Williamson made no answer, the men who had crowded round were equally silent.  Not one lowered his head.  Many looked at the impassioned missionary; others gazed at the savages who were circling around the trees brandishing their weapons.  If any pitied the unfortunate Christians, none showed it.  They were indifferent, with the indifference of men hardened to cruel scenes.

Jim understood, at last, as he turned from face to face to find everywhere that same imperturbability.  These bordermen were like Wetzel and Jonathan Zane.  The only good Indian was a dead Indian.  Years of war and bloodshed, of merciless cruelty at the hands of redmen, of the hard, border life had rendered these frontiersmen incapable of compassion for any savage.

Jim no longer restrained himself.

“Bordermen you may be, but from my standpoint, from any man’s, from God’s, you are a lot of coldly indifferent cowards!” exclaimed Jim, with white, quivering lips.  “I understand now.  Few of you will risk anything for Indians.  You will not believe a savage can be a Christian.  You don’t care if they are all murdered.  Any man among you—­any man, I say—­would step out before those howling fiends and boldly demand that there be no bloodshed.  A courageous leader with a band of determined followers could avert this tragedy.  You might readily intimidate yonder horde of drunken demons.  Captain Williamson, I am only a minister, far removed from a man of war and leader, as you claim to be, but, sir, I curse you as a miserable coward.  If I ever get back to civilization I’ll brand this inhuman coldness of yours, as the most infamous and dastardly cowardice that ever disgraced a white man.  You are worse than Girty!”

Williamson turned a sickly yellow; he fumbled a second with the handle of his tomahawk, but made no answer.  The other bordermen maintained the same careless composure.  What to them was the raving of a mad preacher?

Jim saw it and turned baffled, fiercely angry, and hopeless.  As he walked away Jeff Lynn took his arm, and after they were clear of the crowd of frontiersmen he said: 

“Young feller, you give him pepper, an’ no mistake.  An’ mebbe you’re right from your side the fence.  But you can’t see the Injuns from our side.  We hunters hevn’t much humanity—­I reckon that’s what you called it—­but we’ve lost so many friends an’ relatives, an’ hearn of so many murders by the reddys that we look on all of ’em as wild varmints that should be killed on sight.  Now, mebbe it’ll interest you to know I was the feller who took the vote Williamson told you about, an’ I did it ‘cause I had an interest in you.  I wus watchin’ you when Edwards and the other missionary got shot.  I like grit in a man, an’ I seen you had it clear through.  So when Heckewelder comes over I talked to the fellers, an’ all I could git interested was eighteen, but they wanted to fight simply fer fightin’ sake.  Now, ole Jeff Lynn is your friend.  You just lay low until this is over.”