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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"The Spirit of the Border"

With upraised tomahawk he bounded across the
brook.
"Lew, wait a minute!" yelled Zane.
"Wetzel! wait, wait!" cried Jim, grasping the hunter's arm; but the
latter flung him off, as the wind tosses a straw.
"Wetzel, wait, for God's sake, wait!" screamed Nell. She had risen
at Zane's call, and now saw the deadly resolve in the hunter's eyes.
Fearlessly she flung herself in front of him; bravely she risked her
life before his mad rush; frantically she threw her arms around him
and clung to his hands desperately.
Wetzel halted; frenzied as he was at the sight of his foe, he could
not hurt a woman.
"Girl, let go!" he panted, and his broad breast heaved.
"No, no, no! Listen, Wetzel, you must not kill the chief. He is a
friend."
"He is my great foe!"
"Listen, oh! please listen!" pleaded Nell. "He warned me to flee
from Girty; he offered to guide us to Fort Henry. He has saved my
life. For my sake, Wetzel, do not kill him! Don't let me be the
cause of his murder! Wetzel, Wetzel, lower your arm, drop your
hatchet. For pity's sake do not spill more blood. Wingenund is a
Christian!"
Wetzel stepped back breathing heavily. His white face resembled
chiseled marble. With those little hands at his breast he hesitated
in front of the chief he had hunted for so many long years.


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