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way through the thicket； carefully； yet swiftly； because he knew there was no
time to lose。 Finally the rear of the cabin stood in front of him。
It was made of logs； rudely hewn； and as rudely thrown together。 In several
places clay had fallen from chinks between the timbers； leaving small holes。
Like a snake Joe slipped close to the hut。 Raising his head he looked through
one of the cracks。
Instantly he shrank back into the grass； shivering with horror。 He almost
choked in his attempt to prevent an outcry。
Chapter XVIII。
The sight which Joe had seen horrified him； for several moments； into helpless
inaction。 He lay breathing heavily； impotent； in an awful rage。 As he
remained there stunned by the shock； he gazed up through the open space in the
leaves； trying to still his fury； to realize the situation； to make no hasty
move。 The soft blue of the sky； the fleecy clouds drifting eastward； the
fluttering leaves and the twittering birdsall assured him he was wide awake。
He had found Girty's den where so many white women had been hidden； to see
friends and home no more。 He had seen the renegade sleeping； calmly sleeping
like any other man。 How could the wretch sleep！ He had seen Kate。 It had been
the sight of her that had paralyzed him。 To make a certainty of his fears； he
again raised himself to peep into the hole。 As he did so a faint cry came from
within。
Girty lay on a buffalo robe near a barred door。 Beyond him sat Kate； huddled
in one corner of the cabin。 A long buckskin thong was knotted round her waist；
and tied to a log。 Her hair was matted and tangled； and on her face and arms
were many discolored bruises。 Worse still； in her plaintive moaning； in the
meaningless movement of her head； in her vacant expression； was proof that her
mind had gone。 She was mad。 Even as an agonizing pity came over Joe； to be
followed by the surging fire of rage； blazing up in his breast； he could not
but thank God that she was mad！ It was merciful that Kate was no longer
conscious of her suffering。
Like leaves in a storm wavered Joe's hands as he clenched them until the nails
brought blood。 〃Be calm； be cool；〃 whispered his monitor； Wetzel； ever with
him in spirit。 But God！ Could he be cool？ Bounding with lion…spring he hurled
his heavy frame against the door。
Crash！ The door was burst from its fastenings。
Girty leaped up with startled yell； drawing his knife as he rose。 It had not
time to descend before Joe's second spring； more fierce even than the other；
carried him directly on top of the renegade。 As the two went down Joe caught
the villain's wrist with a grip that literally cracked the bones。 The knife
fell and rolled away from the struggling men。 For an instant they tumbled
about on the floor； clasped in a crushing embrace。 The renegade was strong；
supple； slippery as an eel。 Twice he wriggled from his foe。 Gnashing his
teeth； he fought like a hyena。 He was fighting for lifelife； which is never
so dear as to a coward and a murderer。 Doom glared from Joe's big eyes； and
scream after scream issued from the renegade's white lips。
Terrible was this struggle； but brief。 Joe seemingly had the strength of ten
men。 Twice he pulled Girty down as a wolf drags a deer。 He dashed him against
the wall； throwing him nearing and nearer the knife。 Once within reach of the
blade Joe struck the renegade a severe blow on the temple and the villain's
wrestling became weaker。 Planting his heavy knee on Girty's breast； Joe
reached for the knife； and swung it high。 Exultantly he cried； mad with lust
for the brute's blood。
But the slight delay saved Girty's life。
The knife was knocked from Joe's hand and he leaped erect to find himself
confronted by Silvertip。 The chief held a tomahawk with which he had struck
the weapon from the young man's grasp； and； to judge from his burning eyes and
malignant smile； he meant to brain the now defenseless paleface。
In a single fleeting instant Joe saw that Girty was helpless for the moment；
that Silvertip was confident of his revenge； and that the situation called for
Wetzel's characteristic advice； 〃act like lightnin'。〃
Swifter than the thought was the leap he made past Silvertip。 It carried him
to a wooden bar which lay on the floor。 Escape was easy； for the door was
before him and the Shawnee behind； but Joe did not flee！ He seized the bar and
rushed at the Indian。 Then began a duel in which the savage's quickness and
cunning matched the white man's strength and fury。 Silvertip dodged the
vicious swings Joe aimed at him； he parried many blows； any one of which would
have crushed his skull。 Nimble as a cat； he avoided every rush； while his dark
eyes watched for an opening。 He fought wholly on the defensive； craftily
reserving his strength until his opponent should tire。
At last； catching the bar on his hatchet； he broke the force of the blow； and
then； with agile movement； dropped to the ground and grappled Joe's legs。 Long
before this he had drawn his knife； and now he used it； plunging the blade
into the young man's side。
Cunning and successful as was the savage's ruse； it failed signally； for to
get hold of the Shawnee was all Joe wanted。 Feeling the sharp pain as they
fell together； he reached his hand behind him and caught Silvertip's wrist。
Exerting all his power； he wrenched the Indian's arm so that it was not only
dislocated； but the bones cracked。
Silvertip saw his fatal mistake； but he uttered no sound。 Crippled； though he
was； he yet made a supreme effort； but it was as if he had been in the hands
of a giant。 The lad handled him with remorseless and resistless fury。 Suddenly
he grasped the knife； which Silvertip had been unable to hold with his
crippled hand； and thrust it deeply into the Indian's side。
All Silvertip's muscles relaxed as if a strong tension had been removed。
Slowly his legs straightened； his arms dropped； and from his side gushed a
dark flood。 A shadow crept over his face； not dark nor white； but just a
shadow。 His eyes lost their hate； they no longer saw the foe； they looked
beyond with gloomy question； and then were fixed cold in death。 Silvertip died
as he had liveda chief。
Joe glared round for Girty。 He was gone； having slipped away during the fight。
The lad turned to release the poor prisoner； when he started back with a cry
of fear。 Kate lay bathed in a pool of blooddead。 The renegade； fearing she
might be rescued； had murdered her； and then fled from the cabin。
Almost blinded by horror； and staggering with weakness； Joe turned to leave
the cabin。 Realizing that he was seriously； perhaps dangerously； wounded he
wisely thought he must not leave the place without weapons。 He had marked the
pegs where the renegade's rifle hung； and had been careful to keep between
that and his enemies。 He took down the gun and horns； which were attached to
it； and； with one last shuddering glance at poor Kate； left the place。
He was conscious of a queer lightness in his head； but he suffered no pain。
His garments were dripping with blood。 He did not know how much of it was his；
or the Indian's。 Instinct rather than sight was his guide。 He grew weaker and
weaker； his head began to whirl； yet he kept on； knowing that life and freedom
were his if he found Whispering Winds。 He gained the top of the ridge； his
eyes were blurred； his strength gone。 He called aloud； and then plunged
forward on his face。 He heard dimly； as though the sound were afar off； the
whine of a dog。 He felt something soft and wet on his face。 Then consciousness
left him。
When he regained his senses he was lying on a bed of ferns under a projecting
rock。 He heard the gurgle of running water mingling with the song of birds。
Near him lay Mose； and beyond rose a wall of green thicket。 Neither Whispering
Winds nor his horse was visible。
He felt a dreamy lassitude。 He was tired； but had no pain。 Finding he could
move without difficulty； he concluded his weakness was more from loss of blood
than a dangerous wound。 He put his hand on the place where he had been
stabbed； and felt a soft； warm compress such as might have been made by a
bunch of wet leaves。 Some one had unlaced his hunting…shirtfor he saw the
strings were not as he usually tied themand had dressed the wound。 Joe
decided； after some deliberation； that Whispering Winds had found him； made
him as comfortable as possible； and； leaving Mose on guard； had gone out to
hunt for food； or perhaps back to the Indian encampment。 The rifle and horns
he had taken from Girty's hut； together with Silvertip's knife； lay beside
him。
As Joe lay there hoping for Whispering Winds' return； his reflections were not
pleasant。 Fortunate； indeed； he was to be alive； but he had no hope he could
continue to be favored by fortune。 Odds were now against his escape。 Girty
would have the Delawares on his trail like a pack of hungry wolves。 He could