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It flashed into Joe's mind that other savages were in the forest； they had run
across the Shawnees' trail； and were thus communicating with them。 Soon dark
figures could be discerned against the patches of green thicket； they came
nearer and nearer； and now entered the open glade where Silvertip stood with
his warriors。
Joe counted twelve； and noted that they differed from his captors。 He had only
time to see that this difference consisted in the head…dress； and in the color
and quantity of paint on their bodies； when his gaze was attracted and riveted
to the foremost figures。
The first was that of a very tall and stately chief； toward whom Silvertip now
advanced with every show of respect。 In this Indian's commanding stature； in
his reddish…bronze face； stern and powerful； there were readable the
characteristics of a king。 In his deep…set eyes； gleaming from under a
ponderous brow； in his mastiff…like jaw； in every feature of his haughty face
were visible all the high intelligence； the consciousness of past valor； and
the power and authority that denote a great chieftain。
The second figure was equally striking for the remarkable contrast it afforded
to the chief's。 Despite the gaudy garments； the paint； the fringed and beaded
buckskin legginsall the Indian accouterments and garments which bedecked
this person； he would have been known anywhere as a white man。 His skin was
burned to a dark bronze； but it had not the red tinge which characterizes the
Indian。 This white man had； indeed； a strange physiognomy。 The forehead was
narrow and sloped backward from the brow； denoting animal instincts。 The eyes
were close together； yellowish…brown in color； and had a peculiar vibrating
movement； as though they were hung on a pivot； like a compass…needle。 The nose
was long and hooked； and the mouth set in a thin； cruel line。 There was in the
man's aspect an extraordinary combination of ignorance； vanity； cunning and
ferocity。
While the two chiefs held a short consultation； this savage…appearing white
man addressed the brothers。
〃Who're you； an' where you goin'？〃 he asked gruffly； confronting Jim。
〃My name is Downs。 I am a preacher； and was on my way to the Moravian Mission
to preach to the Indians。 You are a white man； will you help us？〃
If Jim expected the information would please his interrogator； he was
mistaken。
〃So you're one of 'em？ Yes； I'll do suthin' fer you when I git back from this
hunt。 I'll cut your heart out； chop it up； an' feed it to the buzzards；〃 he
said fiercely； concluding his threat by striking Jim a cruel blow on the head。
Joe paled deathly white at this cowardly action； and his eyes； as they met the
gaze of the ruffian； contracted with their characteristic steely glow； as if
some powerful force within the depths of his being were at white heat and only
this pale flash came to the surface。
〃You ain't a preacher？〃 questioned the man； meeting something in Joe's glance
that had been absent from Jim's。
Joe made no answer； and regarded questioner steadily。
〃Ever see me afore？ Ever hear of Jim Girty？〃 he asked boastfully。
〃Before you spoke I knew you were Girty；〃 answered Joe quietly。
〃How d'you know？ Ain't you afeared？〃
〃Of what？〃
〃Meme？〃
Joe laughed in the renegades face。
〃How'd you knew me？〃 growled Girty。 〃I'll see thet you hev cause to remember
me after this。〃
〃I figured there was only one so…called white man in these woods who is coward
enough to strike a man whose hands are tied。〃
〃Boy； ye're too free with your tongue。 I'll shet off your wind。〃 Girty's hand
was raised； but it never reached Joe's neck。
The big Indian had an hour or more previous cut Joe's bonds； but he still
retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's left wrist。 This allowed
the young man free use of his right arm； which； badly swollen or not； he
brought into quick action。
When the renegade reached toward him Joe knocked up the hand； and； instead of
striking； he grasped the hooked nose with all the powerful grip of his
fingers。 Girty uttered a frightful curse； he writhed with pain； but could not
free himself from the vise…like clutch。 He drew his tomahawk and with a scream
aimed a vicious blow at Joe。 He missed his aim； however； for Silvertip had
intervened and turned the course of the keen hatchet。 But the weapon struck
Joe a glancing blow； inflicting a painful； though not dangerous wound。
The renegade's nose was skinned and bleeding profusely。 He was frantic with
fury； and tried to get at Joe； but Silvertip remained in front of his captive
until some of the braves led Girty into the forest； where the tall chief had
already disappeared。
The nose…pulling incident added to the gayety of the Shawnees； who evidently
were pleased with Girty's discomfiture。 They jabbered among themselves and
nodded approvingly at Joe； until a few words spoken by Silvertip produced a
sudden change。
What the words were Joe could not understand； but to him they sounded like
French。 He smiled at the absurdity of imagining he had heard a savage speak a
foreign language。 At any rate； whatever had been said was trenchant with
meaning。 The Indians changed from gay to grave； they picked up their weapons
and looked keenly on every side； the big Indian at once retied Joe； and then
all crowded round the chief。
〃Did you hear what Silvertip said； and did you notice the effect it had？〃
whispered Jim； taking advantage； of the moment。
〃It sounded like French； but of course it wasn't；〃 replied Joe。
〃It was French。 'Le Vent de la Mort。'〃
〃By Jove； that's it。 What does it mean？〃 asked Joe； who was not a scholar。
〃The Wind of Death。〃
〃That's English； but I can't apply it here。 Can you？〃
〃No doubt it is some Indian omen。〃
The hurried consultation over； Silvertip tied Joe's horse and dog to the
trees； and once more led the way； this time he avoided the open forest and
kept on low ground。 For a long time he traveled in the bed of the brook；
wading when the water was shallow； and always stepping where there was the
least possibility of leaving a footprint。 Not a word was spoken。 If either of
the brothers made the lightest splash in the water； or tumbled a stone into
the brook； the Indian behind rapped him on the head with a tomahawk handle。
At certain places； indicated by the care which Silvertip exercised in walking；
the Indian in front of the captives turned and pointed where they were to
step。 They were hiding the trail。 Silvertip hurried them over the stony
places； went more slowly through the water； and picked his way carefully over
the soft ground it became necessary to cross。 At times he stopped； remaining
motionless many seconds。
This vigilance continued all the afternoon。 The sun sank； twilight spread its
gray mantle； and soon black night enveloped the forest。 The Indians halted；
but made no fire； they sat close together on a stony ridge； silent and
watchful。
Joe pondered deeply over this behavior。 Did the Shawnees fear pursuit？ What
had that Indian chief told Silvertip？ To Joe it seemed that they acted as if
believing foes were on all sides。 Though they hid their tracks； it was；
apparently； not the fear of pursuit alone which made them cautious。
Joe reviewed the afternoon's march and dwelt upon the possible meaning of the
cat…like steps； the careful brushing aside of branches； the roving eyes；
suspicious and gloomy； the eager watchfulness of the advance as well as to the
ear； and always the strained effort to listen； all of which gave him the
impression of some grave； unseen danger。
And now as he lay on the hard ground； nearly exhausted by the long march and
suffering from the throbbing wound； his courage lessened somewhat； and he
shivered with dread。 The quiet and gloom of the forest； these fierce； wild
creatures； free in the heart of their own wilderness yet menaced by a foe； and
that strange French phrase which kept recurring in his mindall had the
effect of conjuring up giant shadows in Joe's fanciful mind。 During all his
life； until this moment； he had never feared anything； now he was afraid of
the darkness。 The spectral trees spread long arms overhead； and phantom forms
stalked abroad； somewhere out in that dense gloom stirred this mysterious
foethe 〃Wind of Death。〃
Nevertheless； he finally slept。 In the dull…gray light of early morning the
Indians once more took up the line of march toward the west。 They marched all
that day； and at dark halted to eat and rest。 Silvertip and another Indian
stood watch。
Some time before morning Joe suddenly awoke。 The night was dark； yet it was
lighter than when he had fallen asleep。 A pale； crescent moon shown dimly
through the murky clouds。 There was neither movement of the air nor the chirp
of an insect。 Absolute silence prevailed。
Joe saw the Indian guard leaning against a tree； asl