Young had aged perceptibly in these last few days. The blue veins showed at

his temples; his face had become thinner and paler, his eyes had a look of
pain. The former expression of patience, which had sat so well on him, was

gone.
"George, I can't account for my fancies or feelings, else, perhaps, I'd be

easier in mind," answered Dave. His face, too, showed the ravages of grief.
"I've had queer thoughts lately, and dreams such as I never had before.

Perhaps it's this trouble which has made me so nervous. I don't seem able to
pull myself together. I can neither preach nor work."

"Neither can I! This trouble has hit you as hard as it has me. But, Dave,
we've still our duty. To endure, to endure--that is our life. Because a beam

of sunshinebrightened, for a brief time, the gray of our lives, and then
faded away, we must not shirk nor grow sour and discontented."

"But how cruel is this border life!"
"Nature itself is brutal."

"Yes, I know, and we have elected to spend our lives here in the midst of this
ceaseless strife, to fare poorly, to have no pleasure, never to feel the

comfort of a woman's smiles, nor the joy of a child's caress, all because out
in the woods are ten or twenty or a hundred savages we may convert."

"That is why, and it is enough. It is hard to give up the women you love to a
black-souled renegade, but that is not for my thought. What kills me is the

horror for her--for her."
"I, too, suffer with that thought; more than that, I am morbid and depressed.

I feel as if some calamity awaited us here. I have never been superstitious,
nor have I had presentiments, but of late there are strange fears in my mind."

At this juncture Mr. Wells and Heckewelder came out of the adjoining cabin.
"I had word from a trustworthy runner to-day. Girty and his captives have not

been seen in the Delaware towns," aid Heckewelder.
"It is most unlikely that he will take them to the towns," replied Edwards.

"What do you make of his capturing Jim?"
"For Pipe, perhaps. The Delaware Wolf is snapping his teeth. Pipe is

particularly opposed to Christianity, and--what's that?"
A low whistle from the bushes near the creek bank attracted the attention of

all. The younger men got up to investigate, but Heckewelder detained them.
"Wait," he added. "There is no telling what that signal may mean."

They waited with breathless interest. Presently the whistle was repeated, and
an instant later the tall figure of a man stepped from behind a thicket. He

was a white man, but not recognizable at that distance, even if a friend. The
stranger waved his hand as if asking them to be cautious, and come to him.

They went toward the thicket, and when within a few paces of the man Mr. Wells
exclaimed:

"It's the man who guided my party to the village. It is Wetzel!"
The other missionaries had never seen the hunter though, of course, they were

familiar with his name, and looked at him with great curiosity. The hunter's
buckskin garments were wet, torn, and covered with burrs. Dark spots,

evidently blood stains, showed on his hunting-shirt.
"Wetzel?" interrogated Heckewelder.

The hunter nodded, and took a step behind the bush. Bending over he lifted
something from the ground. It was a girl. It was Nell! She was very white--but

alive. A faint, glad smile lighted up her features.
Not a word was spoken. With an expression of tender compassion Mr. Wells

received her into his arms. The four missionaries turned fearful, questioning
eyes upon the hunter, but they could not speak.

"She's well, an' unharmed," said Wetzel, reading their thoughts, "only worn
out. I've carried her these ten miles."

"God bless you, Wetzel!" exclaimed the old missionary. "Nellie, Nellie, can
you speak?"

"Uncle dear--I'm--all right," came the faint answer.
"Kate? What--of her?" whispered George Young with lips as dry as corn husks.

"I did my best," said the hunter with a simple dignity. Nothing but the
agonized appeal in the young man's eyes could have made Wetzel speak of his

achievement.
"Tell us," broke in Heckewelder, seeing that fear had stricken George dumb.

"We trailed 'em an' got away with the golden-haired lass. The last I saw of
Joe he was braced up agin a rock fightin' like a wildcat. I tried to cut Jim

loose as I was goin' by. I s'pect the wust fer the brothers an' the other
lass."

"Can we do nothing?" asked Mr. Wells.
"Nothin'!"

"Wetzel, has the capturing of James Downs any significance to you?" inquired
Heckewelder.

"I reckon so."
"What?"

"Pipe an' his white-redskin allies are agin Christianity."
"Do you think we are in danger?"

"I reckon so."
"What do you advise?"

"Pack up a few of your traps, take the lass, an' come with me. I'll see you
back in Fort Henry."

Heckewelder nervously walked up to the tree and back again. Young and Edwards
looked blankly at one another. They both remembered Edward's presentiment. Mr.

Wells uttered an angry exclamation.
"You ask us to fail in our duty? No, never! To go back to the white

settlements and acknowledge we were afraid to continue teaching the Gospel to
the Indians! You can not understand Christianity if you advise that. You have

no religion. You are a killer of Indians."
A shadow that might have been one of pain flitted over the hunter's face.

"No, I ain't a Christian, an' I am a killer of Injuns," said Wetzel, and his
deep voice had a strange tremor. "I don't know nothin' much 'cept the woods

an' fields, an' if there's a God fer me He's out thar under the trees an'
grass. Mr. Wells, you're the first man as ever called me a coward, an' I

overlook it because of your callin'. I advise you to go back to Fort Henry,
because if you don't go now the chances are aginst your ever goin'.

Christianity or no Christianity, such men as you hev no bisness in these
woods."

"I thank you for your advice, and bless you for your rescue of this child; but
I can not leave my work, nor can I understand why all this good work we have

done should be called useless. We have converted Indians, saved their souls.
Is that not being of some use, of some good here?"

"It's accordin' to how you look at it. Now I know the bark of an oak is
different accordin' to the side we see from. I'll allow, hatin' Injuns as I

do, is no reason you oughtn't to try an' convert 'em. But you're bringin' on a
war. These Injuns won't allow this Village of Peace here with its big fields

of corn, an' shops an' workin' redskins. It's agin their nature. You're only
sacrificin' your Christian Injuns."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Wells, startled by Wetzel's words.
"Enough. I'm ready to guide you to Fort Henry."

"I'll never go."
Wetzel looked at the other men. No one would have doubted him. No one could

have failed to see he knew that some terrible anger hovered over the Village
of Peace.

"I believe you, Wetzel, but I can not go," said Heckewelder, with white face.
"I will stay," said George, steadily.

"And I," said Dave.
Wetzel nodded, and turned to depart when George grasped his arm. The young

missionary's face was drawn and haggard; he fixed an intense gaze upon the
hunter.

"Wetzel, listen;" his voice was low and shaken with deep feeling. "I am a
teacher of God's word, and I am as earnest in that purpose as you are in your

life-work. I shall die here; I shall fill an unmarked grave; but I shall have
done the best I could. This is the life destiny has marked out for me, and I

will live it as best I may; but in this moment, preacher as I am, I would give
all I have or hope to have, all the little good I may have done, all my life,

to be such a man as you. For I would avenge the woman I loved. To torture, to
kill Girty! I am only a poor, weak fellow who would be lost a mile from this

village, and if not, would fall before the youngest brave. But you with your