betty zane-第12章
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Alfred kept his seat awhile lost in thought。 Suddenly he remembered that it would look strange if he did not make himself agreeable； so he got up and found a partner。 He danced with Alice； Lydia； and the other young ladies。 After an hour he slipped away to his room。 He wished to be alone。 He wanted to think； to decide whether it would be best for him to stay at the fort； or ride away in the darkness and never return。 With the friendly touch of Betty's hand the madness with which he had been battling for weeks rushed over him stronger than ever。 The thrill of that soft little palm remained with him； and he pressed the hand it had touched to his lips。
For a long hour he sat by his window。 He could dimly see the broad winding river； with its curtain of pale gray mist； and beyond； the dark outline of the forest。 A cool breeze from the water fanned his heated brow； and the quiet and solitude soothed him。
CHAPTER IV。
〃Good morning； Harry。 Where are you going so early？〃 called Betty from the doorway。
A lad was passing down the path in front of Colonel Zane's house as Betty hailed him。 He carried a rifle almost as long as himself。
〃Mornin'； Betty。 I am goin' 'cross the crick fer that turkey I hear gobblin'；〃 he answered； stopping at the gate and smiling brightly at Betty。
〃Hello； Harry Bennet。 Going after that turkey？ I have heard him several mornings and he must be a big； healthy gobbler；〃 said Colonel Zane； stepping to the door。 〃You are going to have company。 Here comes Wetzel。〃
〃Good morning； Lew。 Are you too off on a turkey hunt？〃 said Betty。
〃Listen；〃 said the hunter； as he stopped and leaned against the gate。 They listened。 All was quiet save for the tinkle of a cow…bell in the pasture adjoining the Colonel's barn。 Presently the silence was broken by a long； shrill； peculiar cry。
〃Chug…a…lug； chug…a…lug； chug…a…lug； chug…a…lug…chug。〃
〃Well； it's a turkey； all right； and I'll bet a big gobbler；〃 remarked Colonel Zane； as the cry ceased。
〃Has Jonathan heard it？〃 asked Wetzel。
〃Not that I know of。 Why do you ask？〃 said the Colonel； in a low tone。 〃Look here； Lew； is that not a genuine call？〃
〃Goodbye； Harry； be sure and bring me a turkey；〃 called Betty； as she disappeared。
〃I calkilate it's a real turkey；〃 answered the hunter； and motioning the lad to stay behind； he shouldered his rifle and passed swiftly down the path。
Of all the Wetzel familya family noted from one end of the frontier to the otherLewis was as the most famous。
The early history of West Virginia and Ohio is replete with the daring deeds of this wilderness roamer； this lone hunter and insatiable Nemesis； justly called the greatest Indian slayer known to men。
When Lewis was about twenty years old； and his brothers John and Martin little older； they left their Virginia home for a protracted hunt。 On their return they found the smoking ruins of the home； the mangled remains of father and mother； the naked and violated bodies of their sisters； and the scalped and bleeding corpse of a baby brother。
Lewis Wetzel swore sleepless and eternal vengeance on the whole Indian race。 Terribly did he carry out that resolution。 From that time forward he lived most of the time in the woods； and an Indian who crossed his trail was a doomed man。 The various Indian tribes gave him different names。 The Shawnees called him 〃Long Knife；〃 the Hurons； 〃Destroyer；〃 the Delawares； 〃Death Wind；〃 and any one of these names would chill the heart of the stoutest warrior。
To most of the famed pioneer hunters of the border； Indian fighting was only a side issuegenerally a necessary onebut with Wetzel it was the business of his life。 He lived solely to kill Indians。 He plunged recklessly 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 himit was not always with himhe 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 a cavern some fifty or sixty yards above the water。 The entrance to this cavern was concealed by vines and foliage。 Wetzel knew of it； and； crossing the stream some distance above； he made a wide circuit and came up back of the cave。 Here he concealed himself in a clump of bushes and waited。 He had not been there long when directly below him sounded the cry； 〃Chug…a…lug； Chug…a…lug； Chug…a…lug。〃 At the same time the polished head and brawny shoulders of an Indian warrior rose out of the cavern。 Peering cautiously around； the savage again gave the peculiar cry； and then sank back out of sight。 Wetzel screened himself safely in his position and watched the savage repeat the action at least ten times before he made up his mind that the Indian was alone in the cave。 When he had satisfied himself of this he took a quick aim at the twisted tuft of hair and fired。 Without waiting to see the result of his shotso well did he trust his unerring aimhe climbed down the steep bank and brushing aside the vines entered the cave。 A stalwart Indian lay in the entrance with his face pressed down on the vines。 He still clutched in his sinewy fingers the buckhorn mouthpiece with which he had made the calls that had resulted in his death。
〃Huron；〃 muttered the hunter to himself as he ran the keen edge of his knife around the twisted tuft of hair and tore off the scalp…lock。
The cave showed evidence of having been inhabited for some time。 There was a cunningly contrived fireplace made of stones； against which pieces of birch bark were placed in such a position that not a ray of light could get out of the cavern。 The bed of black coals between the stones still smoked； a quantity of parched corn lay on a little rocky shelf which jutted out from the wall； a piece of jerked meat and a buckskin pouch hung from a peg。
Suddenly Wetzel dropped on his knees and began examining the footprints in the sandy floor of the cavern。 He measured the length and width of the dead warrior's foot。 He closely scrutinized every moccasin print。 He crawled to the opening of the cavern and carefully surveyed the moss。
Then he rose to his feet。 A remarkable transformation had come over him during the last few moments。 His face had changed； the calm expression was replaced by one sullen and fierce： his lips were set in a thin； cruel line； and a strange light glittered in his eyes。
He slowly pursued a course lending gradually down to the creek。 At intervals he would stop and listen。 The strange voices of the woods were not mysteries to him。 They were more familiar to him than the voices of men。
He recalled that； while on his circuit over the ridge to get behind the cavern； he had heard the report of a rifle far off in the direction of the chestnut grove； but； as that was a favorite place of the settlers for shooting squirrels； he had not thought anything of it at the time。 Now it had a peculiar significance。 He turned abruptly from the trail he had been following and plunged down the steep hill。 Crossing the creek he took to the cover of the willows； which grew profusely along the banks； and striking a sort of bridle path he started on a run。 He ran easily； as though accustomed to that mode of travel； and his long strides covered a couple of miles in short order。 Coming to the rugged bluff； which marked the end of the ridge； he stopped and walked slowly along the edge of the water。 He struck the trail of the Indians where it crossed the creek； just where he expected。 There were several moccasin tracks in the wet sand and； in some of the depressions made by the heels the rounded edges of the imprints were still smooth and intact。 The little pools of muddy water； which still lay in these hollows； were other indications to his keen eyes that the Indians had passed this point early that morning。
The trail led up the hill and far into the woods。 Never in doubt the hunter kept on his course； like a shadow he passed from tree to tree and from bush to bush； silently； cautiously； but rapidly he followed the tracks of the Indians。 When he had penetrated the dark backwoods of the Black Forest tangled underbrush； windfalls and gullies crossed his path and rendered fast trailing impossible。 Before these almost impassible barriers he stopped and peered on all sides； studying the lay of the land； the deadfalls； the gorges； and ail the time keeping in mind the probable route of the redskins。 Then he turned aside to avoid the roughest travelling。 Sometimes these detours were only a few hundred feet long； often they were miles； but nearly always he struck the trail again。 This almost superhuman knowledge of the Indian's ways of traversing the forest； which probably no man could have possessed without giving his life to the hunting of Indians； was the one feature of Wetzel's woodcraft which placed him so far above other hunters； and made him so dreaded by the savages。
Descending a knoll he entered a glade where the trees grew farther apart and the underbrush was only knee high。 The black soil showed that the tract of land had been burned over。 On the banks of a babbling brook which wound its way through t
