then took a course back into denselywooded thickets. Just before stepping out

on the open cliff Wetzel paused and peered keenly on all sides. There was no
living thing to be seen; the silence was the deep, unbroken calm of the

wilderness.
Wetzel stepped to the bluff and looked over. The stony wall opposite was only

thirty feet away, and somewhat lower. From Wetzel's action it appeared as if
he intended to leap the fissure. In truth, many a band of Indians pursuing the

hunter into this rocky fastness had come out on the bluff, and, marveling at
what they thought Wetzel's prowess, believed he had made a wonderful leap,

thus eluding them. But he had never attempted that leap, first, because he
knew it was well-nigh impossible, and secondly, there had never been any

necessity for such risk.
Any one leaning over this cliff would have observed, perhaps ten feet below, a

narrow ledge projecting from the face of the rock. He would have imagined if
he were to drop on that ledge there would be no way to get off and he would be

in a worse predicament.
Without a moment's hesitation Wetzel swung himself over the ledge. Joe

followed suit. At one end of this lower ledge grew a hardy shrub of the
ironwood species, and above it a scrub pine leaned horizontally out over the

ravine. Laying his rifle down, Wetzel grasped a strong root and cautiously
slid over the side. When all of his body had disappeared, with the exception

of his sinewy fingers, they loosened their hold on the root, grasped the
rifle, and dragged it down out of sight. Quietly, with similar caution, Joe

took hold of the same root, let himself down, and when at full length swung
himself in under the ledge. His feet found a pocket in the cliff. Letting go

of the root, he took his rifle, and in another second was safe.
Of all Wetzel's retreats--for he had many--he considered this one the safest.

The cavern under the ledge he had discovered by accident. One day, being hotly
pursued by Shawnees, he had been headed off on this cliff, and had let himself

down on the ledge, intending to drop from it to the tops of the trees below.
Taking advantage of every little aid, he hung over by means of the shrub, and

was in the act of leaping when he saw that the cliff shelved under the ledge,
while within reach of his feet was the entrance to a cavern. He found the cave

to be small with an opening at the back into a split in the rock. Evidently
the place had been entered from the rear by bears, who used the hole for

winter sleeping quarters. By crawling on his hands and knees, Wetzel found
the rear opening. Thus he had established a hiding place where it was almost

impossible to locate him. He provisioned his retreat, which he always entered
by the cliff and left by the rear.

An evidence of Wetzel's strange nature, and of his love for this wild home,
manifested itself when he bound Joe to secrecy. It was unlikely, even if the

young man ever did get safely out of the wilderness, that any stories he might
relate would reveal the hunter's favorite rendezvous. But Wetzel seriously

demanded this secrecy, as earnestly as if the forest were full of Indians and
white men, all prowling in search of his burrow.

Joe was in the seventh heaven of delight, and took to the free life as a wild
gosling takes to the water. No place had ever appealed to him as did this

dark, silent hole far up on the side of a steep cliff. His interest in Wetzel
soon passed into a great admiration, and from that deepened to love.

This afternoon, when they were satisfied that all was well within their
refuge, Joe laid aside his rifle, and, whistling softly, began to prepare

supper. The back part of the cave permitted him to stand erect, and was large
enough for comparative comfort. There was a neat, little stone fireplace, and

several cooking utensils and gourds. From time to time Wetzel had brought
these things. A pile of wood and a bundle of pine cones lay in one corner.

Haunches of dried beef, bear and buffalo meat hung from pegs; a bag of parched
corn, another of dried apples lay on a rocky shelf. Nearby hung a powder-horn

filled with salt and pepper. In the cleft back of the cave was a spring of
clear, cold water.

The wants of woodsmen are few and simple. Joe and Wetzel, with appetites
whetted by their stirring outdoor life, relished the frugal fare as they could

never have enjoyed a feast. As the shadows of evening entered the cave, they
lighted their pipes to partake of the hunter's sweetest solace, a quiet smoke.

Strange as it may appear, this lonely, stern Indian-hunter and the reckless,
impulsive boy were admirably suited for companionship. Wetzel had taken a

liking to the young man when he led the brothers to Fort Henry. Subsequent
events strengthened his liking, and now, many days after, Joe having followed

him into the forest, a strong attachment had been insensibly forged between
them.

Wetzel understood Joe's burning desire to roam the forests; but he half
expected the lad would soon grow tired of this roving life, but exactly the

opposite symptoms were displayed. The hunter had intended to take his comrade
on a hunting trip, and to return with him, after that was over, to Fort Henry.

They had now been in the woods for weeks and every day in some way had Joe
showed his mettle. Wetzel finally admitted him into the secrets of his most

cherished hiding place. He did not want to hurt the lad's feelings by taking
him back to the settlement; he could not send him back. So the days wore on

swiftly; full of heart-satisfying incident and life, with man and boy growing
closer in an intimacy that was as warm as it was unusual.

Two reasons might account for this: First, there is no sane human being who is
not better off for companionship. An exile would find something of happiness

in one who shared his misery. And, secondly, Joe was a most acceptable
comrade, even for a slayer of Indians. Wedded as Wetzel was to the forest

trails, to his lonely life, to the Nemesis-pursuit he had followed for
eighteen long years, he was still a white man, kind and gentle in his quiet

hours, and because of this, though he knew it not, still capable of affection.
He had never known youth; his manhood had been one pitilesswarfare against

his sworn foes; but once in all those years had his sore, cold heart warmed;
and that was toward a woman who was not for him. His life had held only one

purpose--a bloody one. Yet the man had a heart, and he could not prevent it
from responding to another. In his simple ignorance he rebelled against this

affection for anything other than his forest homes. Man is weak against hate;
what can he avail against love? The dark caverns of Wetzel's great heart

opened, admitting to their gloomy depths this stranger. So now a new love was
born in that cheerless heart, where for so long a lonelyinmate, the ghost of

old love, had dwelt in chill seclusion.
The feeling of comradeship which Wetzel had for Joe was something altogether

new in the hunter's life. True he had hunted with Jonathan Zane, and
accompanied expeditions where he was forced to sleep with another scout; but a

companion, not to say friend, he had never known. Joe was a boy, wilder than
an eagle, yet he was a man. He was happy and enthusiastic, still his good

spirits never jarred on the hunter; they were restrained. He never asked
questions, as would seem the case in any eager lad; he waited until he was

spoken to. He was apt; he never forgot anything; he had the eye of a born
woodsman, and lastly, perhaps what went far with Wetzel, he was as strong and

supple as a young lynx, and absolutely fearless.
On this evening Wetzel and Joe followed their usual custom; they smoked a

while before lying down to sleep. Tonight the hunter was even more silent than
usual, and the lad, tired out with his day's tramp, lay down on a bed of

fragrant boughs.
Wetzel sat there in the gathering gloom while he pulled slowly on his pipe.

The evening was very quiet; the birds had ceased their twittering; the wind
had died away; it was too early for the bay of a wolf, the wail of a panther,

or hoot of an owl; there was simply perfect silence.
The lad's deep, even breathing caught Wetzel's ear, and he found himself

meditating, as he had often of late, on this new something that had crept into
his life. For Joe loved him; he could not fail to see that. The lad had

preferred to roam with the lonely Indian-hunter through the forests, to
encounter the perils and hardships of a wild life, rather than accept the

smile of fortune and of love. Wetzel knew that Colonel Zane had taken a liking
to the boy, and had offered him work and a home; and, also, the hunter

remembered the warm light he had seen in Nell's hazel eyes. Musing thus, the
man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent that it was unfamiliar.

The Avenger forgot, for a moment his brooding plans. He felt strangely
softened. When he laid his head on the rude pillow it was with some sense of

gladness that, although he had always desired a lonely life, and wanted to
pass it in the fulfillment of his vow, his loneliness was now shared by a lad

who loved him.
Joe was awakened by the merry chirp of a chipmunk that every morning ran along