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rocky point, an' crawl close to the bank so you can jest peep over. Be keerful
not to show the tip of your head, an' don't knock nothin' off'en the bank into
the water. Watch fer trout. Look everywheres, an' drop in a bug now and then.
I'll do the same fer the other stream. Then we'll come back here an' talk over
what the fish has to say about the Injuns."
Joe walked down stream a few paces, and, dropping on his knees, crawled
carefully to the edge of the bank. He slightly parted the grass so he could
peep through, and found himself directly over a pool with a narrow shoal
running out from the opposite bank. The water was so clear he could see the
pebbly bottom in all parts, except a dark hole near a bend in the shore close
by. He did not see a living thing in the water, not a crawfish, turtle, nor
even a frog. He peered round closely, then flipped in one of the bugs he had
brought along. A shiny yellow fish flared up from the depths of the deep hole
and disappeared with the cricket; but it was a bass or a pike, not a trout.
Wetzel had said there were a few trout living near the cool springs of these
streams. The lad tried again to coax one to the surface. This time the more
fortunate cricket swam and hopped across the stream to safety.
When Joe's eyes were thoroughly accustomed to the clear water, with its
deceiving lights and shades, he saw a fish lying snug under the side of a
stone. The lad thought he recognized the snub-nose, the hooked, wolfish jaw,
but he could not get sufficient of a view to classify him. He crawled to a
more advantageous position farther down stream, and then he peered again
through the woods. Yes, sure enough, he had espied a trout. He well knew those
spotted silver sides, that broad, square tail. Such a monster! In his
admiration for the fellow, and his wish for a hook and line to try conclusions
with him, Joe momentarily forgot his object. Remembering, he tossed out a big,
fat cricket, which alighted on the water just above the fish. The trout never
moved, nor even blinked. The lad tried again, with no better success. The fish
would not rise. Thereupon Joe returned to the point where he had left WetzeL
"I couldn't see nothin' over there," said the hunter, who was waiting. "Did
you see any?'
"One, and a big fellow."
"Did he see you?"
"No."
"Did he rise to a bug?"
"No, he didn't; but then maybe he wasn't hungry" answered Joe, who could not
understand what Wetzel was driving at.
"Tell me exactly what he did."
"That's just the trouble; he didn't do anything," replied Joe, thoughtfully.
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"He just lay low, stifflike, under a stone. He never batted an eye. But his
side-fins quivered like an aspen leaf."
"Them side-fins tell us the story. Girty, an' his redskins hev took this
branch," said Wetzel, positively. "The other leads to the Huron towns.
Girty's got a place near the Delaware camp somewheres. I've tried to find it a
good many times. He's took more'n one white lass there, an' nobody ever seen
her agin."
"Fiend! To think of a white woman, maybe a girl like Nell Wells, at the
mercy of those red devils!"
"Young fellar, don't go wrong. I'll allow Injuns is bad enough; but I never
hearn tell of one abusin' a white woman, as mayhap you mean. Injuns marry
white women sometimes; kill an' scalp 'em often, but that's all. It's men of
our own color, renegades like this Girty, as do worse'n murder."
Here was the amazing circumstance of Lewis Wetzel, the acknowledged
unsatiable foe of all redmen, speaking a good word for his enemies. Joe was so
astonished he did not attempt to answer.
"Here's where they got in the canoe. One more look, an' then we're off,"
said Wetzel. He strode up and down the sandy beach; examined the willows, and
scrutinized the sand. Suddenly he bent over and picked up an object from the
water. His sharp eyes had caught the glint of something white, which, upon
being examined, proved to be a small ivory or bone buckle with a piece broken
out. He showed it to Joe.
"By heavens! Wetzel, that's a buckle off Nell Well's shoe. I've seen it too
many times to mistake it."
"I was afeared Girty hed your friends, the sisters, an' mebbe your brother,
too. Jack Zane said the renegade was hangin' round the village, an' that
couldn't be fer no good."
"Come on. Let's kill the fiend!" cried Joe, white to the lips.
"I calkilate they're about a mile down stream, makin' camp fer the night. I
know the place. There's a fine spring, an, look! D'ye see them crows flyin'
round thet big oak with the bleached top? Hear them cawin'? You might think
they was chasin' a hawk, or king-birds were arter 'em, but thet fuss they're
makin' is because they see Injuns."
"Well?" asked Joe, impatiently.
"It'll be moonlight a while arter midnight. Well lay low an' wait, an'
then -"
The sharp click of his teeth, like the snap of a steel trap, completed the
sentence. Joe said no more, but followed the hunter into the woods. Stopping
near a fallen tree, Wetzel raked up a bundle of leaves and spread them on the
ground. Then he cut a few spreading branches from a beech, and leaned them
against a log. Bidding the lad crawl in before he took one last look around
and then made his way under the shelter.
It was yet daylight, which seemed a strange time to creep into this little
nook; but, Joe thought, it was not to sleep, only to wait, wait, wait for the
long hours to pass. He was amazed once more, because, by the time twilight had
given place to darkness, Wetzel was asleep. The lad said then to himself that
he would never again be surprised at the hunter. He assumed once and for all
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