When the first warrior reached a big oak tree some two hundred yards distant,

the long, black barrel of the hunter's rifle began slowly, almost
imperceptibly, to rise, and as it reached a level the savage stepped forward

from the tree. With the sharp report of the weapon he staggered and fell.
Wetzel sprang up and knowing that his only escape was in rapid flight, with

his well known yell, he bounded off at the top of his speed. The remaining
Indians discharged their guns at the fleeing, dodging figure, but without

effect. So rapidly did he dart in and out among the trees that an effectual
aim was impossible. Then, with loud yells, the Indians, drawing their

tomahawks, started in pursuit, expecting soon to overtake their victim.
In the early years of his Indian hunting, Wetzel had perfected himself in a

practice which had saved his life many tunes, and had added much to his fame.
He could reload his rifle while running at topmost speed. His extraordinary

fleetness enabled him to keep ahead of his pursuers until his rifle was
reloaded. This trick he now employed. Keeping up his uneven pace until his gun

was ready, he turned quickly and shot the nearest Indian dead in his tracks.
The next Indian had by this time nearly come up with him and close enough to

throw his tomahawk, which whizzed dangerously near Wetzel's head. But he
leaped forward again and soon his rifle was reloaded. Every time he looked

around the Indians treed, afraid to face his unerring weapon. After running a
mile or more in this manner, he reached an open space in the woods where he

wheeled suddenly on his pursuers. The foremost Indian jumped behind a tree,
but, as it did not entirely screen his body, he, too, fell a victim to the

hunter's aim. The Indian must have been desperately wounded, for his companion
now abandoned the chase and went to his assistance. Together they disappeared

in the forest.
Wetzel, seeing that he was no longer pursued, slackened his pace and proceeded

thoughtfully toward the settlement.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That same day, several hours after Wetzel's departure in quest of the turkey,
Alfred Clarke strolled over from the fort and found Colonel Zane in the yard.

The Colonel was industriously stirring the contents of a huge copperkettle
which swung over a brisk wood fire. The honeyed fragrance of apple-butter

mingled with the pungent odor of burning hickory.
"Morning, Alfred, you see they have me at it," was the Colonel's salute.

"So I observe," answered Alfred, as he seated himself on the wood-pile. "What
is it you are churning so vigorously?"

"Apple-butter, my boy, apple-butter. I don't allow even Bessie to help when I
am making apple-butter."

"Colonel Zane, I have come over to ask a favor. Ever since you notified us
that you intended sending an expedition up the river I have been worried about

my horse Roger. He is too light for a pack horse, and I cannot take two
horses."

"I'll let you have the bay. He is big and strong enough. That black horse of
yours is a beauty. You leave Roger with me and if you never come back I'll be

in a fine horse. Ha, Ha! But, seriously, Clarke, this proposed trip is a
hazardous undertaking, and if you would rather stay--"

"You misunderstand me," quickly replied Alfred, who had flushed. "I do not
care about myself. I'll go and take my medicine. But I do mind about my

horse."
"That's right. Always think of your horses. I'll have Sam take the best of

care of Roger."
"What is the nature of this excursion, and how long shall we be gone?"

"Jonathan will guide the party. He says it will take six weeks if you have
pleasant weather. You are to go by way of Short Creek, where you will help put

up a blockhouse. Then you go to Fort Pitt. There you will embark on a raft
with the supplies I need and make the return journey by water. You will

probably smell gunpowder before you get back."
"What shall we do with the horses?"

"Bring them along with you on the raft, of course."
"That is a new way to travel with horses," said Alfred, looking dubiously at

the swift river. "Will there be any way to get news from Fort Henry while we
are away?"

"Yes, there will be several runners."
"Mr. Clarke, I am going to feed my pets. Would you like to see them?" asked a

voice which brought Alfred to his feet. He turned and saw Betty. Her dog
followed her, carrying a basket.

"I shall be delighted," answered Alfred. "Have you more pets than Tige and
Madcap?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. I have a bear, six squirrels, one of them white, and some
pigeons."

Betty led the way to an enclosure adjoining Colonel Zane's barn. It was about
twenty feet square, made of pine saplings which had been split and driven

firmly into the ground. As Betty took down a bar and opened the small gate a
number of white pigeons fluttered down from the roof of the barn, several of

them alighting on her shoulders. A half-grown black bear came out of a kennel
and shuffled toward her. He was unmistakably glad to see her, but he avoided

going near Tige, and looked doubtfully at the young man. But after Alfred had
stroked his head and had spoken to him he seemed disposed to be friendly, for

he sniffed around Alfred's knees and then stood up and put his paws against
the young man's shoulders.

"Here, Caesar, get down," said Betty. "He always wants to wrestle, especially
with anyone of whom he is not suspicious. He is very tame and will do almost

anything. Indeed, you would marvel at his intelligence. He never forgets an
injury. If anyone plays a trick on him you may be sure that person will not

get a second opportunity. The night we caught him Tige chased him up a tree
and Jonathan climbed the tree and lassoed him. Ever since he has evinced a

hatred of Jonathan, and if I should leave Tige alone with him there would be a
terrible fight. But for that I could allow Caesar to run free about the yard."

"He looks bright and sagacious," remarked Alfred.
"He is, but sometimes he gets into mischief. I nearly died laughing one day.

Bessie, my brother's wife, you know, had the big kettle on the fire, just as
you saw it a moment ago, only this time she was boiling down maple syrup. Tige

was out with some of the men and I let Caesar loose awhile. If there is
anything he loves it is maple sugar, so when he smelled the syrup he pulled

down the kettle and the hot syrup went all over his nose. Oh, his howls were
dreadful to hear. The funniest part about it was he seemed to think it was

intentional, for he remained sulky and cross with me for two weeks."
"I can understand your love for animals," said Alfred. "I think there are many

interesting things about wild creatures. There are comparatively few animals
down in Virginia where I used to live, and my opportunities to study them have

been limited."
"Here are my squirrels," said Betty, unfastening the door of a cage. A number

of squirrels ran out. Several jumped to the ground. One perched on top of the
box. Another sprang on Betty's shoulder. "I fasten them up every night, for

I'm afraid the weasels and foxes will get them. The white squirrel is the only
albino we have seen around here. It took Jonathan weeks to trap him, but once

captured he soon grew tame. Is he not pretty?"
"He certainly is. I never saw one before; in fact, I did not know such a

beautiful little animal existed," answered Alfred, looking in admiration at
the graceful creature, as he leaped from the shelf to Betty's arm and ate from

her hand, his great, bushy white tail arching over his back and his small pink
eyes shining.

"There! Listen," said Betty. "Look at the fox squirrel, the big brownish red
one. I call him the Captain, because he always wants to boss the others. I had

another fox squirrel, older than this fellow, and he ran things to suit
himself, until one day the grays united their forces and routed him. I think

they would have killed him had I not freed him. Well, this one is commencing
the same way. Do you hear that odd clicking noise? That comes from the

Captain's teeth, and he is angry and jealous because I show so much attention
to this one. He always does that, and he would fight too if I were not

careful. It is a singular fact, though, that the white squirrel has not even a
little pugnacity. He either cannot fight, or he is too well behaved. Here, Mr.

Clarke, show Snowball this nut, and then hide it in your pocket, and see him
find it."

Alfred did as he was told, except that while he pretended to put the nut in
his pocket he really kept it concealed in his hand.

The pet squirrel leaped lightly on Alfred's shoulder, ran over his breast,
peeped in all his pockets, and even pushed his cap to one side of his head.