The hunter had
intended to take his comrade on a hunting trip, and to return with
him, after that was over, to Fort Henry. They had now been in the
woods for weeks and every day in some way had Joe showed his mettle.
Wetzel finally admitted him into the secrets of his most cherished
hiding place. He did not want to hurt the lad's feelings by taking
him back to the settlement; he could not send him back. So the days
wore on swiftly; full of heart-satisfying incident and life, with
man and boy growing closer in an intimacy that was as warm as it was
unusual.
Two reasons might account for this: First, there is no sane human
being who is not better off for companionship. An exile would find
something of happiness in one who shared his misery. And, secondly,
Joe was a most acceptable comrade, even for a slayer of Indians.
Wedded as Wetzel was to the forest trails, to his lonely life, to
the Nemesis-pursuit he had followed for eighteen long years, he was
still a white man, kind and gentle in his quiet hours, and because
of this, though he knew it not, still capable of affection. He had
never known youth; his manhood had been one pitiless warfare against
his sworn foes; but once in all those years had his sore, cold heart
warmed; and that was toward a woman who was not for him. His life
had held only one purpose--a bloody one.
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