"Grey, Zane - Betty Zane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

mornings and he must be a big, healthy gobbler," said Colonel Zane, stepping
to the door. "You are going to have company. Here comes Wetzel."

"Good morning, Lew. Are you too off on a turkey hunt?" said Betty.

"Listen," said the hunter, as he stopped and leaned against the gate. They
listened. All was quiet save for the tinkle of a cow-bell in the pasture
adjoining the Colonel's barn. Presently the silence was broken by a long,
shrill, peculiar cry.

"Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug-chug."

"Well, it's a turkey, all right, and I'll bet a big gobbler," remarked Colonel
Zane, as the cry ceased.

"Has Jonathan heard it?" asked Wetzel.

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?" said the Colonel, in a low tone. "Look
here, Lew, is that not a genuine call?"

"Goodbye, Harry, be sure and bring me a turkey," called Betty, as she
disappeared.

"I calkilate it's a real turkey," answered the hunter, and motioning the lad
to stay behind, he shouldered his rifle and passed swiftly down the path.

Of all the Wetzel family--a family noted from one end of the frontier to the
other--Lewis was as the most famous.

The early history of West Virginia and Ohio is replete with the daring deeds
of this wilderness roamer, this lone hunter and insatiable Nemesis, justly
called the greatest Indian slayer known to men.

When Lewis was about twenty years old, and his brothers John and Martin little
older, they left their Virginia home for a protracted hunt. On their return
they found the smoking ruins of the home, the mangled remains of father and
mother, the naked and violated bodies of their sisters, and the scalped and
bleeding corpse of a baby brother.

Lewis Wetzel swore sleepless and eternal vengeance on the whole Indian race.
Terribly did he carry out that resolution. From that time forward he lived
most of the time in the woods, and an Indian who crossed his trail was a
doomed man. The various Indian tribes gave him different names. The Shawnees
called him "Long Knife;" the Hurons, "Destroyer;" the Delawares, "Death Wind,"
and any one of these names would chill the heart of the stoutest warrior.

To most of the famed pioneer hunters of the border, Indian fighting was only a
side issue--generally a necessary one--but with Wetzel it was the business of
his life. He lived solely to kill Indians. He plunged recklessly into the
strife, and was never content unless roaming the wilderness solitudes,