It was an
earnest gaze in which a faint hope shone.
Jim unbarred the door and went out.
"Wait, I'll go along," cried Zeisberger, suddenly dropping his knife
and stick.
As the two men went out a fearful spectacle met their eyes. The
clearing was alive with Indians. But such Indians! They were painted
demons, maddened by rum. Yesterday they had been silent; if they
moved at all it had been with deliberation and dignity. To-day they
were a yelling, running, blood-seeking mob.
"Awful! Did you ever see human beings like these?" asked Zeisberger.
"No, no!"
"I saw such a frenzy once before, but, of course, only in a small
band of savages. Many times have I seen Indians preparing for the
war-path, in search of both white men and redskins. They were fierce
then, but nothing like this. Every one of these frenzied fiends is
honest. Think of that! Every man feels it his duty to murder these
Christians. Girty has led up to this by cunning, and now the time is
come to let them loose."
"It means death for all."
"I have given up any thought of escaping," said Zeisberger, with the
calmness that had characterized his manner since he returned to the
village. "I shall try to get into the church."
"I'll join you there as soon as I see Williamson."
Jim walked rapidly across the clearing to the cabin where Captain
Williamson had quarters.
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