Girty's visage was a ghastly, livid white. So
earnest, so intense was Joe's voice, that it seemed to all as if
Wetzel was about to dart into the glade, with his avenging tomahawk
uplifted to wreak an awful vengeance on the abductor. The renegade's
white, craven heart contained no such thing as courage. If he ever
fought it was like a wolf, backed by numbers. The resemblance ceased
here, for even a cornered wolf will show his teeth, and Girty,
driven to bay, would have cringed and cowered. Even now at the
mention of Wetzel's enmity he trembled.
"I'll shet yer wind," he cried, catching up his tomahawk and making
for Joe.
Silvertip intervened, and prevented the assault. He led Girty back
to his seat and spoke low, evidently trying to soothe the renegade's
feelings.
"Silvertip, give me a tomahawk, and let me fight him," implored Joe.
"Paleface brave--like Injun chief. Paleface Shawnee's prisoner--no
speak more," answered Silvertip, with respect in his voice.
"Oh, where's Nellie?"
A grief-stricken whisper caught Jim's ear. He turned to see Kate's
wide, questioning eyes fixed upon him.
"Nell was rescued."
"Thank God!" murmured the girl.
"Come along," shouted Girty, in his harsh voice, as, grasping Kate's
arm, he pulled the girl violently to her feet. Then, picking up his
rifle, he led her into the forest.
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