The Last Trail E-Book

Zane Grey

• Herausgeber: Jovian Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 359

Beschreibung

Twilight of a certain summer day, many years ago, shaded softly down over the wild Ohio valley bringing keen anxiety to a traveler on the lonely river trail. He had expected to reach Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a welcome end to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the wilderness; but the swift, on-coming dusk made it imperative to halt. The narrow, forest-skirted trail, difficult to follow in broad daylight, apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods. His guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his services were no longer needed; his teamster was new to the frontier, and, altogether, the situation caused him much uneasiness...

Leseprobe

THE LAST TRAIL

Zane Grey

JOVIAN PRESS

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Copyright © 2016 by Zane Grey

Published by Jovian Press

Interior design by Pronoun

Distribution by Pronoun

ISBN: 9781537808376

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER I

~

TWILIGHT OF A CERTAIN SUMMER day, many years ago, shaded softly down over the wild Ohio valley bringing keen anxiety to a traveler on the lonely river trail. He had expected to reach Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a welcome end to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the wilderness; but the swift, on-coming dusk made it imperative to halt. The narrow, forest-skirted trail, difficult to follow in broad daylight, apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods. His guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his services were no longer needed; his teamster was new to the frontier, and, altogether, the situation caused him much uneasiness.

“I wouldn’t so much mind another night in camp, if the guide had not left us,” he said in a low tone to the teamster.

That worthy shook his shaggy head, and growled while he began unhitching the horses.

“Uncle,” said a young man, who had clambered out from the wagon, “we must be within a few miles of Fort Henry.”

“How d’ye know we’re near the fort?” interrupted the teamster, “or safe, either, fer thet matter? I don’t know this country.”

“The guide assured me we could easily make Fort Henry by sundown.”

“Thet guide! I tell ye, Mr. Sheppard——”

“Not so loud. Do not alarm my daughter,” cautioned the man who had been called Sheppard.

“Did ye notice anythin’ queer about thet guide?” asked the teamster, lowering his voice. “Did ye see how oneasy he was last night? Did it strike ye he left us in a hurry, kind of excited like, in spite of his offhand manner?”

“Yes, he acted odd, or so it seemed to me,” replied Sheppard. “How about you, Will?”

“Now that I think of it, I believe he was queer. He behaved like a man who expected somebody, or feared something might happen. I fancied, however, that it was simply the manner of a woodsman.”

“Wal, I hev my opinion,” said the teamster, in a gruff whisper. “Ye was in a hurry to be a-goin’, an’ wouldn’t take no advice. The fur-trader at Fort Pitt didn’t give this guide Jenks no good send off. Said he wasn’t well-known round Pitt, ‘cept he could handle a knife some.”

“What is your opinion?” asked Sheppard, as the teamster paused.

“Wal, the valley below Pitt is full of renegades, outlaws an’ hoss-thieves. The redskins ain’t so bad as they used to be, but these white fellers are wusser’n ever. This guide Jenks might be in with them, that’s all. Mebbe I’m wrong. I hope so. The way he left us looks bad.”

“We won’t borrow trouble. If we have come all this way without seeing either Indian or outlaw—in fact, without incident—I feel certain we can perform the remainder of the journey in safety.” Then Mr. Sheppard raised his voice. “Here, Helen, you lazy girl, come out of that wagon. We want some supper. Will, you gather some firewood, and we’ll soon give this gloomy little glen a more cheerful aspect.”

As Mr. Sheppard turned toward the canvas-covered wagon a girl leaped lightly down beside him. She was nearly as tall as he.

“Is this Fort Henry?” she asked, cheerily, beginning to dance around him. “Where’s the inn? I’m so hungry. How glad I am to get out of that wagon! I’d like to run. Isn’t this a lonesome, lovely spot?”

A camp-fire soon crackled with hiss and sputter, and fragrant wood-smoke filled the air. Steaming kettle, and savory steaks of venison cheered the hungry travelers, making them forget for the time the desertion of their guide and the fact that they might be lost. The last glow faded entirely out of the western sky. Night enveloped the forest, and the little glade was a bright spot in the gloom.

The flickering light showed Mr. Sheppard to be a well-preserved old man with gray hair and ruddy, kindly face. The nephew had a boyish, frank expression. The girl was a splendid specimen of womanhood. Her large, laughing eyes were as dark as the shadows beneath the trees.

Suddenly a quick start on Helen’s part interrupted the merry flow of conversation. She sat bolt upright with half-averted face.

“Cousin, what is the matter?” asked Will, quickly.

Helen remained motionless.

“My dear,” said Mr. Sheppard sharply.

“I heard a footstep,” she whispered, pointing with trembling finger toward the impenetrable blackness beyond the camp-fire.

All could hear a soft patter on the leaves. Then distinct footfalls broke the silence.

The tired teamster raised his shaggy head and glanced fearfully around the glade. Mr. Sheppard and Will gazed doubtfully toward the foliage; but Helen did not change her position. The travelers appeared stricken by the silence and solitude of the place. The faint hum of insects, and the low moan of the night wind, seemed accentuated by the almost painful stillness.

“A panther, most likely,” suggested Sheppard, in a voice which he intended should be reassuring. “I saw one to-day slinking along the trail.”

“I’d better get my gun from the wagon,” said Will.

“How dark and wild it is here!” exclaimed Helen nervously. “I believe

I was frightened. Perhaps I fancied it—there! Again—listen. Ah!”

Two tall figures emerged from the darkness into the circle of light, and with swift, supple steps gained the camp-fire before any of the travelers had time to move. They were Indians, and the brandishing of their tomahawks proclaimed that they were hostile.

“Ugh!” grunted the taller savage, as he looked down upon the defenseless, frightened group.

As the menacing figures stood in the glare of the fire gazing at the party with shifty eyes, they presented a frightful appearance. Fierce lineaments, all the more so because of bars of paint, the hideous, shaven heads adorned with tufts of hair holding a single feather, sinewy, copper-colored limbs suggestive of action and endurance, the general aspect of untamed ferocity, appalled the travelers and chilled their blood.

Grunts and chuckles manifested the satisfaction with which the Indians fell upon the half-finished supper. They caused it to vanish with astonishing celerity, and resembled wolves rather than human beings in their greediness.

Helen looked timidly around as if hoping to see those who would aid, and the savages regarded her with ill humor. A movement on the part of any member of the group caused muscular hands to steal toward the tomahawks.

Suddenly the larger savage clutched his companion’s knee. Then lifting his hatchet, shook it with a significant gesture in Sheppard’s face, at the same time putting a finger on his lips to enjoin silence. Both Indians became statuesque in their immobility. They crouched in an attitude of listening, with heads bent on one side, nostrils dilated, and mouths open.

One, two, three moments passed. The silence of the forest appeared to be unbroken; but ears as keen as those of a deer had detected some sound. The larger savage dropped noiselessly to the ground, where he lay stretched out with his ear to the ground. The other remained immovable; only his beady eyes gave signs of life, and these covered every point.

Finally the big savage rose silently, pointed down the dark trail, and strode out of the circle of light. His companion followed close at his heels. The two disappeared in the black shadows like specters, as silently as they had come.

“Well!” breathed Helen.

“I am immensely relieved!” exclaimed Will.

“What do you make of such strange behavior?” Sheppard asked of the teamster.

“I’spect they got wind of somebody; most likely thet guide, an’ll be back again. If they ain’t, it’s because they got switched off by some signs or tokens, skeered, perhaps, by the scent of the wind.”

Hardly had he ceased speaking when again the circle of light was invaded by stalking forms.

“I thought so! Here comes the skulkin’ varmints,” whispered the teamster.

But he was wrong. A deep, calm voice spoke the single word: “Friends.”

Two men in the brown garb of woodsmen approached. One approached the travelers; the other remained in the background, leaning upon a long, black rifle.

Thus exposed to the glare of the flames, the foremost woodsman presented a singularly picturesque figure. His costume was the fringed buckskins of the border. Fully six feet tall, this lithe-limbed young giant had something of the wild, free grace of the Indian in his posture.

He surveyed the wondering travelers with dark, grave eyes.

“Did the reddys do any mischief?” he asked.

“No, they didn’t harm us,” replied Sheppard. “They ate our supper, and slipped off into the woods without so much as touching one of us. But, indeed, sir, we are mighty glad to see you.”

Will echoed this sentiment, and Helen’s big eyes were fastened upon the stranger in welcome and wonder.

“We saw your fire blazin’ through the twilight, an’ came up just in time to see the Injuns make off.”

“Might they not hide in the bushes and shoot us?” asked Will, who had listened to many a border story at Fort Pitt. “It seems as if we’d make good targets in this light.”

The gravity of the woodsman’s face relaxed.

“You will pursue them?” asked Helen.

“They’ve melted into the night-shadows long ago,” he replied. “Who was your guide?”

“I hired him at Fort Pitt. He left us suddenly this morning. A big man, with black beard and bushy eyebrows. A bit of his ear had been shot or cut out,” Sheppard replied.

“Jenks, one of Bing Legget’s border-hawks.”

“You have his name right. And who may Bing Legget be?”

“He’s an outlaw. Jenks has been tryin’ to lead you into a trap. Likely he expected those Injuns to show up a day or two ago. Somethin’ went wrong with the plan, I reckon. Mebbe he was waitin’ for five Shawnees, an’ mebbe he’ll never see three of ‘em again.”

Something suggestive, cold, and grim, in the last words did not escape the listeners.

“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.

With one swift kick Zane scattered the camp-fire.

The travelers waited with bated breaths. They could hear nothing save the beating of their own hearts; they could not even see each other.

“Better go to sleep,” came in Zane’s calm voice. What a relief it was!

“We’ll keep watch, an’ at daybreak guide you to Fort Henry.”

CHAPTER II

~

COLONEL ZANE, A RUGGED, STALWART pioneer, with a strong, dark face, sat listening to his old friend’s dramatic story. At its close a genial smile twinkled in his fine dark eyes.

“Well, well, Sheppard, no doubt it was a thrilling adventure to you,” he said. “It might have been a little more interesting, and doubtless would, had I not sent Wetzel and Jonathan to look you up.”

“You did? How on earth did you know I was on the border? I counted much on the surprise I should give you.”

“My Indian runners leave Fort Pitt ahead of any travelers, and acquaint me with particulars.”

“I remembered a fleet-looking Indian who seemed to be asking for information about us, when we arrived at Fort Pitt. I am sorry I did not take the fur-trader’s advice in regard to the guide. But I was in such a hurry to come, and didn’t feel able to bear the expense of a raft or boat that we might come by river. My nephew brought considerable gold, and I all my earthly possessions.”

“All’s well that ends well,” replied Colonel Zane cheerily. “But we must thank Providence that Wetzel and Jonathan came up in the nick of time.”

“Indeed, yes. I’m not likely to forget those fierce savages. How they slipped off into the darkness! I wonder if Wetzel pursued them? He disappeared last night, and we did not see him again. In fact we hardly had a fair look at him. I question if I should recognize him now, unless by his great stature.”

“He was ahead of Jonathan on the trail. That is Wetzel’s way. In times of danger he is seldom seen, yet is always near. But come, let us go out and look around. I am running up a log cabin which will come in handy for you.”

They passed out into the shade of pine and maples. A winding path led down a gentle slope. On the hillside under a spreading tree a throng of bearded pioneers, clad in faded buckskins and wearing white-ringed coonskin caps, were erecting a log cabin.

“Life here on the border is keen, hard, invigorating,” said Colonel Zane. “I tell you, George Sheppard, in spite of your gray hair and your pretty daughter, you have come out West because you want to live among men who do things.”

“Colonel, I won’t gainsay I’ve still got hot blood,” replied Sheppard; “but I came to Fort Henry for land. My old home in Williamsburg has fallen into ruin together with the fortunes of my family. I brought my daughter and my nephew because I wanted them to take root in new soil.”

“Well, George, right glad we are to have you. Where are your sons? I remember them, though ‘tis sixteen long years since I left old Williamsburg.”

“Gone. The Revolution took my sons. Helen is the last of the family.”

“Well, well, indeed that’s hard. Independence has cost you colonists as big a price as border-freedom has us pioneers. Come, old friend, forget the past. A new life begins for you here, and it will be one which gives you much. See, up goes a cabin; that will soon be your home.”

Sheppard’s eye marked the sturdy pioneers and a fast diminishing pile of white-oak logs.

“Ho-heave!” cried a brawny foreman.

A dozen stout shoulders sagged beneath a well-trimmed log.

“Ho-heave!” yelled the foreman.

“See, up she goes,” cried the colonel, “and to-morrow night she’ll shed rain.”

They walked down a sandy lane bounded on the right by a wide, green clearing, and on the left by a line of chestnuts and maples, outposts of the thick forests beyond.

“Yours is a fine site for a house,” observed Sheppard, taking in the clean-trimmed field that extended up the hillside, a brook that splashed clear and noisy over the stones to tarry in a little grass-bound lake which forced water through half-hollowed logs into a spring house.

“I think so; this is the fourth time I’ve put up a’ cabin on this land,” replied the colonel.

“How’s that?”

“The redskins are keen to burn things.”

Sheppard laughed at the pioneer’s reply. “It’s not difficult, Colonel Zane, to understand why Fort Henry has stood all these years, with you as its leader. Certainly the location for your cabin is the finest in the settlement. What a view!”

High upon a bluff overhanging the majestic, slow-winding Ohio, the colonel’s cabin afforded a commanding position from which to view the picturesque valley. Sheppard’s eye first caught the outline of the huge, bold, time-blackened fort which frowned protectingly over surrounding log-cabins; then he saw the wide-sweeping river with its verdant islands, golden, sandy bars, and willow-bordered shores, while beyond, rolling pastures of wavy grass merging into green forests that swept upward with slow swell until lost in the dim purple of distant mountains.

“Sixteen years ago I came out of the thicket upon yonder bluff, and saw this valley. I was deeply impressed by its beauty, but more by its wonderful promise.”

“Were you alone?”

“I and my dog. There had been a few white men before me on the river; but I was the first to see this glorious valley from the bluff. Now, George, I’ll let you have a hundred acres of well-cleared land. The soil is so rich you can raise two crops in one season. With some stock, and a few good hands, you’ll soon be a busy man.”

“I didn’t expect so much land; I can’t well afford to pay for it.”

“Talk to me of payment when the farm yields an income. Is this young nephew of yours strong and willing?”

“He is, and has gold enough to buy a big farm.”

“Let him keep his money, and make a comfortable home for some good lass. We marry our young people early out here. And your daughter, George, is she fitted for this hard border life?”

“Never fear for Helen.”

“The brunt of this pioneer work falls on our women. God bless them, how heroic they’ve been! The life here is rough for a man, let alone a woman. But it is a man’s game. We need girls, girls who will bear strong men. Yet I am always saddened when I see one come out on the border.”

“I think I knew what I was bringing Helen to, and she didn’t flinch,” said Sheppard, somewhat surprised at the tone in which the colonel spoke.

“No one knows until he has lived on the border. Well, well, all this is discouraging to you. Ah! here is Miss Helen with my sister.”

The colonel’s fine, dark face lost its sternness, and brightened with a smile.

“I hope you rested well after your long ride.”

“I am seldom tired, and I have been made most comfortable. I thank you and your sister,” replied the girl, giving Colonel Zane her hand, and including both him and his sister in her grateful glance.

The colonel’s sister was a slender, handsome young woman, whose dark beauty showed to most effective advantage by the contrast with her companion’s fair skin, golden hair, and blue eyes.

Beautiful as was Helen Sheppard, it was her eyes that held Colonel Zane irresistibly. They were unusually large, of a dark purple-blue that changed, shaded, shadowed with her every thought.

“Come, let us walk,” Colonel Zane said abruptly, and, with Mr. Sheppard, followed the girls down the path. He escorted them to the fort, showed a long room with little squares cut in the rough-hewn logs, many bullet holes, fire-charred timbers, and dark stains, terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism which the defense of that rude structure had cost.

Under Helen’s eager questioning Colonel Zane yielded to his weakness for story-telling, and recited the history of the last siege of Fort Henry; how the renegade Girty swooped down upon the settlement with hundreds of Indians and British soldiers; how for three days of whistling bullets, flaming arrows, screeching demons, fire, smoke, and attack following attack, the brave defenders stood at their posts, there to die before yielding.

“Grand!” breathed Helen, and her eyes glowed. “It was then Betty Zane ran with the powder? Oh! I’ve heard the story.”

“Let my sister tell you of that,” said the colonel, smiling.

“You! Was it you?” And Helen’s eyes glowed brighter with the light of youth’s glory in great deeds.

“My sister has been wedded and widowed since then,” said Colonel Zane, reading in Helen’s earnest scrutiny of his sister’s calm, sad face a wonder if this quiet woman could be the fearless and famed Elizabeth Zane.

Impulsively Helen’s hand closed softly over her companion’s. Out of the girlish sympathetic action a warm friendship was born.

“I imagine things do happen here,” said Mr. Sheppard, hoping to hear more from Colonel Zane.

The colonel smiled grimly.

“Every summer during fifteen years has been a bloody one on the border. The sieges of Fort Henry, and Crawford’s defeat, the biggest things we ever knew out here, are matters of history; of course you are familiar with them. But the numberless Indian forays and attacks, the women who have been carried into captivity by renegades, the murdered farmers, in fact, ceaseless war never long directed at any point, but carried on the entire length of the river, are matters known only to the pioneers. Within five miles of Fort Henry I can show you where the laurel bushes grow three feet high over the ashes of two settlements, and many a clearing where some unfortunate pioneer had staked his claim and thrown up a log cabin, only to die fighting for his wife and children. Between here and Fort Pitt there is only one settlement, Yellow Creek, and most of its inhabitants are survivors of abandoned villages farther up the river. Last summer we had the Moravian Massacre, the blackest, most inhuman deed ever committed. Since then Simon Girty and his bloody redskins have lain low.”

“You must always have had a big force,” said Sheppard.

“We’ve managed always to be strong enough, though there never were a large number of men here. During the last siege I had only forty in the fort, counting men, women and boys. But I had pioneers and women who could handle a rifle, and the best bordermen on the frontier.”

“Do you make a distinction between pioneers and bordermen?” asked

Sheppard.

“Indeed, yes. I am a pioneer; a borderman is an Indian hunter, or scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam and John McCollock, Bill Metzar, and John and Martin Wetzel, all of whom are dead. Not one saved his scalp. Fort Henry is growing; it has pioneers, rivermen, soldiers, but only two bordermen. Wetzel and Jonathan are the only ones we have left of those great men.”

“They must be old,” mused Helen, with a dreamy glow still in her eyes.

“Well, Miss Helen, not in years, as you mean. Life here is old in experience; few pioneers, and no bordermen, live to a great age. Wetzel is about forty, and my brother Jonathan still a young man; but both are old in border lore.”

Earnestly, as a man who loves his subject, Colonel Zane told his listeners of these two most prominent characters of the border. Sixteen years previously, when but boys in years, they had cast in their lot with his, and journeyed over the Virginian Mountains, Wetzel to devote his life to the vengeful calling he had chosen, and Jonathan to give rein to an adventurous spirit and love of the wilds. By some wonderful chance, by cunning, woodcraft, or daring, both men had lived through the years of border warfare which had brought to a close the careers of all their contemporaries.

For many years Wetzel preferred solitude to companionship; he roamed the wilderness in pursuit of Indians, his life-long foes, and seldom appeared at the settlement except to bring news of an intended raid of the savages. Jonathan also spent much time alone in the woods, or scouting along the river. But of late years a friendship had ripened between the two bordermen. Mutual interest had brought them together on the trail of a noted renegade, and when, after many long days of patient watching and persistent tracking, the outlaw paid an awful penalty for his bloody deeds, these lone and silent men were friends.

Powerful in build, fleet as deer, fearless and tireless, Wetzel’s peculiar bloodhound sagacity, ferocity, and implacability, balanced by Jonathan’s keen intelligence and judgment caused these bordermen to become the bane of redmen and renegades. Their fame increased with each succeeding summer, until now the people of the settlement looked upon wonderful deeds of strength and of woodcraft as a matter of course, rejoicing in the power and skill with which these men were endowed.

By common consent the pioneers attributed any mysterious deed, from the finding of a fat turkey on a cabin doorstep, to the discovery of a savage scalped and pulled from his ambush near a settler’s spring, to Wetzel and Jonathan. All the more did they feel sure of this conclusion because the bordermen never spoke of their deeds. Sometimes a pioneer living on the outskirts of the settlement would be awakened in the morning by a single rifle shot, and on peering out would see a dead Indian lying almost across his doorstep, while beyond, in the dim, gray mist, a tall figure stealing away. Often in the twilight on a summer evening, while fondling his children and enjoying his smoke after a hard day’s labor in the fields, this same settler would see the tall, dark figure of Jonathan Zane step noiselessly out of a thicket, and learn that he must take his family and flee at once to the fort for safety. When a settler was murdered, his children carried into captivity by Indians, and the wife given over to the power of some brutal renegade, tragedies wofully frequent on the border, Wetzel and Jonathan took the trail alone. Many a white woman was returned alive and, sometimes, unharmed to her relatives; more than one maiden lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, while almost numberless were the bones of brutal redmen lying in the deep and gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, silent, ghastly reminders of the stern justice meted out by these two heroes.

“Such are my two bordermen, Miss Sheppard. The fort there, and all these cabins, would be only black ashes, save for them, and as for us, our wives and children—God only knows.”

“Haven’t they wives and children, too?” asked Helen.

“No,” answered Colonel Zane, with his genial smile. “Such joys are not for bordermen.”

“Why not? Fine men like them deserve happiness,” declared Helen.

“It is necessary we have such,” said the colonel simply, “and they cannot be bordermen unless free as the air blows. Wetzel and Jonathan have never had sweethearts. I believe Wetzel loved a lass once; but he was an Indian-killer whose hands were red with blood. He silenced his heart, and kept to his chosen, lonely life. Jonathan does not seem to realize that women exist to charm, to please, to be loved and married. Once we twitted him about his brothers doing their duty by the border, whereupon he flashed out: ‘My life is the border’s: my sweetheart is the North Star!’”

Helen dreamily watched the dancing, dimpling waves that broke on the stones of the river shore. All unconscious of the powerful impression the colonel’s recital had made upon her, she was feeling the greatness of the lives of these bordermen, and the glory it would now be for her to share with others the pride in their protection.

“Say, Sheppard, look here,” said Colonel Zane, on the return to his cabin, “that girl of yours has a pair of eyes. I can’t forget the way they flashed! They’ll cause more trouble here among my garrison than would a swarm of redskins.”

“No! You don’t mean it! Out here in this wilderness?” queried Sheppard doubtfully.

“Well, I do.”

“O Lord! What a time I’ve had with that girl! There was one man especially, back home, who made our lives miserable. He was rich and well born; but Helen would have none of him. He got around me, old fool that I am! Practically stole what was left of my estate, and gambled it away when Helen said she’d die before giving herself to him. It was partly on his account that I brought her away. Then there were a lot of moon-eyed beggars after her all the time, and she’s young and full of fire. I hoped I’d marry her to some farmer out here, and end my days in peace.”

“Peace? With eyes like those? Never on this green earth,” and Colonel Zane laughed as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, old fellow. You can’t help her having those changing dark-blue eyes any more than you can help being proud of them. They have won me, already, susceptible old backwoodsman! I’ll help you with this spirited young lady. I’ve had experience, Sheppard, and don’t you forget it. First, my sister, a Zane all through, which is saying enough. Then as sweet and fiery a little Indian princess as ever stepped in a beaded moccasin, and since, more than one beautiful, impulsive creature. Being in authority, I suppose it’s natural that all the work, from keeping the garrison ready against an attack, to straightening out love affairs, should fall upon me. I’ll take the care off your shoulders; I’ll keep these young dare-devils from killing each other over Miss Helen’s favors. I certainly—Hello! There are strangers at the gate. Something’s up.”

Half a dozen rough-looking men had appeared from round the corner of the cabin, and halted at the gate.

“Bill Elsing, and some of his men from Yellow Creek,” said Colonel

Zane, as he went toward the group.

“Hullo, Kurnel,” was the greeting of the foremost, evidently the leader. “We’ve lost six head of hosses over our way, an’ are out lookin’ ‘em up.”

“The deuce you have! Say, this horse-stealing business is getting interesting. What did you come in for?”

“Wal, we meets Jonathan on the ridge about sunup, an’ he sent us back lickety-cut. Said he had two of the hosses corralled, an’ mebbe Wetzel could git the others.”

“That’s strange,” replied Colonel Zane thoughtfully.

“‘Pears to me Jack and Wetzel hev some redskins treed, an’ didn’t want us to spile the fun. Mebbe there wasn’t scalps enough to go round. Anyway, we come in, an’ we’ll hang up here to-day.”

“Bill, who’s doing this horse-stealing?”

“Damn if I know. It’s a mighty pert piece of work. I’ve a mind it’s some slick white fellar, with Injuns backin’ him.”

Helen noted, when she was once more indoors, that Colonel Zane’s wife appeared worried. Her usual placid expression was gone. She put off the playful overtures of her two bright boys with unusual indifference, and turned to her husband with anxious questioning as to whether the strangers brought news of Indians. Upon being assured that such was not the case, she looked relieved, and explained to Helen that she had seen armed men come so often to consult the colonel regarding dangerous missions and expeditions, that the sight of a stranger caused her unspeakable dread.

“I am accustomed to danger, yet I can never control my fears for my husband and children,” said Mrs. Zane. “The older I grow the more of a coward I am. Oh! this border life is sad for women. Only a little while ago my brother Samuel McColloch was shot and scalped right here on the river bank. He was going to the spring for a bucket of water. I lost another brother in almost the same way. Every day during the summer a husband and a father fall victim to some murderous Indian. My husband will go in the same way some day. The border claims them all.”

“Bessie, you must not show your fears to our new friend. And, Miss Helen, don’t believe she’s the coward she would make out,” said the colonel’s sister smilingly.

“Betty is right, Bess, don’t frighten her,” said Colonel Zane. “I’m afraid I talked too much to-day. But, Miss Helen, you were so interested, and are such a good listener, that I couldn’t refrain. Once for all let me say that you will no doubt see stirring life here; but there is little danger of its affecting you. To be sure I think you’ll have troubles; but not with Indians or outlaws.”

He winked at his wife and sister. At first Helen did not understand his sally, but then she blushed red all over her fair face.

Some time after that, while unpacking her belongings, she heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the rocky road, accompanied by loud voices. Running to the window, she saw a group of men at the gate.

“Miss Sheppard, will you come out?” called Colonel Zane’s sister from the door. “My brother Jonathan has returned.”

Helen joined Betty at the door, and looked over her shoulder.

“Wal, Jack, ye got two on ‘em, anyways,” drawled a voice which she recognized as that of Elsing’s.

A man, lithe and supple, slipped from the back of one of the horses, and, giving the halter to Elsing with a single word, turned and entered the gate. Colonel Zane met him there.

“Well, Jonathan, what’s up?”

“There’s hell to pay,” was the reply, and the speaker’s voice rang clear and sharp.

Colonel Zane laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and thus they stood for a moment, singularly alike, and yet the sturdy pioneer was, somehow, far different from the dark-haired borderman.

“I thought we’d trouble in store from the look on your face,” said the colonel calmly. “I hope you haven’t very bad news on the first day, for our old friends from Virginia.”

“Jonathan,” cried Betty when he did not answer the colonel. At her call he half turned, and his dark eyes, steady, strained like those of a watching deer, sought his sister’s face.

“Betty, old Jake Lane was murdered by horse thieves yesterday, and

Mabel Lane is gone.”

“Oh!” gasped Betty; but she said nothing more.

Colonel Zane cursed inaudibly.

“You know, Eb, I tried to keep Lane in the settlement for Mabel’s sake. But he wanted to work that farm. I believe horse-stealing wasn’t as much of an object as the girl. Pretty women are bad for the border, or any other place, I guess. Wetzel has taken the trail, and I came in because I’ve serious suspicions—I’ll explain to you alone.”

The borderman bowed gravely to Helen, with a natural grace, and yet a manner that sat awkwardly upon him. The girl, slightly flushed, and somewhat confused by this meeting with the man around whom her romantic imagination had already woven a story, stood in the doorway after giving him a fleeting glance, the fairest, sweetest picture of girlish beauty ever seen.

The men went into the house; but their voices came distinctly through the door.

“Eb, if Bing Legget or Girty ever see that big-eyed lass, they’ll have her even if Fort Henry has to be burned, an’ in case they do get her, Wetzel an’ I’ll have taken our last trail.”

CHAPTER III

~

SUPPER OVER, COLONEL ZANE LED his guests to a side porch, where they were soon joined by Mrs. Zane and Betty. The host’s two boys, Noah and Sammy, who had preceded them, were now astride the porch-rail and, to judge by their antics, were riding wild Indian mustangs.

“It’s quite cool,” said Colonel Zane; “but I want you to see the sunset in the valley. A good many of your future neighbors may come over to-night for a word of welcome. It’s the border custom.”

He was about to seat himself by the side of Mr. Sheppard, on a rustic bench, when a Negro maid appeared in the doorway carrying a smiling, black-eyed baby. Colonel Zane took the child and, holding it aloft, said with fatherly pride:

“This is Rebecca Zane, the first girl baby born to the Zanes, and destined to be the belle of the border.”

“May I have her?” asked Helen softly, holding out her arms. She took the child, and placed it upon her knee where its look of solemnity soon changed to one of infantile delight.

“Here come Nell and Jim,” said Mrs. Zane, pointing toward the fort.

“Yes, and there comes my brother Silas with his wife, too,” added Colonel Zane. “The first couple are James Douns, our young minister, and Nell, his wife. They came out here a year or so ago. James had a brother Joe, the finest young fellow who ever caught the border fever. He was killed by one of the Girtys. His was a wonderful story, and some day you shall hear about the parson and his wife.”

“What’s the border fever?” asked Mr. Sheppard.

“It’s what brought you out here,” replied Colonel Zane with a hearty laugh.

Helen gazed with interest at the couple now coming into the yard, and when they gained the porch she saw that the man was big and tall, with a frank, manly bearing, while his wife was a slender little woman with bright, sunny hair, and a sweet, smiling face. They greeted Helen and her father cordially.

Next came Silas Zane, a typical bronzed and bearded pioneer, with his buxom wife. Presently a little group of villagers joined the party. They were rugged men, clad in faded buckskins, and sober-faced women who wore dresses of plain gray linsey. They welcomed the newcomers with simple, homely courtesy. Then six young frontiersmen appeared from around a corner of the cabin, advancing hesitatingly. To Helen they all looked alike, tall, awkward, with brown faces and big hands. When Colonel Zane cheerily cried out to them, they stumbled forward with evident embarrassment, each literally crushing Helen’s hand in his horny palm. Afterward they leaned on the rail and stole glances at her.

Soon a large number of villagers were on the porch or in the yard. After paying their respects to Helen and her father they took part in a general conversation. Two or three girls, the latest callers, were surrounded by half a dozen young fellows, and their laughter sounded high above the hum of voices.

Helen gazed upon this company with mingled feelings of relief and pleasure. She had been more concerned regarding the young people with whom her lot might be cast, than the dangers of which others had told. She knew that on the border there was no distinction of rank. Though she came of an old family, and, during her girlhood, had been surrounded by refinement, even luxury, she had accepted cheerfully the reverses of fortune, and was determined to curb the pride which had been hers. It was necessary she should have friends. Warm-hearted, impulsive and loving, she needed to have around her those in whom she could confide. Therefore it was with sincere pleasure she understood how groundless were her fears and knew that if she did not find good, true friends the fault would be her own. She saw at a glance that the colonel’s widowed sister was her equal, perhaps her superior, in education and breeding, while Nellie Douns was as well-bred and gracious a little lady as she had ever met. Then, the other girls, too, were charming, with frank wholesomeness and freedom.

Concerning the young men, of whom there were about a dozen, Helen had hardly arrived at a conclusion. She liked the ruggedness, the signs of honest worth which clung to them. Despite her youth, she had been much sought after because of her personal attractions, and had thus added experience to the natural keen intuition all women possess. The glances of several of the men, particularly the bold regard of one Roger Brandt, whom Colonel Zane introduced, she had seen before, and learned to dislike. On the whole, however, she was delighted with the prospect of new friends and future prosperity, and she felt even greater pleasure in the certainty that her father shared her gratification.

Suddenly she became aware that the conversation had ceased. She looked up to see the tall, lithe form of Jonathan Zane as he strode across the porch. She could see that a certain constraint had momentarily fallen upon the company. It was an involuntary acknowledgment of the borderman’s presence, of a presence that worked on all alike with a subtle, strong magnetism.

“Ah, Jonathan, come out to see the sunset? It’s unusually fine to-night,” said Colonel Zane.

With hardly more than a perceptible bow to those present, the borderman took a seat near the rail, and, leaning upon it, directed his gaze westward.

Helen sat so near she could have touched him. She was conscious of the same strange feeling, and impelling sense of power, which had come upon her so strongly at first sight of him. More than that, a lively interest had been aroused in her. This borderman was to her a new and novel character. She was amused at learning that here was a young man absolutely indifferent to the charms of the opposite sex, and although hardly admitting such a thing, she believed it would be possible to win him from his indifference. On raising her eyelids, it was with the unconcern which a woman feigns when suspecting she is being regarded with admiring eyes. But Jonathan Zane might not have known of her presence, for all the attention he paid her. Therefore, having a good opportunity to gaze at this borderman of daring deeds, Helen regarded him closely.

He was clad from head to foot in smooth, soft buckskin which fitted well his powerful frame. Beaded moccasins, leggings bound high above the knees, hunting coat laced and fringed, all had the neat, tidy appearance due to good care. He wore no weapons. His hair fell in a raven mass over his shoulders. His profile was regular, with a long, straight nose, strong chin, and eyes black as night. They were now fixed intently on the valley. The whole face gave an impression of serenity, of calmness.