f
the hunter was behind him. Soon he reached level ground. A dense
laurel thicket hid the cabin, but he knew the direction in which it
lay. Throwing himself flat on the ground, he wormed his way through
the thicket, carefully, yet swiftly, because he knew there was no
time to lose. Finally the rear of the cabin stood in front of him.

It was made of logs, rudely hewn, and as rudely thrown together. In
several places clay had fallen from chinks between the timbers,
leaving small holes. Like a snake Joe slipped close to the hut.
Raising his head he looked through one of the cracks.

Instantly he shrank back into the grass, shivering with horror. He
almost choked in his attempt to prevent an outcry.

Chapter XVIII.

The sight which Joe had seen horrified him, for several moments,
into helpless inaction. He lay breathing heavily, impotent, in an
awful rage. As he remained there stunned by the shock, he gazed up
through the open space in the leaves, trying to still his fury, to
realize the situation, to make no hasty move. The soft blue of the
sky, the fleecy clouds drifting eastward, the fluttering leaves and
the twittering birds--all assured him he was wide awake. He had
found Girty's den where so many white women had been hidden, to see
friends and home no more. He had seen the renegade sleeping, calmly
sleeping like any other man. How could the wretch sleep! He had seen
Kate. It had been the sight of her that had paralyzed him. To make a
certainty of his fears, he again raised himself to peep into the
hole. As he did so a faint cry came from within.

Girty lay on a buffalo robe near a barred door. Beyond him sat Kate,
huddled in one corner of the cabin. A long buckskin thong was
knotted round her waist, and tied to a log. Her hair was matted and
tangled, and on her face and arms were many discolored bruises.
Worse still, in her plaintive moaning, in the meaningless movement
of her head, in her vacant expression, was proof that her mind had
gone. She was mad. Even as an agonizing pity came over Joe, to be
followed by the surging fire of rage, blazing up in his breast, he
could not but thank God that she was mad! It was merciful that Kate
was no longer conscious of her suffering.

Like leaves in a storm wavered Joe's hands as he clenched them until
the nails brought blood. "Be calm, be cool," whispered his monitor,
Wetzel, ever with him in spirit. But God! Could he be cool? Bounding
with lion-spring he hurled h