"Wait," he added. "There is no telling what that signal may mean."
They waited with breathless interest. Presently the whistle was
repeated, and an instant later the tall figure of a man stepped from
behind a thicket. He was a white man, but not recognizable at that
distance, even if a friend. The stranger waved his hand as if asking
them to be cautious, and come to him.
They went toward the thicket, and when within a few paces of the man
Mr. Wells exclaimed:
"It's the man who guided my party to the village. It is Wetzel!"
The other missionaries had never seen the hunter though, of course,
they were familiar with his name, and looked at him with great
curiosity. The hunter's buckskin garments were wet, torn, and
covered with burrs. Dark spots, evidently blood stains, showed on
his hunting-shirt.
"Wetzel?" interrogated Heckewelder.
The hunter nodded, and took a step behind the bush. Bending over he
lifted something from the ground. It was a girl. It was Nell! She
was very white--but alive. A faint, glad smile lighted up her
features.
Not a word was spoken. With an expression of tender compassion Mr.
Wells received her into his arms. The four missionaries turned
fearful, questioning eyes upon the hunter, but they could not speak.
"She's well, an' unharmed," said Wetzel, reading their thoughts,
"only worn out.
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