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on their long journey.

Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with some thought for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hut was raised so that the waves which broke over the logs could not reach it. Taking a peep into the structure, Joe was pleased to see that Nell and Kate would be comfortable, even during a storm. A buffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior a cozy, warm look. He observed that some of the girlsā€™ luggage was already on board.

ā€œWhenā€™ll we be off?ā€ he inquired.

ā€œSun-up,ā€ answered Lynn, briefly.

ā€œIā€™m glad of that. I like to be on the go in the early morning,ā€ said Joe, cheerfully.

ā€œMost folks from over Eastways ainā€™t in a hurry to tackle the river,ā€ replied Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply.

ā€œItā€™s a beautiful river, and Iā€™d like to sail on it from here to where it ends, and then come back to go again,ā€ Joe replied, warmly.

ā€œIn a hurry to be a-goinā€™? Iā€™ll allow youā€™ll see some slim red devils, with feathers in their hair, slipping among the trees along the bank, and mebbe youā€™ll hear the ping whichā€™s made when whistlinā€™ lead hits. Perhaps youā€™ll want to be back here by termorrer sundown.ā€

ā€œNot I,ā€ said Joe, with his short, cool laugh.

The old frontiersman slowly finished his task of coiling up a rope of wet cowhide, and then, producing a dirty pipe, he took a live ember from the fire and placed it on the bowl. He sucked slowly at the pipe-stem, and soon puffed out a great cloud of smoke. Sitting on a log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long, heavy limbs of the young man, with a keen appreciation of their symmetry and strength. Agility, endurance and courage were more to a borderman than all else; a newcomer on the frontier was always ā€œsized-upā€ with reference to these ā€œpoints,ā€ and respected in proportion to the measure in which he possessed them.

Old Jeff Lynn, riverman, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at his pipe while he mused thus to himself: ā€œMebbe Iā€™m wrong in takinā€™ a likinā€™ to this youngster so sudden. Mebbe itā€™s because Iā€™m fond of his sunny-haired lass, anā€™ agā€™in mebbe itā€™s because Iā€™m gettinā€™ old anā€™ likes young folks betterā€™n I onct did. Anyway, Iā€™m kinder thinkin, if this young feller gits worked out, say fer about twenty pounds less, heā€™ll lick a whole raft-load of wildcats.ā€

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put together, and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. At length he seated himself beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions; to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, the Indiansā€”everything in connection with this wild life; but already he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means of closing their lips.

ā€œEver handle the long rifle?ā€ asked Lynn, after a silence.

ā€œYes,ā€ answered Joe, simply.

ā€œEver shoot anythinā€™?ā€ the frontiersman questioned, when he had taken four or five puffs at his pipe.

ā€œSquirrels.ā€

ā€œGood practice, shootinā€™ squirrels,ā€ observed Jeff, after another silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined. ā€œKin ye hit oneā€”say, a hundred yards?ā€

ā€œYes, but not every time in the head,ā€ returned Joe. There was an apologetic tone in his answer.

Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowly pursuing his line of thought. After Joeā€™s last remark he returned his pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco-pouch. He tore off a large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then he held out the little buckskin sack to Joe.

ā€œHevā€™ a chaw,ā€ he said.

To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a bordermanā€™s guarantee of friendliness toward that person.

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a little nearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly this was the bordermanā€™s way of oiling up his conversational machinery. At all events, he commenced to talk.

ā€œYer brotherā€™s goinā€™ to preach out here, ainā€™t he? Preachinā€™ is all right, Iā€™ll allow; but Iā€™m kinder doubtful about preachinā€™ to redskins. Howsumever, Iā€™ve knowed Injuns who are good fellows, and thereā€™s no tellinā€™. What are ye goinā€™ in ferā€”farminā€™?ā€

ā€œNo, I wouldnā€™t make a good farmer.ā€

ā€œJest cum out kinder wild like, eh?ā€ rejoined Jeff, knowingly.

ā€œI wanted to come West because I was tired of tame life. I love the forest; I want to fish and hunt; and I think Iā€™d like toā€”to see Indians.ā€

ā€œI kinder thought so,ā€ said the old frontiersman, nodding his head as though he perfectly understood Joeā€™s case. ā€œWell, lad, where youā€™re goinā€™ seeinā€™ Injuns ainā€™t a matter of choice. You has to see ā€˜em, and fight ā€˜em, too. Weā€™ve had bad times for years out here on the border, and Iā€™m thinkinā€™ wuss is cominā€™. Did ye ever hear the name Girty?ā€

ā€œYes; heā€™s a renegade.ā€

ā€œHeā€™s a traitor, and Jim and George Girty, his brothers, are pā€™isin rattlesnake Injuns. Simon Girtyā€™s bad enough; but Jimā€™s the wust. Heā€™s now wusserā€™n a full-blooded Delaware. Heā€™s all the time on the lookout to capture white wimen to take to his Injun teepee. Simon Girty and his pals, McKee and Elliott, deserted from that thar fort right afore yer eyes. Theyā€™re now livinā€™ among the redskins down Fort Henry way, raisinā€™ as much hell fer the settlers as they kin.ā€

ā€œIs Fort Henry near the Indian towns?ā€ asked Joe.

ā€œThereā€™s Delawares, Shawnees and Hurons all along the Ohio below Fort Henry.ā€

ā€œWhere is the Moravian Mission located?ā€

ā€œWhy, lad, the Village of Peace, as the Injuns call it, is right in the midst of that Injun country. I ā€˜spect itā€™s a matter of a hundred miles below and cross-country a little from Fort Henry.ā€

ā€œThe fort must be an important point, is it not?ā€

ā€œWal, I guess so. Itā€™s the last place on the river,ā€ answered Lynn, with a grim smile. ā€œThereā€™s only a stockade there, anā€™ a handful of men. The Injuns hev swarmed down on it time and agā€™in, but they hev never burned it. Only such men as Colonel Zane, his brother Jack, and Wetzel could hev kept that fort standinā€™ all these bloody years. Eb Zaneā€™s got but a few men, yet he kin handle ā€˜em some, anā€™ with such scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he allus knows whatā€™s goinā€™ on among the Injuns.ā€

ā€œIā€™ve heard of Colonel Zane. He was an officer under Lord Dunmore. The hunters here speak often of Jack Zane and Wetzel. What are they?ā€

ā€œJack Zane is a hunter anā€™ guide. I knowed him well a few years back. Heā€™s a quiet, mild chap; but a streak of chain-lightninā€™ when heā€™s riled. Wetzel is an Injun-killer. Some people say as how heā€™s crazy over scalp-huntinā€™; but I reckon thatā€™s not so. Iā€™ve seen him a few times. He donā€™t hang round the settlement ā€˜cept when the Injuns are up, anā€™ nobody sees him much. At home he sets round silent-like, anā€™ then mebbe next morninā€™ heā€™ll be gone, anā€™ wonā€™t show up fer days or weeks. But all the frontier knows of his deeds. Fer instance, Iā€™ve hearn of settlers gettinā€™ up in the morninā€™ anā€™ findinā€™ a couple of dead and scalped Injuns right in front of their cabins. No one knowed who killed ā€˜em, but everybody says ā€˜Wetzel.ā€™ Heā€™s allus warninā€™ the settlers when they need to flee to the fort, and sure heā€™s right every time, because when these men go back to their cabins they find nothinā€™ but ashes. There couldnā€™t be any farminā€™ done out there but fer Wetzel.ā€

ā€œWhat does he look like?ā€ questioned Joe, much interested.

ā€œWetzel stands straight as the oak over thar. Heā€™d hevā€™ to go sideways to git his shoulders in that door, but heā€™s as light of foot anā€™ fast as a deer. Anā€™ his eyesā€”why, lad, ye kin hardly look into ā€˜em. If you ever see Wetzel youā€™ll know him to onct.ā€

ā€œI want to see him,ā€ Joe spoke quickly, his eyes lighting with an eager flash. ā€œHe must be a great fighter.ā€

ā€œIs he? Lew Wetzel is the heftiest of ā€˜em all, anā€™ we hev some as kin fight out here. I was down the river a few years ago and joined a party to go out anā€™ hunt up some redskins as had been reported. Wetzel was with us. We soon struck Injun sign, and then come on to a lot of the pesky varmints. We was all fer goinā€™ home, because we had a small force. When we started to go we finds Wetzel sittinā€™ calm-like on a log. We said: ā€˜Ainā€™t ye goinā€™ home?ā€™ and he replied, ā€˜I cum out to find redskins, anā€™ now as weā€™ve found ā€˜em, Iā€™m not goinā€™ to run away.ā€™ Anā€™ we left him settinā€™ thar. Oh, Wetzel is a fighter!ā€

ā€œI hope I shall see him,ā€ said Joe once more, the warm light, which made him look so boyish, still glowing in his face.

ā€œMebbe yeā€™ll git to; and sure yeā€™ll see redskins, anā€™ not tame ones, nuther.ā€

At this moment the sound of excited voices near the cabins broke in on the conversation. Joe saw several persons run toward the large cabin and disappear behind it. He smiled as he thought perhaps the commotion had been caused by the awakening of the Indian brave.

Rising to his feet, Joe went toward the cabin, and soon saw the cause of the excitement. A small crowd of men and women, all laughing and talking, surrounded the Indian brave and the little stout fellow. Joe heard some one groan, and then a deep, guttural voice:

ā€œPalefaceā€”big stealā€”ugh! Injun madā€”heap madā€”kill paleface.ā€

After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holding Loorey with one hand, while he poked him on the ribs with the other. The captiveā€™s face was the picture of dismay; even the streaks of paint did not hide his look of fear and bewilderment. The poor half-witted fellow was so badly frightened that he could only groan.

ā€œSilvertip scalp paleface. Ugh!ā€ growled the savage, giving Loorey another blow on the side. This time he bent over in pain. The bystanders were divided in feeling; the men laughed, while the women murmured sympathetically.

ā€œThisā€™s not a bit funny,ā€ muttered Joe, as he pushed his way nearly to the middle of the crowd. Then he stretched out a long arm that, bare and brawny, looked as though it might have been a blacksmithā€™s, and grasped the Indianā€™s sinewy wrist with a force that made him loosen his hold on Loorey instantly.

ā€œI stole the shirtā€”funā€”joke,ā€ said Joe. ā€œScalp me if you want to scalp anyone.ā€

The Indian looked quickly at the powerful form before him. With a twist he slipped his arm from Joeā€™s grasp.

ā€œBig paleface heap funā€”all squaw play,ā€ he said, scornfully. There was a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left the group.

ā€œIā€™m afraid youā€™ve made an enemy,ā€ said Jake Wentz to Joe. ā€œAn Indian never forgets an insult, and thatā€™s how he regarded your joke. Silvertip has been friendly here because he sells us his pelts. Heā€™s a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows!ā€

By this time Jim and Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wentz and the girls had joined the group. They all watched Silvertip get into his canoe and paddle away.

ā€œA bad sign,ā€ said Wentz, and then, turning to Jeff Lynn, who joined the party at that moment, he briefly explained the circumstances.

ā€œNever did like Silver. Heā€™s a crafty redskin, anā€™ not to be trusted,ā€ replied Jeff.

ā€œHe has turned round and is looking back,ā€ Nell said quickly.

ā€œSo he has,ā€ observed the fur-trader.

The Indian was now several hundred yards down the swift river, and for an instant had ceased paddling. The sun shone brightly

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