It was indeed true that Young had faced the Indians.  Half King addressed him as he had the other; but Young raised his hand and began speaking.

“Crack!”

Another shot rang out.  Young threw up his hands and fell heavily.  The missionaries rushed toward him.  Mr. Wells ran round the group, wringing his hands as if distracted.

“He’s hard hit,” hissed Zane, between his teeth.  “You can tell that by the way he fell.”

Wetzel did not answer.  He lay silent and motionless, his long body rigid, and his face like marble.

“There comes the other young fellar—­Joe’s brother.  He’ll get plugged, too,” continued Zane, whispering rather to himself than to his companion.  “Oh, I hoped they’d show some sense!  It’s noble for them to die for Christianity, but it won’t do no good.  By gum!  Heckewelder has pulled him back.  Now, that’s good judgment!”

Half King stepped before the Christians and addressed them.  He held in his hand a black war-club, which he wielded as he spoke.

Jonathan’s attention was now directed from the maple grove to the hunter beside him.  He had heard a slight metallic click, as Wetzel cocked his rifle.  Then he saw the black barrel slowly rise.

“Listen, Lew.  Mebbe it ain’t good sense.  We’re after Girty, you remember; and it’s a long shot from here—­full three hundred yards.”

“You’re right, Jack, you’re right,” answered Wetzel, breathing hard.

“Let’s wait, and see what comes off.”

“Jack, I can’t do it.  It’ll make our job harder; but I can’t help it.  I can put a bullet just over the Huron’s left eye, an’ I’m goin’ to do it.”

“You can’t do it, Lew; you can’t!  It’s too far for any gun.  Wait!  Wait!” whispered Jonathan, laying his hand on Wetzel’s shoulder.

“Wait?  Man, can’t you see what the unnamable villain is doin’?”

“What?” asked Zane, turning his eyes again to the glade.

The converted Indians sat with bowed heads.  Half King raised his war-club, and threw it on the ground in front of them.

“He’s announcin’ the death decree!” hissed Wetzel.

“Well! if he ain’t!”

Jonathan looked at Wetzel’s face.  Then he rose to his knees, as had Wetzel, and tightened his belt.  He knew that in another instant they would be speeding away through the forest.

“Lew, my rifle’s no good fer that distance.  But mebbe yours is.  You ought to know.  It’s not sense, because there’s Simon Girty, and there’s Jim, the men we’re after.  If you can hit one, you can another.  But go ahead, Lew.  Plug that cowardly redskin!”

Wetzel knelt on one knee, and thrust the black rifle forward through the fern leaves.  Slowly the fatal barrel rose to a level, and became as motionless as the immovable stones.

Jonathan fixed his keen gaze on the haughty countenance of Half King as he stood with folded arms and scornful mien in front of the Christians he had just condemned.