Indianmaiden bent upon her lover.
Whispering Winds informed Joe that an important council was to beheld that afternoon. It would be wise for them to make the attemptto get away immediately after the convening of the chiefs.Accordingly she got upon Lance and rode him up and down the villagelane, much to the pleasure of the watching Indians. She scatteredthe idle crowds on the grass plots, she dashed through the sidestreets, and let every one in the encampment see her clinging to theblack stallion. Then she rode him out along the creek. Accustomed toher imperious will, the Indians thought nothing unusual. When shereturned an hour later, with flying hair and disheveled costume, noone paid particular attention to her.
That afternoon Joe and his bride were the favored of fortune. WithMose running before them, they got clear of the encampment and intothe woods. Once in the forest Whispering Winds rapidly led the wayeast. When they climbed to the top of a rocky ridge she pointed downinto a thicket before her, saying that somewhere in this densehollow was Girty's hut. Joe hesitated about taking Mose. He wantedthe dog, but in case he had to run it was necessary Whispering Windsshould find his trail, and for this he left the dog with her.
He started down the ridge, and had not gone a hundred paces whenover some gray boulders he saw the thatched roof of a hut. So wildand secluded was the spot, that he would never have discovered thecabin from any other point than this, which he had been so fortunateas to find.
His study and practice under Wetzel now stood him in good stead. Hepicked out the best path over the rough stones and through thebrambles, always keeping under cover. He stepped as carefully as ifthe hunter was behind him. Soon he reached level ground. A denselaurel thicket hid the cabin, but he knew the direction in which itlay. Throwing himself flat on the ground, he wormed his way throughthe thicket, carefully, yet swiftly, because he knew there was notime to lose. Finally the rear of the cabin stood in front of him.
It was made of logs, rudely hewn, and as rudely thrown together. Inseveral places clay had fallen from chinks between the timbers,leaving small holes. Like a snake Joe slipped close to the hut.Raising his head he looked through one of the cracks.
Instantly he shrank back into the grass, shivering with horror. Healmost choked in his attempt to prevent an outcry.