Somehow at once I suspected that this shadowy form,
with its lightninglike movements, its glittering hatchet, was
Wetzel. When he plunged into the midst of the other savages I
distinctly recognized him, and saw that he had a bundle, possibly
his coat, wrapped round his left arm, and his right hand held the
glittering tomahawk. I saw him strike that big Indian there, the one
lying with split skull. His wonderful daring and quickness seemed to
make the savages turn at random. He broke through the circle, swung
Nell under his arm, slashed at my bonds as he passed by, and then
was gone as he had come. Not until after you were struck, and
Silvertip came up to me, was I aware my bonds were cut. Wetzel's
hatchet had severed them; it even cut my side, which was bleeding. I
was free to help, to fight, and I did not know it. Fool that I am!"
"I made an awful mess of my part of the rescue," groaned Joe. "I
wonder if the savages know it was Wetzel."
"Do they? Well, I rather think so. Did you not hear them scream that
French name? As far as I am able to judge, only two Indians were
killed instantly. The others died during the night. I had to sit
here, tied and helpless, listening as they groaned and called the
name of their slayer, even in their death-throes. Deathwind! They
have named him well.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218