and had offered him work and a home; and, also, the hunter remembered the warm light he had seen in Nell’s hazel eyes.  Musing thus, the man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent that it was unfamiliar.  The Avenger forgot, for a moment his brooding plans.  He felt strangely softened.  When he laid his head on the rude pillow it was with some sense of gladness that, although he had always desired a lonely life, and wanted to pass it in the fulfillment of his vow, his loneliness was now shared by a lad who loved him.

Joe was awakened by the merry chirp of a chipmunk that every morning ran along the seamy side of the opposite wall of the gorge.  Getting up, he went to the back of the cave, where he found Wetzel combing out his long hair.  The lad thrust his hands into the cold pool, and bathed his face.  The water was icy cold, and sent an invigorating thrill through him.  Then he laughed as he took a rude comb Wetzel handed to him.

“My scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous, is it?” said he, eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell over the hunter’s shoulders.

“It’ll grow,” answered Wetzel.

Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair, nor did he misunderstand the hunter’s simple pride.  Wetzel was very careful of his rifle, he was neat and clean about his person, he brushed his buckskin costume, he polished his knife and tomahawk; but his hair received more attention than all else.  It required much care.  When combed out it reached fully to his knees.  Joe had seen him, after he returned from a long hunt, work patiently for an hour with his wooden comb, and not stop until every little burr was gone, or tangle smoothed out.  Then he would comb it again in the morning—­this, of course, when time permitted—­and twist and tie it up so as to offer small resistance to his slipping through the underbush.  Joe knew the hunter’s simplicity was such, that if he cut off his hair it would seem he feared the Indians—­for that streaming black hair the Indians had long coveted and sworn to take.  It would make any brave a famous chief, and was the theme of many a savage war tale.

After breakfast Wetzel said to Joe: 

“You stay here, an’ I’ll look round some; mebbe I’ll come back soon, and we’ll go out an’ kill a buffalo.  Injuns sometimes foller up a buffalo trail, an’ I want to be sure none of the varlets are chasin’ that herd we saw to-day.”

Wetzel left the cave by the rear.  It took him fifteen minutes to crawl to the head of the tortuous, stony passage.  Lifting the stone which closed up the aperture, he looked out and listened.  Then, rising, he replaced the stone, and passed down the wooded hillside.