It seemed to Wetzel that he should be close to what he
had thought was the Indian’s intended destination. He heard
something that sounded like singing, a female voice. His eye
then caught sight of his prey, kneeling behind a big maple and
watching something intently. Wetzel dropped down behind some
bushes and stared at the husky brave. What was he looking at?
Lewis backed up a bit and shifted to his right where there was
a small opening in the trees through which he could see to the
riverbank. What he saw nearly took his breath away. A woman
Wetzel
321
stood at the edge of the stream, splashing water on herself. She
was completely naked, and she was singing softly. Wetzel knew
immediately that it was Lydia, and he could not take his eyes off
her. When she began to turn, Lewis was so enthralled that he
nearly forgot his dusky friend who was sharing this view.
Lydia stepped toward the canoe that was pulled up on the
bank near where she stood and reached for the towel, slung over
its side. In so doing, she exposed her front side to the two men
watching her with avid attention. Lewis was conscious of the
effects this sight was having on his body. Her breasts were as
beautiful as he had imagined, and as his eye dropped down to the
dark thatch between her legs, he could scarcely keep himself from
crying out. He felt the desire well up within him, and he wanted
to rush down and take her in his arms.
Lydia casually lifted the towel and began to dry herself,
completely unaware of the two men watching her from so nearby.
Lewis, remembering finally the danger to Lydia crouching
behind the big tree, looked to see what the warrior was doing.
The Indian, as if mesmerized by the erotic show in front of
him, had not moved. This couldn’t last much longer, and Wetzel
eased back into the woods behind him and moved to a position
advantageous for an attack. How should he do it without revealing
to Lydia that the two of them had been peeping at her. He could
not wait much longer, he knew.
He dropped down to a prone position and raised his rifle,
sighting through the opening at the Indian who stood next to the
tree, still watching the girl. His face was painted and a stone hung
from his right ear. Wetzel aimed just in front of the dangling gem
and squeezed the trigger. The ball slammed into the unsuspecting
brave in the right jaw, plowing through his mouth and out just
under the left eye. He dropped instantly and without making a
sound. Wetzel could hear the scream from Lydia, but he waited
for a short while before moving.
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He was confident that the Indian was dead, but he made no move
to go to the body and retrieve the scalp. He could not see Lydia now,
but he figured that she was scrambling to get dressed and get the
canoe out into the river. Waiting until he thought she was probably
dressed, he then pushed through the trees, making as much noise as
possible. Lydia was visible as Wetzel neared the edge of the woods,
and he could see that she was no longer naked. She had put on the
gown, but he could see that her petticoat was still in the canoe. She
had crouched down by the side of the canoe that was nearest the
river, and as he came into the clearing, she screamed again.
“Lyddy, it’s me, Lew Wetzel,” he shouted, hoping to stop her
screaming.
It had just occurred to him that they might not be alone, even
though he had seen no one else.
“Who?” Lydia stopped screaming but remained half hidden
by the canoe.
“Lew Wetzel!” exclaimed Lew, louder this time.
Now Lydia stood up and immediately recognized the young
hunter.
“Lew Wetzel, you fool. You look like an Indian. You scared
me to death.”
“That wasn’t my intent, Lyddy,” protested Lew.
“Was that you shooting?” Lydia demanded, walking around
the bow of the canoe and approaching Lew. Her expression had
changed from one of fright to one of fury.
“I reckon it was,” admitted Wetzel.
“What were you shootin’ at then?” Lydia wanted to know. “I
thought somebody was shootin’ at me.”
“I was shootin’ at a rabbit, Lyddy. I missed him.”
“I thought you was supposed to be a crack shot,” said Lydia,
beginning to calm down.
“Suppose to bein’ and bein’ are two different things, mebbe,”
said Lew.
He had decided it was better not to mention the Indian.