war and
leader, as you claim to be, but, sir, I curse you as a miserable
coward. If I ever get back to civilization I'll brand this inhuman
coldness of yours, as the most infamous and dastardly cowardice that
ever disgraced a white man. You are worse than Girty!"

Williamson turned a sickly yellow; he fumbled a second with the
handle of his tomahawk, but made no answer. The other bordermen
maintained the same careless composure. What to them was the raving
of a mad preacher?

Jim saw it and turned baffled, fiercely angry, and hopeless. As he
walked away Jeff Lynn took his arm, and after they were clear of the
crowd of frontiersmen he said:

"Young feller, you give him pepper, an' no mistake. An' mebbe you're
right from your side the fence. But you can't see the Injuns from
our side. We hunters hevn't much humanity--I reckon that's what you
called it--but we've lost so many friends an' relatives, an' hearn
of so many murders by the reddys that we look on all of 'em as wild
varmints that should be killed on sight. Now, mebbe it'll interest
you to know I was the feller who took the vote Williamson told you
about, an' I did it 'cause I had an interest in you. I wus watchin'
you when Edwards and the other missionary got shot. I like grit in a
man, an' I seen you had it clear through. So when Heckewelder comes
over I talked to the fellers, an' all I could git interested was
eighteen, but they wanted to fight simply fer fightin' sake. Now,
ole Jeff Lynn is your friend. You just lay low until this is over."

Jim thanked the old riverman and left him. He hardly knew which way
to turn. He would make one more effort. He crossed the clearing to
where the renegades' teepee stood. McKee and Elliott were sitting on
a log. Simon Girty stood beside them, his hard, keen, roving eyes on
the scene. The missionary was impressed by the white leader. There
was a difference in his aspect, a wilder look than the others wore,
as if the man had suddenly awakened to the fury of his Indians.
Nevertheless the young man went straight toward him.

"Girty, I come---"

"Git out! You meddlin' preacher!" yelled the renegade, shaking his
fist at Jim.

Simon Girty was drunk.

Jim turned from the white fiends. He knew his life to them was not
worth a pinch of powder.

"Lost! Lost! All lost!" he exclaimed in despair.

As he went toward the church he saw hundreds of savages bounding
over the grass, brandishing weapons and whooping fiendishly. The