Tonight the hunter was
even more silent than usual, and the lad, tired out with his day's
tramp, lay down on a bed of fragrant boughs.
Wetzel sat there in the gathering gloom while he pulled slowly on
his pipe. The evening was very quiet; the birds had ceased their
twittering; the wind had died away; it was too early for the bay of
a wolf, the wail of a panther, or hoot of an owl; there was simply
perfect silence.
The lad's deep, even breathing caught Wetzel's ear, and he found
himself meditating, as he had often of late, on this new something
that had crept into his life. For Joe loved him; he could not fail
to see that. The lad had preferred to roam with the lonely
Indian-hunter through the forests, to encounter the perils and
hardships of a wild life, rather than accept the smile of fortune
and of love. Wetzel knew that Colonel Zane had taken a liking to the
boy, and had offered him work and a home; and, also, the hunter
remembered the warm light he had seen in Nell's hazel eyes. Musing
thus, the man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent that
it was unfamiliar. The Avenger forgot, for a moment his brooding
plans. He felt strangely softened. When he laid his head on the rude
pillow it was with some sense of gladness that, although he had
always desired a lonely life, and wanted to pass it in the
fulfillment of his vow, his loneliness was now shared by a lad who
loved him.
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