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shadowy form, with its lightninglike movements, its glittering hatchet, was

Wetzel. When he plunged into the midst of the other savages I distinctly



recognized him, and saw that he had a bundle, possibly his coat, wrapped round

his left arm, and his right hand held the glittering tomahawk. I saw him



strike that big Indian there, the one lying with split skull. His wonderful

daring and quickness seemed to make the savages turn at random. He broke



through the circle, swung Nell under his arm, slashed at my bonds as he passed

by, and then was gone as he had come. Not until after you were struck, and



Silvertip came up to me, was I aware my bonds were cut. Wetzel's hatchet had

severed them; it even cut my side, which was bleeding. I was 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. "I wonder if the



savages know it was Wetzel."

"Do they? Well, I rather think so. Did you not hear them scream that French



name? As far as I am able to judge, only two Indians were killed instantly" target="_blank" title="ad.立即,立刻">instantly.

The others died during the night. I had to sit here, tied and helpless,



listening as they groaned and called the name of their slayer, even in their

death-throes. Deathwind! They have 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" target="_blank" title="ad.认真地;急切地">earnestly. "He's as good as dead already.

I've lived with Wetzel, and know him. He told me Girty had murdered a settler,



a feeble old man, who lived near Fort Henry with his son. The hunter has sworn

to kill the renegade; but, mind you, he did not tell me that. I saw it in his



eyes. It wouldn't surprise me to see him jump out of these bushes at any

moment. I'm looking for it. If he knows there are only three left, he'll be



after them like a hound on a trail. Girty must hurry. Where's he taking you?"

"To the Delaware town."



"I don't suppose the chiefs will let any harm befall you; but Kate and 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 the Shawnee's

arm. Evidently he had not been seriously injured, only stunned. Covered with



blood from a swollen, gashed lump on his temple, he certainly presented a

savage appearance.



"Where's the yellow-haired lass?" he demanded, pushing away Silvertip's

friendly arm. He glared around the glade. The Shawnee addressed him briefly,



whereupon he raged to and fro under the tree, cursing with foam-flecked lips,

and actually howling with baffled rage. His fury was so great that he became



suddenly weak, and was compelled 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 wretchspeaking as if he had been cheated 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 was not wise to



give way to his passion; but he could not help it. This beast in human guise,

whining for love, maddened him. "Any white woman on earth would die a thousand



deaths and burn for a million years afterward rather than love you!"

"I'll see you killed at the stake, beggin' fer mercy, an' be feed fer



buzzards," croaked the renegade.

"Then kill me now, or you may slip up on one of your cherished



buzzard-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 was because of the girl. He's after

you, Girty; he'll get you one of these days, and when he does--My God!---"



Nothing could be more revolting than that swarthy, evil face turned pale with

fear. Girty's visage was a ghastly, livid white. So earnest, so intense was



Joe's voice, that it seemed to all as if Wetzel was about to dart into the

glade, with his avenging tomahawk uplifted to wreak an awful vengeance on the



abductor. The renegade's white, craven heart contained no such thing as

courage. If he ever fought it was like a wolf, backed by numbers. The






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