y into the strife, and was never content unless
roaming the wilderness solitudes, trailing the savages to their very
homes and ambushing the village bridlepath like a panther waiting
for his prey. Often in the gray of the morning the Indians, sleeping
around their camp fire, were awakened by a horrible, screeching
yell. They started up in terror only to fall victims to the tomahawk
of their merciless foe, or to hear a rifle shot and get a glimpse of
a form with flying black hair disappearing with wonderful quickness
in the forest. Wetzel always left death behind him, and he was gone
before his demoniac yell ceased to echo throughout the woods.
Although often pursued, he invariably eluded the Indians, for he was
the fleetest runner on the border.

For many years he was considered the right hand of the defense of
the fort. The Indians held him in superstitious dread, and the fact
that he was known to be in the settlement had averted more than one
attack by the Indians.

Many regarded Wetzel as a savage, a man who was mad for the blood of
the red men, and without one redeeming quality. But this was an
unjust opinion. When that restless fever for revenge left him--it
was not always with him--he was quiet and peaceable. To those few
who knew him well he was even amiable. But Wetzel, although known to
everyone, cared for few. He spent little time in the settlements and
rarely spoke except when addressed.

Nature had singularly fitted him for his pre-eminent position among
scouts and hunters. He was tall and broad across the shoulders; his
strength, agility and endurance were marvelous; he had an eagle eye,
the sagacity of the bloodhound, and that intuitive knowledge which
plays such an important part in a hunter's life. He knew not fear.
He was daring where daring was the wiser part. Crafty, tireless and
implacable, Wetzel was incomparable in his vocation.

His long raven-black hair, of which he was vain, when combed out
reached to within a foot of the ground. He had a rare scalp, one for
which the Indians would have bartered anything.

A favorite Indian decoy, and the most fatal one, was the imitation
of the call of the wild turkey. It had often happened that men from
the settlements who had gone out for a turkey which had been
gobbling, had not returned.

For several mornings Wetzel had heard a turkey call, and becoming
suspicious of it, had determined to satisfy himself. On the east
side of the creek hill there was