“Yes; was captive for three days.”

“Did ye knock any redskins over?” This question was artfully put to draw Joe out.  Above all things, the bordermen detested boastfulness; tried on Joe the ruse failed signally.

“I was scared speechless most of the time,” answered Joe, with his pleasant smile.

“By gosh, I don’t blame ye!” burst out Will Metzar.  “I hed that experience onct, an’ onct’s enough.”

The boys laughed and looked in a more friendly manner at Joe.  Though he said he had been frightened, his cool and careless manner belied his words.  In Joe’s low voice and clear, gray eye there was something potent and magnetic, which subtly influenced those with whom he came in contact.

While his new friends were at dinner Joe strolled over to where Colonel Zane sat on the doorstep of his home.

“How did you get on with the boys?” inquired the colonel.

“All right, I hope.  Say, Colonel Zane, I’d like to talk to your Indian guide.”

Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide, who left his post and came over to them.  The colonel then had a short conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointed toward Joe.

“How do—­shake,” said Tome, extending his hand.

Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure.

“Shawnee—­ketch’um?” asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligible English.

Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee, explaining the cause of Silvertip’s emnity.

“Shawnee—­chief—­one—­bad—­Injun,” replied Tome, seriously.  “Silvertip—­mad—­thunder-mad.  Ketch’um paleface—­scalp’um sure.”

After giving this warning the chief returned to his former position near the corner of the cabin.

“He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawnee brave who talked with me the other day,” observed Joe.

“Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently,” said Colonel Zane.  “You could hardly have distinguished Logan’s speech from a white man’s.  Corn-planter uses good English, as also does my brother’s wife, a Wyandot girl.”

“Did your brother marry an Indian?” and Joe plainly showed his surprise.

“Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is.  I’ll tell you Isaac’s story some time.  He was a captive among the Wyandots for ten years.  The chief’s daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from being tortured, and finally saved him from the stake.”

“Well, that floors me,” said Joe; “yet I don’t see why it should.  I’m just surprised.  Where is your brother now?”

“He lives with the tribe.  He and Myeerah are working hard for peace.  We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, or Hurons, as we call them, than ever before.”

“Who is this big man coming from the the fort?” asked Joe, suddenly observing a stalwart frontiersman approaching.