nce of Lewis Wetzel, the acknowledged
unsatiable foe of all redmen, speaking a good word for his enemies.
Joe was so astonished he did not attempt to answer.

"Here's where they got in the canoe. One more look, an' then we're
off," said Wetzel. He strode up and down the sandy beach; examined
the willows, and scrutinized the sand. Suddenly he bent over and
picked up an object from the water. His sharp eyes had caught the
glint of something white, which, upon being examined, proved to be a
small ivory or bone buckle with a piece broken out. He showed it to
Joe.

"By heavens! Wetzel, that's a buckle off Nell Well's shoe. I've seen
it too many times to mistake it."

"I was afeared Girty hed your friends, the sisters, an' mebbe your
brother, too. Jack Zane said the renegade was hangin' round the
village, an' that couldn't be fer no good."

"Come on. Let's kill the fiend!" cried Joe, white to the lips.

"I calkilate they're about a mile down stream, makin' camp fer the
night. I know the place. There's a fine spring, an, look! D'ye see
them crows flyin' round thet big oak with the bleached top? Hear
them cawin'? You might think they was chasin' a hawk, or king-birds
were arter 'em, but thet fuss they're makin' is because they see
Injuns."

"Well?" asked Joe, impatiently.

"It'll be moonlight a while arter midnight. We'll lay low an' wait,
an' then---"

The sharp click of his teeth, like the snap of a steel trap,
completed the sentence. Joe said no more, but followed the hunter
into the woods. Stopping near a fallen tree, Wetzel raked up a
bundle of leaves and spread them on the ground. Then he cut a few
spreading branches from a beech, and leaned them against a log.
Bidding the lad crawl in before he took one last look around and
then made his way under the shelter.

It was yet daylight, which seemed a strange time to creep into this
little nook; but, Joe thought, it was not to sleep, only to wait,
wait, wait for the long hours to pass. He was amazed once more,
because, by the time twilight had given place to darkness, Wetzel
was asleep. The lad said then to himself that he would never again
be surprised at the hunter. He assumed once and for all that Wetzel
was capable of anything. Yet how could he lose himself in slumber?
Feeling, as he must, over the capture of the girls; eager to draw a
bead on the black-hearted renegade; hating Indians with all his soul
and strength, and lying there but a few hours before wha