The renegade groaned and writhed in pain. Near him lay Kate, with
white face and closed eyes. She was unconscious, or dead. Jim sat
crouched under a tree to which he was tied.
"Joe, are you badly hurt?" asked the latter, in deep solicitude.
"No, I guess not; I don't know," answered Joe. "Is poor Kate dead?"
"No, she has fainted."
"Where's Nell?"
"Gone," replied Jim, lowering his voice, and glancing at the
Indians. They were too busy trying to bandage Girty's head to pay
any attention to their prisoners. "That whirlwind was Wetzel, wasn't
it?"
"Yes; how'd you know?"
"I was awake last night. I had an oppressive feeling, perhaps a
presentiment. Anyway, I couldn't sleep. I heard that wind blow
through the forest, and thought my blood would freeze. The moan is
the same as the night wind, the same soft sigh, only louder and
somehow pregnant with superhuman power. To speak of it in broad
daylight one seems superstitious, but to hear it in the darkness of
this lonely forest, it is fearful! I hope I am not a coward; I
certainly know I was deathly frightened. No wonder I was scared!
Look at these dead Indians, all killed in a moment. I heard the
moan; I saw Silvertip disappear, and the other two savages rise.
Then something huge dropped from the rock; a bright object seemed to
circle round the savages; they uttered one short yell, and sank to
rise no more.
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