“I tried to think it was the wind soughing through the pines, but am afraid I didn’t succeed very well.  Anyhow, I knew Wetzel instantly, just as Jeff Lynn said I would.  He killed those Indians in an instant, and he must have an iron arm.”

“Wetzel excels in strength and speed any man, red or white, on the frontier.  He can run away from Jonathan, who is as swift as an Indian.  He’s stronger than any of the other men.  I remember one day old Hugh Bennet’s wagon wheels stuck in a bog down by the creek.  Hugh tried, as several others did, to move the wheels; but they couldn’t be made to budge.  Along came Wetzel, pushed away the men, and lifted the wagon unaided.  It would take hours to tell you about him.  In brief, among all the border scouts and hunters Wetzel stands alone.  No wonder the Indians fear him.  He is as swift as an eagle, strong as mountain-ash, keen as a fox, and absolutely tireless and implacable.”

“How long have you been here, Colonel Zane?”

“More than twelve years, and it has been one long fight.”

“I’m afraid I’m too late for the fun,” said Joe, with his quiet laugh.

“Not by about twelve more years,” answered Colonel Zane, studying the expression on Joe’s face.  “When I came out here years ago I had the same adventurous spirit which I see in you.  It has been considerably quelled, however.  I have seen many a daring young fellow get the border fever, and with it his death.  Let me advise you to learn the ways of the hunters; to watch some one skilled in woodcraft.  Perhaps Wetzel himself will take you in hand.  I don’t mind saying that he spoke of you to me in a tone I never heard Lew use before.”

“He did?” questioned Joe, eagerly, flushing with pleasure.  “Do you think he’d take me out?  Dare I ask him?”

“Don’t be impatient.  Perhaps I can arrange it.  Come over here now to Metzar’s place.  I want to make you acquainted with him.  These boys have all been cutting timber; they’ve just come in for dinner.  Be easy and quiet with them; then you’ll get on.”

Colonel Zane introduced Joe to five sturdy boys and left him in their company.  Joe sat down on a log outside a cabin and leisurely surveyed the young men.  They all looked about the same:  strong without being heavy, light-haired and bronze-faced.  In their turn they carefully judged Joe.  A newcomer from the East was always regarded with some doubt.  If they expected to hear Joe talk much they were mistaken.  He appeared good-natured, but not too friendly.

“Fine weather we’re havin’,” said Dick Metzar.

“Fine,” agreed Joe, laconically.

“Like frontier life?”

“Sure.”

A silence ensued after this breaking of the ice.  The boys were awaiting their turn at a little wooden bench upon which stood a bucket of water and a basin.

“Hear ye got ketched by some Shawnees?” remarked another youth, as he rolled up his shirt-sleeves.  They all looked at Joe now.  It was not improbably their estimate of him would be greatly influenced by the way he answered this question.