Say, Colonel Zane, I'd like to talk to your
Indian guide."

Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide,
who left his post and came over to them. The colonel then had a
short conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointed
toward Joe.

"How do--shake," said Tome, extending his hand.

Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure.

"Shawnee--ketch'um?" asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligible
English.

Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee,
explaining the cause of Silvertip's emnity.

"Shawnee--chief--one--bad--Injun," replied Tome, seriously.
"Silvertip--mad--thunder-mad. Ketch'um paleface--scalp'um sure."

After giving this warning the chief returned to his former position
near the corner of the cabin.

"He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawnee
brave who talked with me the other day," observed Joe.

"Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently," said
Colonel Zane. "You could hardly have distinguished Logan's speech
from a white man's. Corn-planter uses good English, as also does my
brother's wife, a Wyandot girl."

"Did your brother marry an Indian?" and Joe plainly showed his
surprise.

"Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is. I'll tell you
Isaac's story some time. He was a captive among the Wyandots for ten
years. The chief's daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from being
tortured, and finally saved him from the stake."

"Well, that floors me," said Joe; "yet I don't see why it should.
I'm just surprised. Where is your brother now?"

"He lives with the tribe. He and Myeerah are working hard for peace.
We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, or
Hurons, as we call them, than ever before."

"Who is this big man coming from the the fort?" asked Joe, suddenly
observing a stalwart frontiersman approaching.

"Major Sam McColloch. You have met him. He's the man who jumped his
horse from yonder bluff."

"Jonathan and he have the same look, the same swing," observed Joe,
as he ran his eye over the major. His faded buckskin costume,
beaded, fringed, and laced, was similar to that of the colonel's
brother. Powder-flask and bullet-pouch were made from cow-horns and
slung around his neck on deerhide strings. The hunting coat was
unlaced, exposing, under the long, fringed borders, a tunic of the
same well-tanned, but finer and softer, material. As he walked, the
flaps of