der those dark trees. He had no idea
what. It might be the fretting night wind, or a stealthy, prowling,
soft-footed beast, or a savage alien to these wild Indians, and
wilder than they by far. The chirp of a bird awoke the stillness.
Night had given way to morning. Welcoming the light that was chasing
away the gloom, Joe raised his head with a deep sigh of relief. As
he did so he saw a bush move; then a shadow seemed to sink into the
ground. He had seen an object lighter than the trees, darker than
the gray background. Again, that strange sense of the nearness of
something thrilled him.

Moments, passed--to him long as hours. He saw a tall fern waver and
tremble. A rabbit, or perhaps a snake, had brushed it. Other ferns
moved, their tops agitated, perhaps, by a faint breeze. No; that
wavering line came straight toward him; it could not be the wind; it
marked the course of a creeping, noiseless thing. It must be a
panther crawling nearer and nearer.

Joe opened his lips to awaken his captors, but could not speak; it
was as if his heart had stopped beating. Twenty feet away the ferns
were parted to disclose a white, gleaming face, with eyes that
seemingly glittered. Brawny shoulders were upraised, and then a
tall, powerful man stood revealed. Lightly he stepped over the
leaves into the little glade. He bent over the sleeping Indians.
Once, twice, three times a long blade swung high. One brave
shuddered another gave a sobbing gasp, and the third moved two
fingers--thus they passed from life to death.

"Wetzel!" cried Joe.

"I reckon so," said the deliverer, his deep, calm voice contrasting
strangely with what might have been expected from his aspect. Then,
seeing Joe's head covered with blood, he continued: "Able to get
up?"

"I'm not hurt," answered Joe, rising when his bonds had been cut.

"Brothers, I reckon?" Wetzel said, bending over Jim.

"Yes, we're brothers. Wake up, Jim, wake up! We're saved!"

"What? Who's that?" cried Jim, sitting up and staring at Wetzel.

"This man has saved our lives! See, Jim, the Indians are dead! And,
Jim, it's Wetzel, the hunter. You remember, Jeff Lynn said I'd know
him if I ever saw him and---"

"What happened to Jeff?" inquired Wetzel, interrupting. He had
turned from Jim's grateful face.

"Jeff was on the first raft, and for all we know he is now safe at
Fort Henry. Our steersman was shot, and we were captured."

"Has the Shawnee anythin' ag'inst you boys?"

"Why, y