"Wal, I'll be durned if I ever expected to see a redskin work," was his only
comment on the industries.

"We are greatly alarmed by the presence of Girty and his followers," said
Edwards. "We have been warned to leave, but have not been actually threatened.

What do you infer from the appearance here of these hostilesavages?"
"It hardly 'pears to me they'll bother you preachers. They're agin the

Christian redskins, that's plain."
"Why have we been warned to go?"

"That's natural, seein' they're agin the preachin'."
"What will they do with the converted Indians?"

"Mighty onsartin. They might let them go back to the tribes, but 'pears to me
these good Injuns won't go. Another thing, Girty is afeered of the spread of

Christianity."
"Then you think our Christians will be made prisoners?"

"'Pears likely."
"And you, also, think we'd do well to leave here."

"I do, sartin. We're startin' for Fort Henry soon. You'd better come along
with us."

"Captain Williamson, we're going to stick it out, Girty or no Girty."
"You can't do no good stayin' here. Pipe and Half King won't stand for the

singin', prayin' redskins, especially when they've got all these cattle and
fields of grain."

"Wetzel said the same."
"Hev you seen Wetzel?"

"Yes; he rescued a girl from Jim Girty, and returned her to us."
"That so? I met Wetzel and Jack Zane back a few miles in the woods. They're

layin' for somebody, because when I asked them to come along they refused,
sayin' they had work as must be done. They looked like it, too. I never hern

tell of Wetzel advisin' any one before; but I'll say if he told me to do a
thing, by Gosh! I'd do it."

"As men, we might very well take the advice given us, but as preachers we must
stay here to do all we can for these Christian Indians. One thing more: will

you help us?"
"I reckon I'll stay here to see the thing out," answered Williamson. Edwards

made a mental note of the frontiersman's evasive answer.
Jim had, meanwhile, made the acquaintance of a young minister, John Christy by

name, who had lost his sweetheart in one of the Chippewa raids, and had
accompanied the Williamson expedition in the hope he might rescue her.

"How long have you been out?" asked Jim.
"About four weeks now," answered Christy. "My betrothed was captured five

weeks ago yesterday. I joined Williamson's band, which made up at Short Creek
to take the trail of the flying Chippewas, in the hope I might find her. But

not a trace! The expedition fell upon a band of redskins over on the
Walhonding, and killed nearly all of them. I learned from a wounded Indian

that a renegade had made off with a white girl about a week previous. Perhaps
it was poor Lucy."

Jim related the circumstances of his own capture by Jim Girty, the rescue of
Nell, and Kate's sad fate.

"Could Jim Girty have gotten your girl?" inquired Jim, in conclusion.
"It's fairly probable. The description doesn't tally with Girty's. This

renegade was short and heavy, and noted especially for his strength. Of
course, an Indian would first speak of some such distinguishing feature.

There are, however, ten or twelve renegades on the border, and, excepting Jim
Girty, one's as bad as another."

"Then it's a common occurrence, this abducting girls from the settlements?"
"Yes, and the strange thing is that one never hears of such doings until he

gets out on the frontier."
"For that matter, you don't hear much of anything, except of the wonderful

richness and promise of the western country."
"You're right. Rumors of fat, fertile lands induce the colonist to become a

pioneer. He comes west with his family; two out of every ten lose their
scalps, and in some places the average is much greater. The wives, daughters

and children are carried off into captivity. I have been on the border two
years, and know that the rescue of any captive, as Wetzel rescued your friend,

is a remarkable exception."
"If you have so little hope of recovering your sweetheart, what then is your

motive for accompanying this band of hunters?"
"Revenge!"

"And you are a preacher?" Jim's voice did not disguise his astonishment.
"I was a preacher, and now I am thirsting for vengeance," answered Christy,

his face clouding darkly. "Wait until you learn what frontier life means. You
are young here yet; you are flushed with the success of your teaching; you

have lived a short time in this quiet village, where, until the last few days,
all has been serene. You know nothing of the strife, of the necessity of

fighting, of the cruelty which makes up this border existence. Only two years
have hardened me so that I actually pant for the blood of the renegade who has

robbed me. A frontiersman must take his choice of succumbing or cutting his
way through flesh and bone. Blood will be spilled; if not yours, then your

foe's. The pioneers run from the plow to the fight; they halt in the cutting
of corn to defend themselves, and in winter must battle against cold and

hardship, which would be less cruel if there was time in summer to prepare for
winter, for the savages leave them hardly an opportunity to plant crops. How

many pioneers have given up, and gone back east? Find me any who would not
return home to-morrow, if they could. All that brings them out here is the

chance for a home, and all that keeps them out here is the poor hope of
finally attaining their object. Always there is a possibility of future

prosperity. But this generation, if it survives, will never see prosperity and
happiness. What does this border life engender in a pioneer who holds his own

in it? Of all things, not Christianity. He becomes a fighter, keen as the
redskin who steals through the coverts."

The serene days of the Village of Peace had passed into history. Soon that
depraved vagabond, the French trader, with cheap trinkets and vile whisky,

made his appearance. This was all that was needed to inflame the visitors.
Where they had been only bold and impudent, they became insulting and abusive.

They execrated the Christian indians for their neutrality; scorned them for
worshiping this unknown God, and denounced a religion which made women of

strong men.
The slaughtering of cattle commenced; the despoiling of maize fields, and

robbing of corn-cribs began with the drunkenness.
All this time it was seen that Girty and Elliott consulted often with Pipe and

Half King. The latter was the only Huron chief opposed to neutrality toward
the Village of Peace, and he was, if possible, more fierce in his hatred than

Pipe. The future of the Christian settlement rested with these two chiefs.
Girty and Elliott, evidently, were the designing schemers, and they worked

diligently on the passions of these simple-minded, but fierce, warlike chiefs.
Greatly to the relief of the distracted missionaries, Heckewelder returned to

the village. Jaded and haggard, he presented a travel-worn appearance. He
made the astonishing assertions that he had been thrice waylaid and assaulted

on his way to Goshocking; then detained by a roving band of Chippewas, and
soon after his arrival at their camping ground a renegade had run off with a

white woman captive, while the Indians west of the village were in an uproar.
Zeisberger, however, was safe in the Moravian town of Salem, some miles west

of Goshocking. Heckewelder had expected to find the same condition of affairs
as existed in the Village of Peace; but he was bewildered by the great array

of hostile Indians. Chiefs who had once extended friendly hands to him, now
drew back coldly, as they said:

"Washington is dead. The American armies are cut to pieces. The few thousands
who had escaped the British are collecting at Fort Pitt to steal the Indian's

land."
Heckewelder vigorously denied all these assertions, knowing they had been

invented by Girty and Elliott. He exhausted all his skill and patience in the
vain endeavor to show Pipe where he was wrong. Half King had been so well

coached by the renegades that he refused to listen. The other chiefs
maintained a cold reserve that was baffling and exasperating. Wingenund took

no active part in the councils; but his presence apparently denoted that he
had sided with the others. The outlook was altogether discouraging.

"I'm completely fagged out," declared Heckewelder, that night when he returned
to Edwards' cabin. He dropped into a chair as one whose strength is entirely

spent, whose indomitable spirit has at last been broken.
"Lie down to rest," said Edwards.

"Oh, I can't. Matters look so black."
"You're tired out and discouraged. You'll feel better to-morrow. The situation

is not, perhaps, so hopeless. The presence of these frontiersmen should
encourage us."

"What will they do? What can they do?" cried Heckewelder, bitterly. "I tell
you never before have I encountered such gloomy, stony Indians. It seems to me

that they are in no vacillating state. They act like men whose course is