“It was over on the Muskingong near the mouth of the Sandusky.  I was hunting in the open woods along the bank when I saw an Indian.  He saw me at the same time and we both treed.  There we stood a long time each afraid to change position.  Finally I began to act tired and resorted to an old ruse.  I put my coon-skin cap on my ramrod and cautiously poked it from behind the tree, expecting every second to hear the whistle of the redskin’s bullet.  Instead I heard a jolly voice yell:  ’Hey, young feller, you’ll have to try something better’n that.’  I looked and saw a white man standing out in the open and shaking all over with laughter.  I went up to him and found him to be a big strong fellow with an honest, merry face.  He said:  ‘I’m Boone.’  I was considerably taken aback, especially when I saw he knew I was a white man all the time.  We camped and hunted along the river a week and at the Falls of the Muskingong he struck out for his Kentucky home.”

“Here is Wetzel,” said Col.  Zane, who had risen and gone to the door.  “Now, Betty, try and get Lew to tell us something.”

“Come, Lewis, here is a seat by me,” said Betty.  “We have been pleasantly passing the time.  We have had bear stories, snake stories, ghost stories—­all kinds of tales.  Will you tell us one?”

“Lewis, did you ever have a chance to kill a hostile Indian and not take it?” asked Col.  Zane.

“Never but once,” answered Lewis.

“Tell us about it.  I imagine it will be interesting.”

“Well, I ain’t good at tellin’ things,” began Lewis.  “I reckon I’ve seen some strange sights.  I kin tell you about the only redskin I ever let off.  Three years ago I was takin’ a fall hunt over on the Big Sandy, and I run into a party of Shawnees.  I plugged a chief and started to run.  There was some good runners and I couldn’t shake ’em in the open country.  Comin’ to the Ohio I jumped in and swum across, keepin’ my rifle and powder dry by holdin’ ’em up.  I hid in some bulrushes and waited.  Pretty soon along comes three Injuns, and when they saw where I had taken to the water they stopped and held a short pow-wow.  Then they all took to the water.  This was what I was waitin’ for.  When they got nearly acrosst I shot the first redskin, and loadin’ quick got a bullet into the others.  The last Injun did not sink.  I watched him go floatin’ down stream expectin’ every minute to see him go under as he was hurt so bad he could hardly keep his head above water.  He floated down a long ways and the current carried him to a pile of driftwood which had lodged against a little island.  I saw the Injun crawl up on the drift.  I went down stream and by keepin’ the island between me and him I got out to where he was.  I pulled my tomahawk and went around the head of the island and found the redskin leanin’ against a big log.  He was a young brave and a fine lookin strong feller.  He was tryin’ to stop the blood from my bullet-hole in his side.  When he saw me he tried to get up,