"How far are we from Fort Henry?" asked Sheppard.

"Eighteen miles as a crow flies; longer by trail."

"Treachery!" exclaimed the old man. "We were no more than that this
morning. It is indeed fortunate that you found us. I take it you are
from Fort Henry, and will guide us there? I am an old friend of
Colonel Zane's. He will appreciate any kindness you may show us. Of
course you know him?"

"I am Jonathan Zane."

Sheppard suddenly realized that he was facing the most celebrated
scout on the border. In Revolutionary times Zane's fame had extended
even to the far Atlantic Colonies.

"And your companion?" asked Sheppard with keen interest. He guessed
what might be told. Border lore coupled Jonathan Zane with a strange
and terrible character, a border Nemesis, a mysterious, shadowy,
elusive man, whom few pioneers ever saw, but of whom all knew.

"Wetzel," answered Zane.

With one accord the travelers gazed curiously at Zane's silent
companion. In the dim background of the glow cast by the fire, he
stood a gigantic figure, dark, quiet, and yet with something
intangible in his shadowy outline.

Suddenly he appeared to merge into the gloom as if he really were a
phantom. A warning, "Hist!" came from the bushes.