Zane turned and cut the young missionary's bonds. Jim ran to where Nell was lying on the ground, and tenderly raised her head, calling to her that they were saved. Zane bathed the girl's pale face. Presently she sighed and opened her eyes.
Then Zane looked from the statuelike form of Wingenund to the motionless figure of Wetzel. The chief stood erect with his eyes on the distant hills.
Wetzel remained with folded arms, his cold eyes fixed upon the writhing, moaning renegade.
"Lew, look here," said Zane, unhesitatingly, and pointed toward the chief.
Wetzel quivered as if sharply stung; the cold glitter in hie eyes changed to lurid fire. With upraised tomahawk he bounded across the brook.
"Lew, wait a minute!" yelled Zane.
"Wetzel! wait, wait!" cried Jim, grasping the hunter's arm; but the latter flung him off, as the wind tosses a straw.
"Wetzel, wait, for God's sake, wait!" screamed Nell. She had risen at Zane's call, and now saw the deadly resolve in the hunter's eyes. Fearlessly she flung herself in front of him; bravely she risked her life before his mad rush; frantically she threw her arms around him and clung to his hands desperately.
Wetzel halted; frenzied as he was at the sight of his foe, he could not hurt a woman.
"Girl, let go!" he panted, and his broad breast heaved.
"No, no, no! Listen, Wetzel, you must not kill the chief. He is a friend."
"He is my great foe!"
"Listen, oh! please listen!" pleaded Nell. "He warned me to flee from Girty; he offered to guide us to Fort Henry. He has saved my life. For my sake, Wetzel, do not kill him! Don't let me be the cause of his murder! Wetzel, Wetzel, lower your arm, drop your hatchet. For pity's sake do not spill more blood. Wingenund is a Christian!"
Wetzel stepped back breathing heavily. His white face resembled chiseled marble. With those little hands at his breast he hesitated in front of the chief he had hunted for so many long years.
"Would you kill a Christian?" pleaded Nell, her voice sweet and earnest.
"I reckon not, but this Injun ain't one," replied Wetzel slowly.
"Put away your hatchet. Let me have it. Listen, and I will tell you, after thanking you for this rescue. Do you know of my marriage? Come, please listen!
Forget for a moment your enmity. Oh! you must be merciful! Brave men are always merciful!"
"Injun, are you a Christian?" hissed Wetzel.
"Oh! I know he is! I know he is!" cried Nell, still standing between Wetzel and the chief.
Wingenund spoke no word. He did not move. His falcon eyes gazed tranquilly at his white foe. Christian or pagan, he would not speak one word to save his life.
"Oh! tell him you are a Christian," cried Nell, running to the chief.
"Yellow-hair, the Delaware is true to his race."
As he spoke gently to Nell 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."