Colonel Zane stood in his doorway watching the river with eager eyes.  A few minutes before a man had appeared on the bank of the island and hailed.  The colonel had sent his brother Jonathan to learn what was wanted.  The latter had already reached the other shore in his flatboat, and presently the little boat put out again with the stranger seated at the stern.

“I thought, perhaps, it might be Wetzel,” mused the colonel, “though I never knew of Lew’s wanting a boat.”

Jonathan brought the man across the river, and up the winding path to where Colonel Zane was waiting.

“Hello!  It’s young Christy!” exclaimed the colonel, jumping off the steps, and cordially extending his hand.  “Glad to see you!  Where’s Williamson.  How did you happen over here?”

“Captain Williamson and his men will make the river eight or ten miles above,” answered Christy.  “I came across to inquire about the young people who left the Village of Peace.  Was glad to learn from Jonathan they got out all right.”

“Yes, indeed, we’re all glad.  Come and sit down.  Of course you’ll stay over night.  You look tired and worn.  Well, no wonder, when you saw that Moravian massacre.  You must tell me about it.  I saw Sam Brady yesterday, and he spoke of seeing you over there.  Sam told me a good deal.  Ah! here’s Jim now.”

The young missionary came out of the open door, and the two young men greeted each other warmly.

“How is she?” asked Christy, when the first greetings had been exchanged.

“Nell’s just beginning to get over the shock.  She’ll be glad to see you.”

“Jonathan tells me you got married just before Girty came up with you at Beautiful Spring.”

“Yes; it is true.  In fact, the whole wonderful story is true, yet I cannot believe as yet.  You look thin and haggard.  When we last met you were well.”

“That awful time pulled me down.  I was an unwilling spectator of all that horrible massacre, and shall never get over it.  I can still see the fiendish savages running about with the reeking scalps of their own people.  I actually counted the bodies of forty-nine grown Christians and twenty-seven children.  An hour after you left us the church was in ashes, and the next day I saw the burned bodies.  Oh! the sickening horror of the scene!  It haunts me!  That monster Jim Girty killed fourteen Christians with his sledge-hammer.”

“Did you hear of his death?” asked Colonel Zane.

“Yes, and a fitting end it was to the frontier ’Skull and Cross-bones’.”

“It was like Wetzel to think of such a vengeance.”

“Has Wetzel come in since?”

“No.  Jonathan says he went after Wingenund, and there’s no telling when he’ll return.”

“I hoped he would spare the Delaware.”

“Wetzel spare an Indian!”

“But the chief was a friend.  He surely saved the girl.”

“I am sorry, too, because Wingenund was a fine Indian.  But Wetzel is implacable.”