"I'm completely fagged out," declared Heckewelder, that night when
he returned to Edwards' cabin. He dropped into a chair as one whose
strength is entirely spent, whose indomitable spirit has at last
been broken.
"Lie down to rest," said Edwards.
"Oh, I can't. Matters look so black."
"You're tired out and discouraged. You'll feel better to-morrow. The
situation is not, perhaps, so hopeless. The presence of these
frontiersmen should encourage us."
"What will they do? What can they do?" cried Heckewelder, bitterly.
"I tell you never before have I encountered such gloomy, stony
Indians. It seems to me that they are in no vacillating state. They
act like men whose course is already decided upon, and who are only
waiting."
"For what?" asked Jim, after a long silence.
"God only knows! Perhaps for a time; possibly for a final decision,
and, it may be, for a reason, the very thought of which makes me
faint."
"Tell us," said Edwards, speaking quietly, for he had ever been the
calmest of the missionaries.
"Never mind. Perhaps it's only my nerves. I'm all unstrung, and
could suspect anything to-night."
"Heckewelder, tell us?" Jim asked, earnestly.
"My friends, I pray I am wrong. God help us if my fears are correct.
I believe the Indians are waiting for Jim Girty.
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