Somehow at once I suspected that this shadowy form, with its lightninglike movements, its glittering hatchet, was Wetzel.

When he plunged into the midst of the other savages I distinctly recognized him, and saw that he had a bundle, possibly his coat, wrapped round his left arm, and his right hand held the glittering tomahawk.

I saw him strike that big Indian there, the one lying with split skull.

His wonderful daring and quickness seemed to make the savages turn at random.

He broke through the circle, swung Nell under his arm, slashed at my bonds as he passed by, and then was gone as he had come.