you to me in a tone I never heard Lew
use before."
"He did?" questioned Joe, eagerly, flushing with pleasure. "Do you
think he'd take me out? Dare I ask him?"
"Don't be impatient. Perhaps I can arrange it. Come over here now to
Metzar's place. I want to make you acquainted with him. These boys
have all been cutting timber; they've just come in for dinner. Be
easy and quiet with them; then you'll get on."
Colonel Zane introduced Joe to five sturdy boys and left him in
their company. Joe sat down on a log outside a cabin and leisurely
surveyed the young men. They all looked about the same: strong
without being heavy, light-haired and bronze-faced. In their turn
they carefully judged Joe. A newcomer from the East was always
regarded with some doubt. If they expected to hear Joe talk much
they were mistaken. He appeared good-natured, but not too friendly.
"Fine weather we're havin'," said Dick Metzar.
"Fine," agreed Joe, laconically.
"Like frontier life?"
"Sure."
A silence ensued after this breaking of the ice. The boys were
awaiting their turn at a little wooden bench upon which stood a
bucket of water and a basin.
"Hear ye got ketched by some Shawnees?" remarked another youth, as
he rolled up his shirt-sleeves. They all looked at Joe now. It was
not improbably their estimate of him would be greatly influenced by
the way he answered this question.
"Yes; was captive for three days."
"Did ye knock any redskins over?" This question was artfully put to
draw Joe out. Above all things, the bordermen detested boastfulness;
tried on Joe the ruse failed signally.
"I was scared speechless most of the time," answered Joe, with his
pleasant smile.
"By gosh, I don't blame ye!" burst out Will Metzar. "I hed that
experience onct, an' onct's enough."
The boys laughed and looked in a more friendly manner at Joe. Though
he said he had been frightened, his cool and careless manner belied
his words. In Joe's low voice and clear, gray eye there was
something potent and magnetic, which subtly influenced those with
whom he came in contact.
While his new friends were at dinner Joe strolled over to where
Colonel Zane sat on the doorstep of his home.
"How did you get on with the boys?" inquired the colonel.
"All right, I hope. Say, Colonel Zane, I'd like to talk to your
Indian guide."
Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide,
who left his post and came over to them. The colonel then had a
short conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointed
toward Joe.
"How do—shake," said Tome, extending his hand.
Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure.
"Shawnee—ketch'um?" asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligible
English.
Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee,
explaining the cause of Silvertip's emnity.
"Shawnee—chief—one—bad—Injun," replied Tome, seriously.
"Silvertip—mad—thunder-mad. Ketch'um paleface—scalp'um sure."
After giving this warning the chief returned to his former position
near the corner of the cabin.
"He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawnee
brave who talked with me the other day," observed Joe.
"Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently," said
Colonel Zane. "You could hardly have distinguished Logan's speech
from a white man's. Corn-planter uses good English, as also does my
brother's wife, a Wyandot girl."
"Did your brother marry an Indian?" and Joe plainly showed his
surprise.
"Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is. I'll tell you
Isaac's story some time. He was a captive among the Wyandots for ten
years. The chief's daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from being
tortured, and finally saved him from the stake."
"Well, that floors me," said Joe; "yet I don't see why it should.
I'm just surprised. Where is your brother now?"
"He lives with the tribe. He and Myeerah are working hard for peace.
We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, or
Hurons, as we call
use before."
"He did?" questioned Joe, eagerly, flushing with pleasure. "Do you
think he'd take me out? Dare I ask him?"
"Don't be impatient. Perhaps I can arrange it. Come over here now to
Metzar's place. I want to make you acquainted with him. These boys
have all been cutting timber; they've just come in for dinner. Be
easy and quiet with them; then you'll get on."
Colonel Zane introduced Joe to five sturdy boys and left him in
their company. Joe sat down on a log outside a cabin and leisurely
surveyed the young men. They all looked about the same: strong
without being heavy, light-haired and bronze-faced. In their turn
they carefully judged Joe. A newcomer from the East was always
regarded with some doubt. If they expected to hear Joe talk much
they were mistaken. He appeared good-natured, but not too friendly.
"Fine weather we're havin'," said Dick Metzar.
"Fine," agreed Joe, laconically.
"Like frontier life?"
"Sure."
A silence ensued after this breaking of the ice. The boys were
awaiting their turn at a little wooden bench upon which stood a
bucket of water and a basin.
"Hear ye got ketched by some Shawnees?" remarked another youth, as
he rolled up his shirt-sleeves. They all looked at Joe now. It was
not improbably their estimate of him would be greatly influenced by
the way he answered this question.
"Yes; was captive for three days."
"Did ye knock any redskins over?" This question was artfully put to
draw Joe out. Above all things, the bordermen detested boastfulness;
tried on Joe the ruse failed signally.
"I was scared speechless most of the time," answered Joe, with his
pleasant smile.
"By gosh, I don't blame ye!" burst out Will Metzar. "I hed that
experience onct, an' onct's enough."
The boys laughed and looked in a more friendly manner at Joe. Though
he said he had been frightened, his cool and careless manner belied
his words. In Joe's low voice and clear, gray eye there was
something potent and magnetic, which subtly influenced those with
whom he came in contact.
While his new friends were at dinner Joe strolled over to where
Colonel Zane sat on the doorstep of his home.
"How did you get on with the boys?" inquired the colonel.
"All right, I hope. Say, Colonel Zane, I'd like to talk to your
Indian guide."
Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide,
who left his post and came over to them. The colonel then had a
short conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointed
toward Joe.
"How do—shake," said Tome, extending his hand.
Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure.
"Shawnee—ketch'um?" asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligible
English.
Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee,
explaining the cause of Silvertip's emnity.
"Shawnee—chief—one—bad—Injun," replied Tome, seriously.
"Silvertip—mad—thunder-mad. Ketch'um paleface—scalp'um sure."
After giving this warning the chief returned to his former position
near the corner of the cabin.
"He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawnee
brave who talked with me the other day," observed Joe.
"Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently," said
Colonel Zane. "You could hardly have distinguished Logan's speech
from a white man's. Corn-planter uses good English, as also does my
brother's wife, a Wyandot girl."
"Did your brother marry an Indian?" and Joe plainly showed his
surprise.
"Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is. I'll tell you
Isaac's story some time. He was a captive among the Wyandots for ten
years. The chief's daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from being
tortured, and finally saved him from the stake."
"Well, that floors me," said Joe; "yet I don't see why it should.
I'm just surprised. Where is your brother now?"
"He lives with the tribe. He and Myeerah are working hard for peace.
We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, or
Hurons, as we call
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