"Will Sheppard!" cried Jonathan. "Is he dead? What's this mean?"
Wetzel leaned over the prostrate lad, and then quickly turned to his companion.
"Get some water. Take his cap. No, he ain't even hurt bad, unless he's got some wound as don't show."
Jonathan returned with the water, and Wetzel bathed the bloody face. When the gash on Will's forehead was clean, it told the bordermen much.
"Not an hour old, that blow," muttered Wetzel.
"He's comin' to," said Jonathan as Will stirred uneasily and moaned. Presently the lad opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. He looked bewildered for a moment, and felt of his head while gazing vaguely at the bordermen. Suddenly he cried:
"I remember! We were captured, brought here, and I was struck down by that villain Case."
"We? Who was with you?" asked Jonathan slowly.
"Helen. We came after flowers and leaves. While in full sight of the fort I saw an Indian. We hurried back," he cried, and proceeded with broken, panting voice to tell his story.
Jonathan Zane leaped to his feet with face deathly white and eyes blue-black, like burning stars.