Every additional rod he was forced to go
more slowly, and take more time in order to find any sign of his
enemy's passage through the forests. One thing struck him forcibly.
Wingenund was gradually circling to the southwest, a course that
took him farther and farther from the Delaware encampment.
Slowly it dawned upon Wetzel that the chief could hardly have any
reason for taking this circling course save that of pride and savage
joy in misleading, in fooling the foe of the Delawares, in
deliberately showing Deathwind that there was one Indian who could
laugh at and loose him in the forests. To Wetzel this was bitter as
gall. To be led a wild goose chase! His fierce heart boiled with
fury. His dark, keen eyes sought the grass and moss with terrible
earnestness. Yet in spite of the anger that increased to the white
heat of passion, he became aware of some strange sensation creeping
upon him. He remembered that the Delawares had offered his life.
Slowly, like a shadow, Wetzel passed up and down the ridges, through
the brown and yellow aisles of the forest, over the babbling brooks,
out upon the golden-flecked fields--always close on the trail.
At last in an open part of the forest, where a fire had once swept
away the brush and smaller timber, Wetzel came upon the spot where
the Delaware's trail ended.
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