o have the
satisfaction. Wal, the months have gone by, and Jim Girty's still
livin' and carryin' on. Now he's over there after them poor
preachers. I ain't sayin', Lew, that you haven't more agin him than
me, but I do say, let me in on it with you. He always has a gang of
redskins with him; he's afraid to travel alone, else you'd had him
long ago. Two of us'll have more chance to get him. Let me go with
you. When it comes to a finish, I'll stand aside while you give it
to him. I'd enjoy seein' you cut him from shoulder to hip. After he
leaves the Village of Peace we'll hit his trail, camp on it, and
stick to it until it ends in his grave."

The earnest voice of the backwoodsman ceased. Both men rose and
stood facing each other. Zane's bronzed face was hard and tense,
expressive of an indomitable will; Wetzel's was coldly dark, with
fateful resolve, as if his decree of vengeance, once given, was as
immutable as destiny. The big, horny hands gripped in a viselike
clasp born of fierce passion, but no word was spoken.

Far to the west somewhere, a befrilled and bedizened renegade
pursued the wild tenor of his ways; perhaps, even now steeping his
soul in more crime, or staining his hands a deeper red, but sleeping
or waking, he dreamed not of this deadly compact that meant his
doom.

The two hunters turned their stern faces toward the west, and passed
silently down the ridge into the depths of the forest. Darkness
found them within rifle-shot of the Village of Peace. With the dog
creeping between them, they crawled to a position which would, in
daylight, command a view of the clearing. Then, while one stood
guard, the other slept.

When morning dawned they shifted their position to the top of a low,
fern-covered cliff, from which they could see every movement in the
village. All the morning they watched with that wonderful patience
of men who knew how to wait. The visiting savages were quiet, the
missionaries moved about in and out of the shops and cabins; the
Christian indians worked industriously in the fields, while the
renegades lolled before a prominent teepee.

"This quiet looks bad," whispered Jonathan to Wetzel. No shouts were
heard; not a hostile Indian was seen to move.

"They've come to a decision," whispered Jonathan, and Wetzel
answered him:

"If they hev, the Christians don't know it."

An hour later the deep pealing of the church bell broke the silence.
The entire band of Christian Indians gathered