Wetzel reclined there with his head against the stone, and his rifle resting across his knees.

He listened now to the sounds of the forest.  The soft breeze fluttering among the leaves, the rain-call of the tree frog, the caw of crows from distant hilltops, the sweet songs of the thrush and oriole, were blended together naturally, harmoniously.

But suddenly the hunter raised his head.  A note, deeper than the others, a little too strong, came from far down the shaded hollow.  To Wetzel’s trained ear it was a discord.  He manifested no more than this attention, for the birdcall was the signal he had been awaiting.  He whistled a note in answer that was as deep and clear as the one which had roused him.

Moments passed.  There was no repetition of the sound.  The songs of the other birds had ceased.  Besides Wetzel there was another intruder in the woods.

Mose lifted his shaggy head and growled.  The hunter patted the dog.  In a few minutes the figure of a tall man appeared among the laurels down the slope.  He stopped while gazing up at the ledge.  Then, with noiseless step, he ascended the ridge, climbed the rocky ledge, and turned the corner of the stone to face Wetzel.  The newcomer was Jonathan Zane.

“Jack, I expected you afore this,” was Wetzel’s greeting.

“I couldn’t make it sooner,” answered Zane.  “After we left Williamson and separated, I got turned around by a band of several hundred redskins makin’ for the Village of Peace.  I went back again, but couldn’t find any sign of the trail we’re huntin’.  Then I makes for this meetin’ place.  I’ve been goin’ for some ten hours, and am hungry.”

“I’ve got some bar ready cooked,” said Wetzel, handing Zane several strips of meat.

“What luck did you have?”

“I found Girty’s trail, an old one, over here some eighteen or twenty miles, an’ follered it until I went almost into the Delaware town.  It led to a hut in a deep ravine.  I ain’t often surprised, but I wus then.  I found the dead body of that girl, Kate Wells, we fetched over from Fort Henry.  Thet’s sad, but it ain’t the surprisin’ part.  I also found Silvertip, the Shawnee I’ve been lookin’ fer.  He was all knocked an’ cut up, deader’n a stone.  There’d been somethin’ of a scrap in the hut.  I calkilate Girty murdered Kate, but I couldn’t think then who did fer Silver, though I allowed the renegade might hev done thet, too.  I watched round an’ seen Girty come back to the hut.  He had ten Injuns with him, an’ presently they all made fer the west.  I trailed them, but didn’t calkilate it’d be wise to tackle the bunch single-handed, so laid back.  A mile or so from the hut I came across hoss tracks minglin’ with the moccasin-prints.  About fifteen mile or from the Delaware town, Girty left his buckskins, an’ they went west, while he stuck to the hoss tracks.  I was onto his game in a minute.  I cut across country fer Beautiful Spring, but I got there too late.  I found the warm bodies of Joe and thet Injun girl, Winds.  The snake hed murdered them.”