believe he was thoroughly happy in his new life, and so he was, but it suited

him better to be free. He succeeded in misleading the savages. At first he was
closely watched, the the vigilance relaxed, and finally ceased.

This last circumstance was owing, no doubt, to a ferment of excitement that
had suddenly possessed the Delawares. Council after council was held in the

big lodge. The encampment was visited by runner after runner. Some important
crisis was pending.

Joe could not learn what it all meant, and the fact that Whispering Winds
suddenly lost her gladsome spirit and became sad caused him further anxiety.

When he asked her the reason for her unhappiness, she was silent. Moreover,
he was surprised to learn, when he questioned her upon the subject of their

fleeing together, that she was eager to go immediately. While all this
mystery puzzled Joe, it did not make any difference to him or in his plans. It

rather favored the latter. He understood that the presence of Simon Girty and
Elliott, with several other renegades unknown to him, was significant of

unrest among the Indians. These presagers of evil were accustomed to go from
village to village, exciting the savages to acts of war. Peace meant the

downfall and death of these men. They were busy all day and far into the
night. Often Joe heard Girty's hoarse voice lifted in the council lodge. Pipe

thundered incessantly for war. But Joe could not learn against whom.
Elliott's suave, oily oratory exhorted the Indians to vengeance. But Joe could

not guess upon whom. He was, however, destined to learn.
The third day of the councils a horseman stopped before Whispering Winds'

lodge, and called out. Stepping to the door, Joe saw a white man, whose dark,
keen, handsome face seemed familiar. Yet Joe know he 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 renegade Deering?"
"I am not a renegade any more than you are. I was rescued by the Indian girl,

who took me as her husband," said Joe coldly. He was surprised, and did not
know what to make of Zane's manner.

"Good! I'm glad to meet you," instantly" target="_blank" title="ad.立即，立刻">instantly replied Zane, his tone and expression
changing. He extended his hand to Joe. "I wanted to be sure. I never saw the

renegade Deering. He is here now. I am on my way to the Wyandot town. I have
been to Fort Henry, where my brother told me of you and the missionaries. When

I arrived here I heard your story from Simon Girty. If you can, you must get
away from here. If I dared I'd take you to the Huron village, but it's

impossible. 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 they were
overheard. "Girty and Elliott, backed by this Deering, are growing jealous of

the influence of Christianity on the Indians. They are plotting against the
Village of Peace. Tarhe, the Huron chief, has been approached, and asked to

join in a concerted movement against religion. Seemingly it is not so much the
missionaries as the converted Indians, that the renegades are fuming over.

They know if the Christian savages are killed, the strength of the
missionaries' hold will be forever broken. Pipe is wild for blood. These

renegades are slowly poisoning the minds of the few chiefs 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 the creek below,

follow the current down to the Ohio, and then make east for Fort Henry.
"But I want to rescue the white girl Jim Girty has concealed here somewhere."

"Impossible! Don't attempt it unless you want to throw your life away.
Buzzard Jim, as we call Girty, is a butcher; he has probably murdered the

girl."
"I won't leave without trying. And there's my wife, the Indian girl who saved

me. Zane, she's a Christian. She wants to go with me. I can't leave her."
"I am warning you, that's all. If I were you I'd never leave without a 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, or Wetzel wouldn't have let you

stay with him. Pick out a favorable time and make the attempt. I suggest you
make your Indian girl show you where Girty is. She knows, but is afraid to

tell you, for she fears Girty. Get your dog and horse from the Shawnee. That's
a fine horse. He can carry you both to safety. Take him away from Silvertip."

"How?"
"Go right up and demand your horse and dog. Most of these Delawares are

honest, for all their blood-shedding and cruelty. With them might 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't like the Shawnee, anyhow. If Silvertip
refuses to give you the horse, 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
you pound 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 will interfere."
"By Heavens, Zane, I'll give him a drubbing. I owe him one, and am itching to

get hold of him."
"I must go now. I shall send a Wyandot runner to your brother at the village.

They shall be warned. Good-by. Good luck. May we meet again."
Joe watched Zane ride swiftly down the land and disappear in the shrubbery.

Whispering Winds came to the door of the lodge. She looked anxiously at him.
He went within, drawing her along with him, and quickly informed her that he

had learned the cause of the council, that he had resolved to get away, and
she must find out Girty's hiding place. Whispering Winds threw herself into

his arms, declaring with an energy and passionunusual to her, that she would
risk anything for him. She informed Joe that she knew the direction from which

Girty always returned to the village. No doubt she could find his retreat.
With a cunning that showed her Indian nature, she suggested a plan which Joe

at once saw was excellent. After Joe got his horse, she would ride around the
village, then off into the woods, where she could leave the horse and return

to say he had run away from her. As was their custom during afternoons, they
would walk leisurely along the brook, and, trusting to the excitement created

by the councils, get away unobserved. Find the horse, if possible 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 the council lodge. The Shawnee

was leading Lance, and the dog followed at his heels. The spirit of Mose had
been broken. Poor dog, Joe thought, he had been beaten until he was afraid to

wag his tail at his old master. Joe's resentment blazed into fury, but he kept
cool outwardly.

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 loud voice.
The chief stared haughtily while the other Indians sauntered nearer. They all

knew how the Shawnee had got the animals, and now awaited the outcome of the
white man's challenge.

"Paleface--heap--liar," growled the Indian. His dark eyes glowed craftily,
while his hand dropped, apparently in careless habit, to the 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 drew his weapon and
attempted to rise, but the moment's delay in seizing the hatchet, was fatal to

his design. Joe was upon him with tigerlike suddenness. One kick sent the
tomahawk spinning, another landed the Shawnee again on the ground. Blind with

rage, Silvertip leaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but
the Indian 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 Indian when he was off his balance, and felled him,
battered and bloody, on the grass. The surrounding Indians looked down at the

vanquished Shawnee, 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 him with joyful face. She
had feared the outcome of trouble with the Shawnee, but no queen ever bestowed

upon returning victorious lord a loftier look of pride, a sweeter glance of
love, than the Indian maiden bent upon her lover.

Whispering Winds informed Joe that an important council was to be held that
afternoon. It would be wise for them to make the attempt to get away

immediately after the convening of the chiefs. Accordingly she got upon Lance
and rode him up and down the village lane, much to the pleasure of the

watching Indians. She scattered the idle crowds on the grass plots, she dashed
through the side streets, and let every one in the encampment see her clinging

to the black stallion. Then she rode him out along the creek. Accustomed to
her imperious will, the Indians thought nothing unusual. When she returned an

hour later, with flying hair and disheveled costume, no one paid particular