t!
Wait!" whispered Jonathan, laying his hand on Wetzel's shoulder.

"Wait? Man, can't you see what the unnamable villain is doin'?"

"What?" asked Zane, turning his eyes again to the glade.

The converted Indians sat with bowed heads. Half King raised his
war-club, and threw it on the ground in front of them.

"He's announcin' the death decree!" hissed Wetzel.

"Well! if he ain't!"

Jonathan looked at Wetzel's face. Then he rose to his knees, as had
Wetzel, and tightened his belt. He knew that in another instant they
would be speeding away through the forest.

"Lew, my rifle's no good fer that distance. But mebbe yours is. You
ought to know. It's not sense, because there's Simon Girty, and
there's Jim, the men we're after. If you can hit one, you can
another. But go ahead, Lew. Plug that cowardly redskin!"

Wetzel knelt on one knee, and thrust the black rifle forward through
the fern leaves. Slowly the fatal barrel rose to a level, and became
as motionless as the immovable stones.

Jonathan fixed his keen gaze on the haughty countenance of Half King
as he stood with folded arms and scornful mien in front of the
Christians he had just condemned.

Even as the short, stinging crack of Wetzel's rifle broke the
silence, Jonathan saw the fierce expression of Half King's dark face
change to one of vacant wildness. His arms never relaxed from their
folded position. He fell, as falls a monarch of the forest trees, a
dead weight.

Chapter XXV.

"Please do not preach to-day," said Nell, raising her eyes
imploringly to Jim's face.

"Nellie, I must conduct the services as usual. I can not shirk my
duty, nor let these renegades see I fear to face them."

"I have such a queer feeling. I am afraid. I don't want to be left
alone. Please do not leave me."

Jim strode nervously up and down the length of the room. Nell's worn
face, her beseeching eyes and trembling hands touched his heart.
Rather than almost anything else, he desired to please her, to
strengthen her; yet how could he shirk his duty?

"Nellie, what is it you fear?" he asked, holding her hands tightly.

"Oh, I don't know what--everything. Uncle is growing weaker every
day. Look at Mr. Young; he is only a shadow of his former self, and
this anxiety is wearing Mr. Heckewelder out. He is more concerned
than he dares admit. You needn't shake your head, for I know it.
Then those Indians who are waiting, waiting--for God only knows
what! Worse than all