he easily escaped among his comrades, who looked upon Dunmore as an
enemy of their country and a traitor to their cause.

Their spirit, both lawless and fearless, was the spirit of that race of
Indian Fighters, as they were called, which grew up on the border in
the war ending with Wayne's victory. It led them into countless acts of
daring and into many acts of cruelty, and the story of their adventures
is too bloody to be fully told. But unless something of it is told we
cannot have a true notion of what the life of our backwoodsmen was.
We have seen what they could do when they were at their worst in the
Gnadenhutten massacre; but we cannot understand them unless we realize
that they not only held all life cheap, but held the life of an Indian
no dearer than that of a wolf.

Belmont County was the scene of two exploits of Lewis Wetzel, perhaps
the most famous of these Indian fighters. One day he went home with a
young man whom he met while hunting, and they found the cabin burnt and
the whole family murdered except a girl who had lived with them, and
whom the young man was in love with. They started on the trail of
the Indians who had done the cruel deed, and came up with them after
nightfall sleeping round their camp-fire. The girl was awake, crying
and lamenting, and Wetzel had great ado to keep her lover from firing at
once upon the Indians. But he made him wait for daylight, so that they
could be sure of their aim; and then at the first light of dawn, they
each chose his mark and fired. Each killed his Indian, but two others
escaped into the woods, while the lover rushed, knife in hand, to free
the girl. Wetzel made after the Indians, firing into the air to draw
them out of their concealment. Then he turned, loading as he ran, and
wheeled about and shot the Indian nearest him. He fled again, dodging
from tree to tree till his gun was reloaded, when he shot the last
Indian left. He took their scalps, and got home with the girl and her
lover unhurt.

In 1782, together with one of Crawford's men, he fell in with a party
of forty Indians about two miles from St. Clairsville. Both sides
fired; Wetzel killed one of the Indians, but his friend was wounded and
promptly scalped, while four of the Indians followed Wetzel. He turned,
shot the foremost, and ran on, loading his rifle. The next was so close
upon him that when Wetzel turned again, the Indian caught the muzzle
of his gun. After a fearful struggle Wetzel got i