ll a noble dignity shone upon his dark face.

"Injun, my back bears the scars of your braves' whips," hissed
Wetzel, once more advancing.

"Deathwind, your scars are deep, but the Delaware's are deeper,"
came the calm reply. "Wingenund's heart bears two scars. His son
lies under the moss and ferns; Deathwind killed him; Deathwind alone
knows his grave. Wingenund's daughter, the delight of his waning
years, freed the Delaware's great foe, and betrayed her father. Can
the Christian God tell Wingenund of his child?"

Wetzel shook like a tree in a storm. Justice cried out in the
Indian's deep voice. Wetzel fought for mastery of himself.

"Delaware, your daughter lays there, with her lover," said Wetzel
firmly, and pointed into the spring.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Indian, bending over the dark pool. He looked
long into its murky depths. Then he thrust his arm down into the
brown water.

"Deathwind tells no lie," said the chief, calmly, and pointed toward
Girty. The renegade had ceased struggling, his head was bowed upon
his breast. "The white serpent has stung the Delaware."

"What does it mean?" cried Jim.

"Your brother Joe and Whispering Winds lie in the spring," answered
Jonathan Zane. "Girty murdered them, and Wetzel buried the two
there."

"Oh, is it true?" cried Nell.

"True, lass," whispered Jim, brokenly, holding out his arms to her.
Indeed, he needed her strength as much as she needed his. The girl
gave one shuddering glance at the spring, and then hid her face on
her husband's shoulder.

"Delaware, we are sworn foes," cried Wetzel.

"Wingenund asks no mercy."

"Are you a Christian?"

"Wingenund is true to his race."

"Delaware, begone! Take these weapons an' go. When your shadow falls
shortest on the ground, Deathwind starts on your trail."

"Deathwind is the great white chief; he is the great Indian foe; he
is as sure as the panther in his leap; as swift as the wild goose in
his northern flight. Wingenund never felt fear." The chieftain's
sonorous reply rolled through the quiet glade. "If Deathwind thirsts
for Wingenund's blood, let him spill it now, for when the Delaware
goes into the forest his trail will fade."

"Begone!" roared Wetzel. The fever for blood was once more rising
within him.

The chief picked up some weapons of the dead Indians, and with
haughty stride stalked from the glade.

"Oh, Wetzel, thank you, I knew---" Nell's voice broke as she faced
the hunter. She recoiled from