ing brightly at
Betty.

"Hello, Harry Bennet. Going after that turkey? I have heard him
several mornings and he must be a big, healthy gobbler," said
Colonel Zane, stepping to the door. "You are going to have company.
Here comes Wetzel."

"Good morning, Lew. Are you too off on a turkey hunt?" said Betty.

"Listen," said the hunter, as he stopped and leaned against the
gate. They listened. All was quiet save for the tinkle of a cow-bell
in the pasture adjoining the Colonel's barn. Presently the silence
was broken by a long, shrill, peculiar cry.

"Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug-chug."

"Well, it's a turkey, all right, and I'll bet a big gobbler,"
remarked Colonel Zane, as the cry ceased.

"Has Jonathan heard it?" asked Wetzel.

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?" said the Colonel, in a low
tone. "Look here, Lew, is that not a genuine call?"

"Goodbye, Harry, be sure and bring me a turkey," called Betty, as
she disappeared.

"I calkilate it's a real turkey," answered the hunter, and motioning
the lad to stay behind, he shouldered his rifle and passed swiftly
down the path.

Of all the Wetzel family--a family noted from one end of the
frontier to the other--Lewis was as the most famous.

The early history of West Virginia and Ohio is replete with the
daring deeds of this wilderness roamer, this lone hunter and
insatiable Nemesis, justly called the greatest Indian slayer known
to men.

When Lewis was about twenty years old, and his brothers John and
Martin little older, they left their Virginia home for a protracted
hunt. On their return they found the smoking ruins of the home, the
mangled remains of father and mother, the naked and violated bodies
of their sisters, and the scalped and bleeding corpse of a baby
brother.

Lewis Wetzel swore sleepless and eternal vengeance on the whole
Indian race. Terribly did he carry out that resolution. From that
time forward he lived most of the time in the woods, and an Indian
who crossed his trail was a doomed man. The various Indian tribes
gave him different names. The Shawnees called him "Long Knife;" the
Hurons, "Destroyer;" the Delawares, "Death Wind," and any one of
these names would chill the heart of the stoutest warrior.

To most of the famed pioneer hunters of the border, Indian fighting
was only a side issue--generally a necessary one--but with Wetzel it
was the business of his life. He lived solely to kill Indians. He
plunged recklessl