"
"Deathwind is the great white chief; he is the great Indian foe; he
is as sure as the panther in his leap; as swift as the wild goose in
his northern flight. Wingenund never felt fear." The chieftain's
sonorous reply rolled through the quiet glade. "If Deathwind thirsts
for Wingenund's blood, let him spill it now, for when the Delaware
goes into the forest his trail will fade."
"Begone!" roared Wetzel. The fever for blood was once more rising
within him.
The chief picked up some weapons of the dead Indians, and with
haughty stride stalked from the glade.
"Oh, Wetzel, thank you, I knew---" Nell's voice broke as she faced
the hunter. She recoiled from this changed man.
"Come, we'll go," said Jonathan Zane. "I'll guide you to Fort
Henry." He lifted the pack, and led Nell and Jim out of the glade.
They looked back once to picture forever in their minds the lovely
spot with its ghastly quiet bodies, the dark, haunting spring, the
renegade nailed to the tree, and the tall figure of Wetzel as he
watched his shadow on the ground.
* * *
When Wetzel also had gone, only two living creatures remained in the
glade--the doomed renegade, and the white dog. The gaunt beast
watched the man with hungry, mad eyes.
A long moan wailed through the forest.
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