What he saw was more imposing than the Village of Peace
which he had conjured up in his imagination. Confronting him was a
level plain, in the center of which stood a wide, low structure
surrounded by log cabins, and these in turn encircled by Indian
teepees. A number of large trees, mostly full-foliaged maples,
shaded the clearing. The settlement swarmed with Indians. A few
shrill halloes uttered by the first observers of the newcomers
brought braves, maidens and children trooping toward the party with
friendly curiosity.
Jonathan Zane stepped before a cabin adjoining the large structure,
and called in at the open door. A short, stoop-shouldered white man,
clad in faded linsey, appeared on the threshold. His serious, lined
face had the unmistakable benevolent aspect peculiar to most
teachers of the gospel.
"Mr. Zeisberger, I've fetched a party from Fort Henry," said Zane,
indicating those he had guided. Then, without another word, never
turning his dark face to the right or left, he hurried down the lane
through the throng of Indians.
Jim remembered, as he saw the guide vanish over the bank of the
creek, that he had heard Colonel Zane say that Jonathan, as well as
Wetzel, hated the sight of an Indian. No doubt long years of war and
bloodshed had rendered these two great hunters callous.
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