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town. I have been to Fort Henry, where my brother told me of you and the
missionaries. When I arrived here I heard your story from Simon Girty. If you
can, you must get away from here. If I dared I'd take you to the Huron
village, but it's impossible. Go, while you have a chance."
"Zane, I thank you. I've suspected something was wrong. What is it?"
"Couldn't be worse," whispered Zane, glancing round to see if they were
overheard. "Girty and Elliott, backed by this Deering, are growing jealous of
the influence of Christianity on the Indians. They are plotting against the
Village of Peace. Tarhe, the Huron chief, has been approached, and asked to
join in a concerted movement against religion. Seemingly it is not so much the
missionaries as the converted Indians, that the renegades are fuming over.
They know if the Christian savages are killed, the strength of the
missionaries' hold will be forever broken. Pipe is wild for blood. These
renegades are slowly poisoning the minds of the few chiefs who are favorably
disposed. The outlook is bad! bad!"
"What can I do?"
"Cut out for yourself. Get away, if you can, with a gun. Take the creek
below, follow the current down to the Ohio, and then make east for Fort Henry.
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"But I want to rescue the white girl Jim Girty has concealed here
somewhere."
"Impossible! Don't attempt it unless you want to throw your life away.
Buzzard Jim, as we call Girty, is a butcher; he has probably murdered the
girl."
"I won't leave without trying. And there's my wife, the Indian girl who
saved me. Zane, she's a Christian. She wants to go with me. I can't leave
her."
"I am warning you, that's all. If I were you I'd never leave without a try
to find the white girl, and I'd never forsake my Indian bride. I've been
through the same thing. You must be a good woodsman, or Wetzel wouldn't have
let you stay with him. Pick out a favorable time and make the attempt. I
suggest you make your Indian girl show you where Girty is. She knows, but is
afraid to tell you, for she fears Girty. Get your dog and horse from the
Shawnee. That's a fine horse. He can carry you both to safety. Take him away
from Silvertip."
"How?"
"Go right up and demand your horse and dog. Most of these Delawares are
honest, for all their blood-shedding and cruelty. With them might is right.
The Delawares won't try to get your horse for you; but they'll stick to you
when you assert your rights. They don't like the Shawnee, anyhow. If Silvertip
refuses to give you the horse, grab him before he can draw a weapon, and beat
him good. You're big enough to do it. The Delawares will be tickled to see you
pound him. He's thick with Girty; that's why he lays round here. Take my word,
it's the best way. Do it openly, and no one will interfere."
"By Heavens, Zane, I'll give him a drubbing. I owe him one, and am itching
to get hold of him."
"I must go now. I shall send a Wyandot runner to your brother at the
village. They shall be warned. Good-by. Good luck. May we meet again."
Joe watched Zane ride swiftly down the land and disappear in the shrubbery.
Whispering Winds came to the door of the lodge. She looked anxiously at him.
He went within, drawing her along with him, and quickly informed her that he
had learned the cause of the council, that he had resolved to get away, and
she must find out Girty's hiding place. Whispering Winds threw herself into
his arms, declaring with an energy and passion unusual to her, that she would
risk anything for him. She informed Joe that she knew the direction from which
Girty always returned to the village. No doubt she could find his retreat.
With a cunning that showed her Indian nature, she suggested a plan which Joe
at once saw was excellent. After Joe got his horse, she would ride around the
village, then off into the woods, where she could leave the horse and return
to say he had run away from her. As was their custom during afternoons, they
would walk leisurely along the brook, and, trusting to the excitement created
by the councils, get away unobserved. Find the horse, if possible rescue the
prisoner, and then travel east with all speed.
Joe left the lodge at once to begin the working out of the plan. Luck
favored him at the outset, for he met Silvertip before the council lodge. The
Shawnee was leading Lance, and the dog followed at his heels. The spirit of
Mose had been broken. Poor dog, Joe thought, he had been beaten until he was
afraid to wag his tail at his old master. Joe's resentment blazed into fury,
but he kept cool outwardly.
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Right before a crowd of Indians waiting for the council to begin, Joe
planted himself in front of the Shawnee, barring his way.
"Silvertip has the paleface's horse and dog," said Joe, in a loud voice.
The chief stared haughtily while the other Indians sauntered nearer. They
all knew how the Shawnee had got the animals, and now awaited the outcome of
the white man's challenge.
"Paleface heap liar," growled the Indian. His dark eyes glowed craftily,
while his hand dropped, apparently in careless habit, to the haft of his
tomahawk.
Joe swung his long arm; his big fist caught the Shawnee on the jaw, sending
him to the ground. Uttering a frightful yell, Silvertip drew his weapon and
attempted to rise, but the moment's delay in seizing the hatchet, was fatal to
his design. Joe was upon him with tigerlike suddenness. One kick sent the
tomahawk spinning, another landed the Shawnee again on the ground. Blind with
rage, Silvertip leaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but
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