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〃No； no。 I am not the missionary；〃 cried Joe； staring aghast at his brother。
〃Jim； have you lost your senses？〃
Jim sadly shook his head； and turning to Wingenund made known in a broken
Indian dialect that his brother was the missionary； and would sacrifice
himself； taking this opportunity to practice the Christianity he had taught。
〃The white father is brave； but he is known；〃 broke in Wingenund's deep voice；
while he pointed to the door of the lodge。 〃Let him go back to his Christian
Indians。〃
The Indian runner cut Joe's bonds； and once more attempted to lead him from
the lodge。 Rage and misery shown in the lad's face。 He pushed the runner
aside。 He exhausted himself trying to explain； to think of Indian words enough
to show he was not the missionary。 He even implored Girty to speak for him。
When the renegade sat there stolidly silent Joe's rage burst out。
〃Curse you all for a lot of ignorant redskins。 I am not a missionary。 I am
Deathwind's friend。 I killed a Delaware。 I was the companion of Le Vent de la
Mort！〃
Joe's passionate vehemence； and the truth that spoke from his flashing eyes
compelled the respect； if not the absolute belief of the Indians。 The savages
slowly shook their heads。 They beheld the spectacle of two brothers； one a
friend； the other an enemy of all Indians； each willing to go to the stake； to
suffer an awful agony； for love of the other。 Chivalrous deeds always stir an
Indian's heart。 It was like a redman to die for his brother。 The indifference；
the contempt for death； won their admiration。
〃Let the white father stand forth；〃 sternly called Wingenund。
A hundred somber eyes turned on the prisoners。 Except that one wore a buckskin
coat； the other a linsey one； there was no difference。 The strong figures were
the same； the white faces alike； the stern resolve in the gray eyes
identicalthey were twin brothers。
Wingenund once more paced before his silent chiefs。 To deal rightly with this
situation perplexed him。 To kill both palefaces did not suit him。 Suddenly he
thought of a way to decide。
〃Let Wingenund's daughter come；〃 he ordered。
A slight； girlish figure entered。 It was Whispering Winds。 Her beautiful face
glowed while she listened to her father。
〃Wingenund's daughter has her mother's eyes； that were beautiful as a doe's；
keen as a hawk's； far…seeing as an eagle's。 Let the Delaware maiden show her
blood。 Let her point out the white father。〃
Shyly but unhesitatingly Whispering Winds laid her hand Jim's arm。
〃Missionary； begone！〃 came the chieftain's command。 〃Thank Wingenund's
daughter for your life； not the God of your Christians！〃
He waved his hand to the runner。 The brave grasped Jim's arm。
〃Good…by； Joe；〃 brokenly said Jim。
〃Old fellow； good…by；〃 came the answer。
They took one last； long look into each others' eyes。 Jim's glance betrayed
his fearhe would never see his brother again。 The light in Joe's eyes was
the old steely flash； the indomitable spiritwhile there was life there was
hope。
〃Let the Shawnee chief paint his prisoner black；〃 commanded Wingenund。
When the missionary left the lodge with the runner； Whispering Winds had
smiled； for she had saved him whom she loved to hear speak； but the dread
command that followed paled her cheek。 Black paint meant hideous death。 She
saw this man so like the white father。 Her piteous gaze tried to turn from
that white face； but the cold； steely eyes fascinated her。
She had saved one only to be the other's doom！
She had always been drawn toward white men。 Many prisoners had she rescued。
She had even befriended her nation's bitter foe； Deathwind。 She had listened
to the young missionary with rapture； she had been his savior。 And now when
she looked into the eyes of this young giant； whose fate had rested on her all
unwitting words； she resolved to save him。
She had been a shy； shrinking creature； fearing to lift her eyes to a
paleface's； but now they were raised clear and steadfast。
As she stepped toward the captive and took his hand； her whole person radiated
with conscious pride in her power。 It was the knowledge that she could save。
When she kissed his hand； and knelt before him； she expressed a tender
humility。
She had claimed questionable right of an Indian maiden； she asked what no
Indian dared refuse a chief's daughter； she took the paleface for her husband。
Her action was followed by an impressive silence。 She remained kneeling。
Wingenund resumed his slow march to and fro。 Silvertip retired to his corner
with gloomy face。 The others bowed their heads as if the maiden's decree was
irrevocable。
Once more the chieftain's sonorous command rang out。 An old Indian； wrinkled
and worn； weird of aspect； fanciful of attire； entered the lodge and waved his
wampum wand。 He mumbled strange words； and departed chanting a long song。
Whispering Winds arose； a soft； radiant smile playing over her face； and；
still holding Joe's hand； she led him out of the lodge； through long rows of
silent Indians； down a land bordered by teepees； he following like one in a
dream。
He expected to awaken at any minute to see the stars shining through the
leaves。 Yet he felt the warm； soft pressure of a little hand。 Surely this
slender； graceful figure was real。
She bade him enter a lodge of imposing proportions。 Still silent； in amazement
and gratitude； he obeyed。
The maiden turned to Joe。 Though traces of pride still lingered； all her fire
had vanished。 Her bosom rose with each quick…panting breath； her lips
quivered； she trembled like a trapped doe。
But at last the fluttering lashes rose。 Joe saw two velvety eyes dark with
timid fear； yet veiling in their lustrous depths an unuttered hope and love。
〃Whispering Windssavepaleface；〃 she said； in a voice low and tremulous。
〃Fearfather。 FeartellWingenundsheChristian。〃
Indian summer； that enchanted time； unfolded its golden； dreamy haze over the
Delaware village。 The forests blazed with autumn fire； the meadows boomed in
rich luxuriance。 All day low down in the valleys hung a purple smoke which
changed； as the cool evening shades crept out of the woodland； into a cloud of
white mist。 All day the asters along the brooks lifted golden…brown faces to
the sun as if to catch the warning warmth of his smile。 All day the plains and
forests lay in melancholy repose。 The sad swish of the west wind over the tall
grass told that he was slowly dying way before his enemy； the north wind。 The
sound of dropping nuts was heard under the motionless trees。
For Joe the days were days of enchantment。 His wild heart had found its mate。
A willing captive he was now。 All his fancy for other women； all his memories
faded into love for his Indian bride。
Whispering Winds charmed the eye； mind； and heart。 Every day her beauty seemed
renewed。 She was as apt to learn as she was quick to turn her black…crowned