s not the occasion of
good-humored jest and pleasant conversation. Mrs. Zane's face wore a
distressed and troubled look; Betty was pale and quiet; even the
Colonel was gloomy; and the children, missing the usual cheerfulness
of the evening meal, shrank close to their mother.

Darkness slowly settled down; and with it came a feeling of relief,
at least for the night, for the Indians rarely attacked the
settlements after dark. Capt. Boggs came over and he and Col. Zane
conversed in low tones.

"The first thing in the morning I want you to ride over to Short
Creek for reinforcements. I'll send the Major also and by a
different route. I expect to hear tonight from Wetzel. Twelve times
has he crossed that threshold with the information which made an
Indian surprise impossible. And I feel sure he will come again."

"What was that?" said Betty, who was sitting on the doorstep.

"Sh-h!" whispered Col. Zane, holding up his finger.

The night was warm and still. In the perfect quiet which followed
the Colonel's whispered exclamation the listeners heard the beating
of their hearts. Then from the river bank came the cry of an owl;
low but clear it came floating to their ears, its single melancholy
note thrilling them. Faint and far off in the direction of the
island sounded the answer.

"I knew it. I told you. We shall know all presently," said Col.
Zane. "The first call was Jonathan's, and it was answered."

The moments dragged away. The children had fallen asleep on the
bearskin rug. Mrs. Zane and Betty had heard the Colonel's voice, and
sat with white faces, waiting, waiting for they knew not what.

A familiar, light-moccasined tread sounded on the path, a tall
figure loomed up from the darkness; it came up the path, passed up
the steps, and crossed the threshold.

"Wetzel!" exclaimed Col. Zane and Capt. Boggs. It was indeed the
hunter. How startling was his appearance! The buckskin hunting coat
and leggins were wet, torn and bespattered with mud; the water ran
and dripped from him to form little muddy pools on the floor; only
his rifle and powder horn were dry. His face was ghastly white
except where a bullet wound appeared on his temple, from which the
blood had oozed down over his cheek. An unearthly light gleamed from
his eyes. In that moment Wetzel was an appalling sight.

"Col. Zane, I'd been here days before, but I run into some Shawnees,
and they gave me a hard chase. I have to report that Girty, with
four h