Then the heroic old man paddled forward, his life-blood ebbing at every stroke. Volley after volley zipped around the frail barque. Again and again the frontiersman was struck, so that when well beyond range of the Indian rifles he fell fainting to the bottom of the canoe. That evening he expired.
Standing over the body of their parent, both Wetzels took a solemn oath to avenge his untimely end.
“From now on,” said Lewis,” I will use every endeavor to slaughter the red men. They have killed my dear father. Death shall be upon their own heads. Death and no quarter.”
Not a week had elapsed after the sudden end of this staunch man of the frontier, when news was brought into Wheeling that the Indians were again upon the war-path. A scout came running into the settlement, crying:
“The Shawnees and Wyandots are approaching. They have slaughtered one man, and are burning, killing and scalping. Every able-bodied settler is needed to drive them away.”
Immediately all turned out with rifle and powder-horn in order to repel the invaders. But before they started, a purse of one hundred dollars was made up, to go to the first individual who should take an Indian scalp. The trail of the marauders was soon struck; was followed for several miles; and was found to be very fresh. Then the advance scouts returned with the information that a large body of the enemy was encamped a few miles ahead.
“They are too many to be attacked,” said the soldiers of the advance. “We must go back to Wheeling, or they will surround and annihilate us.”
They set off upon the return, but they noticed, as they did so, that Lewis Wetzel did not move.
“Are you not going to accompany us?” asked some of the trappers.