Girty
had not heard that stifled cry, for he continued his slow wading,
and presently his tall, gaudily decorated form passed out of sight.
Another savage appeared in the open space, and then another. Close
between them walked a white man, with hands bound behind him. The
prisoner and guards disappeared down stream among the willows.
The splashing continued--grew even louder than before. A warrior
came into view, then another, and another. They walked close
together. Two more followed. They were wading by the side of a raft
made of several logs, upon which were two prostrate figures that
closely resembled human beings.
Joe was so intent upon the lithe forms of the Indians that he barely
got a glimpse of their floating prize, whatever it might have been.
Bringing up the rear was an athletic warrior, whose broad shoulders,
sinewy arms, and shaved, polished head Joe remembered well. It was
the Shawnee chief, Silvertip.
When he, too, passed out of sight in the curve of willows, Joe found
himself trembling. He turned eagerly to Wetzel; but instantly
recoiled.
Terrible, indeed, had been the hunter's transformation. All calmness
of facial expression was gone; he was now stern, somber. An intense
emotion was visible in his white face; his eyes seemed reduced to
two dark shining points, and they emitted so fierce, so piercing a
flash, so deadly a light, that Joe could not bear their glittering
gaze.
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