An hour of patient waiting, in which he never moved from his position, proved the wisdom of his judgment.  Suddenly, away at the other end of the grove, he caught a flash of brown, of a living, moving something, like the flitting of a bird behind a tree.  Was it a bird or a squirrel?  Then again he saw it, almost lost in the shade of the forest.  Several minutes passed, in which Wetzel never moved and hardly breathed.  The shadow had disappeared behind a tree.  He fixed his keen eyes on that tree and presently a dark object glided from it and darted stealthily forward to another tree.  One, two, three dark forms followed the first one.  They were Indian warriors, and they moved so quickly that only the eyes of a woodsman like Wetzel could have discerned their movements at that distance.

Probably most hunters would have taken to their heels while there was yet time.  The thought did not occur to Wetzel.  He slowly raised the hammer of his rifle.  As the Indians came into plain view he saw they did not suspect his presence, but were returning on the trail in their customary cautious manner.

When the first warrior reached a big oak tree some two hundred yards distant, the long, black barrel of the hunter’s rifle began slowly, almost imperceptibly, to rise, and as it reached a level the savage stepped forward from the tree.  With the sharp report of the weapon he staggered and fell.

Wetzel sprang up and knowing that his only escape was in rapid flight, with his well known yell, he bounded off at the top of his speed.  The remaining Indians discharged their guns at the fleeing, dodging figure, but without effect.  So rapidly did he dart in and out among the trees that an effectual aim was impossible.  Then, with loud yells, the Indians, drawing their tomahawks, started in pursuit, expecting soon to overtake their victim.

In the early years of his Indian hunting, Wetzel had perfected himself in a practice which had saved his life many tunes, and had added much to his fame.  He could reload his rifle while running at topmost speed.  His extraordinary fleetness enabled him to keep ahead of his pursuers until his rifle was reloaded.  This trick he now employed.  Keeping up his uneven pace until his gun was ready, he turned quickly and shot the nearest Indian dead in his tracks.  The next Indian had by this time nearly come up with him and close enough to throw his tomahawk, which whizzed dangerously near Wetzel’s head.  But he leaped forward again and soon his rifle was reloaded.  Every time he looked around the Indians treed, afraid to face his unerring weapon.  After running a mile or more in this manner, he reached an open space in the woods where he wheeled suddenly on his pursuers.  The foremost Indian jumped behind a tree, but, as it did not entirely screen his body, he, too, fell a victim to the hunter’s aim.  The Indian must have been desperately wounded, for his companion now abandoned the chase and went to his assistance.  Together they disappeared in the forest.