Zane Grey (4 page)

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.

Helen was wondering if the sad, almost stern, tranquility of that face
ever changed, when the baby cooed and held out its chubby little
hands. Jonathan's smile, which came quickly, accompanied by a warm
light in the eyes, relieved Helen of an unaccountable repugnance she
had begun to feel toward the borderman. That smile, brief as a flash,
showed his gentle kindness and told that he was not a creature who had
set himself apart from human life and love.

As he took little Rebecca, one of his hands touched Helen's. If he had
taken heed of the contact, as any ordinary man might well have, she
would, perhaps, have thought nothing about it, but because he did not
appear to realize that her hand had been almost inclosed in his, she
could not help again feeling his singular personality. She saw that
this man had absolutely no thought of her. At the moment this did not
awaken resentment, for with all her fire and pride she was not vain;
but amusement gave place to a respect which came involuntarily.

Little Rebecca presently manifested the faithlessness peculiar to her
sex, and had no sooner been taken upon Jonathan's knee than she cried
out to go back to Helen.

"Girls are uncommon coy critters," said he, with a grave smile in his
eyes. He handed back the child, and once more was absorbed in the
setting sun.

Helen looked down the valley to behold the most beautiful spectacle
she had ever seen. Between the hills far to the west, the sky flamed
with a red and gold light. The sun was poised above the river, and the
shimmering waters merged into a ruddy horizon. Long rays of crimson
fire crossed the smooth waters. A few purple clouds above caught the
refulgence, until aided by the delicate rose and blue space beyond,
they became many hued ships sailing on a rainbow sea. Each second saw
a gorgeous transformation. Slowly the sun dipped into the golden
flood; one by one the clouds changed from crimson to gold, from gold
to rose, and then to gray; slowly all the tints faded until, as the
sun slipped out of sight, the brilliance gave way to the soft
afterglow of warm lights. These in turn slowly toned down into
gray twilight.

Helen retired to her room soon afterward, and, being unusually
thoughtful, sat down by the window. She reviewed the events of this
first day of her new life on the border. Her impressions had been so
many, so varied, that she wanted to distinguish them. First she felt
glad, with a sweet, warm thankfulness, that her father seemed so
happy, so encouraged by the outlook. Breaking old ties had been, she
knew, no child's play for him. She realized also that it had been done
solely because there had been nothing left to offer her in the old
home, and in a new one were hope and possibilities. Then she was
relieved at getting away from the attentions of a man whose
persistence had been most annoying to her. From thoughts of her
father, and the old life, she came to her new friends of the present.
She was so grateful for their kindness. She certainly would do all in
her power to win and keep their esteem.

Somewhat of a surprise was it to her, that she reserved for Jonathan
Zane the last and most prominent place in her meditations. She
suddenly asked herself how she regarded this fighting borderman. She
recalled her unbounded enthusiasm for the man as Colonel Zane had told
of him; then her first glimpse, and her surprise and admiration at the
lithe-limbed young giant; then incredulity, amusement, and respect
followed in swift order, after which an unaccountable coldness that
was almost resentment. Helen was forced to admit that she did not know
how to regard him, but surely he was a man, throughout every inch of
his superb frame, and one who took life seriously, with neither
thought nor time for the opposite sex. And this last brought a blush
to her cheek, for she distinctly remembered she had expected, if not
admiration, more than passing notice from this hero of the border.

Presently she took a little mirror from a table near where she sat.
Holding it to catch the fast-fading light, she studied her face
seriously.

"Helen Sheppard, I think on the occasion of your arrival in a new
country a little plain talk will be wholesome. Somehow or other,
perhaps because of a crowd of idle men back there in the colonies,
possibly from your own misguided fancy, you imagined you were fair to
look at. It is well to be undeceived."

Scorn spoke in Helen's voice. She was angry because of having been
interested in a man, and allowed that interest to betray her into a
girlish expectation that he would treat her as all other men had. The
mirror, even in the dim light, spoke more truly than she, for it
caught the golden tints of her luxuriant hair, the thousand beautiful
shadows in her great, dark eyes, the white glory of a face fair as a
star, and the swelling outline of neck and shoulders.

With a sudden fiery impetuosity she flung the glass to the floor,
where it was broken into several pieces.

"How foolish of me! What a temper I have!" she exclaimed repentantly.
"I'm glad I have another glass. Wouldn't Mr. Jonathan Zane, borderman,
Indian fighter, hero of a hundred battles and never a sweetheart, be
flattered? No, most decidedly he wouldn't. He never looked at me. I
don't think I expected that; I'm sure I didn't want it; but still he
might have—Oh! what am I thinking, and he a stranger?"

Before Helen lost herself in slumber on that eventful evening, she
vowed to ignore the borderman; assured herself that she did not want
to see him again, and, rather inconsistently, that she would cure him
of his indifference.

When Colonel Zane's guests had retired, and the villagers were gone to
their homes, he was free to consult with Jonathan.

"Well, Jack," he said, "I'm ready to hear about the horse thieves."

"Wetzel makes it out the man who's runnin' this hoss-stealin' is
located right here in Fort Henry," answered the borderman.

The colonel had lived too long on the frontier to show surprise; he
hummed a tune while the genial expression faded slowly from his face.

"Last count there were one hundred and ten men at the fort," he
replied thoughtfully. "I know over a hundred, and can trust them.
There are some new fellows on the boats, and several strangers hanging
round Metzar's."

"'Pears to Lew an' me that this fellar is a slick customer, an' one
who's been here long enough to know our hosses an' where we
keep them."

"I see. Like Miller, who fooled us all, even Betty, when he stole our
powder and then sold us to Girty," rejoined Colonel Zane grimly.

"Exactly, only this fellar is slicker an' more desperate than Miller."

"Right you are, Jack, for the man who is trusted and betrays us, must
be desperate. Does he realize what he'll get if we ever find out, or
is he underrating us?"

"He knows all right, an' is matchin' his cunnin' against our'n."

"Tell me what you and Wetzel learned."

The borderman proceeded to relate the events that had occurred during
a recent tramp in the forest with Wetzel. While returning from a hunt
in a swamp several miles over the ridge, back of Fort Henry, they ran
across the trail of three Indians. They followed this until darkness
set in, when both laid down to rest and wait for the early dawn, that
time most propitious for taking the savage by surprise. On resuming
the trail they found that other Indians had joined the party they were
tracking. To the bordermen this was significant of some unusual
activity directed toward the settlement. Unable to learn anything
definite from the moccasin traces, they hurried up on the trail to
find that the Indians had halted.

Wetzel and Jonathan saw from their covert that the savages had a woman
prisoner. A singular feature about it all was that the Indians
remained in the same place all day, did not light a camp-fire, and
kept a sharp lookout. The bordermen crept up as close as safe, and
remained on watch during the day and night.

Early next morning, when the air was fading from black to gray, the
silence was broken by the snapping of twigs and a tremor of the
ground. The bordermen believed another company of Indians was
approaching; but they soon saw it was a single white man leading a
number of horses. He departed before daybreak. Wetzel and Jonathan
could not get a clear view of him owing to the dim light; but they
heard his voice, and afterwards found the imprint of his moccasins.
They did, however, recognize the six horses as belonging to settlers
in Yellow Creek.

While Jonathan and Wetzel were consulting as to what it was best to
do, the party of Indians divided, four going directly west, and the
others north. Wetzel immediately took the trail of the larger party
with the prisoner and four of the horses. Jonathan caught two of the
animals which the Indians had turned loose, and tied them in the
forest. He then started after the three Indians who had gone
northward.

"Well?" Colonel Zane said impatiently, when Jonathan hesitated in his
story.

"One got away," he said reluctantly. "I barked him as he was runnin'
like a streak through the bushes, an' judged that he was hard hit. I
got the hosses, an' turned back on the trail of the white man."

"Where did it end?"

"In that hard-packed path near the blacksmith shop. An' the fellar
steps as light as an Injun."

"He's here, then, sure as you're born. We've lost no horses yet, but
last week old Sam heard a noise in the barn, and on going there found
Betty's mare out of her stall."

"Some one as knows the lay of the land had been after her," suggested
Jonathan.

"You can bet on that. We've got to find him before we lose all the
fine horse-flesh we own. Where do these stolen animals go? Indians
would steal any kind; but this thief takes only the best."

"I'm to meet Wetzel on the ridge soon, an' then we'll know, for he's
goin' to find out where the hosses are taken."

"That'll help some. On the way back you found where the white girl had
been taken from. Murdered father, burned cabin, the usual deviltry."

"Exactly."

"Poor Mabel! Do you think this white thief had anything to do with
carrying her away?"

"No. Wetzel says that's Bing Legget's work. The Shawnees were members
of his gang."

"Well, Jack, what'll I do?"

"Keep quiet an' wait," was the borderman's answer.

Colonel Zane, old pioneer and frontiersman though he was, shuddered as
he went to his room. His brother's dark look, and his deadly calmness,
were significant.

To those few who saw Jonathan Zane in the village, it seemed as if he
was in his usual quiet and dreamy state. The people were accustomed to
his silence, and long since learned that what little time he spent in
the settlement was not given to sociability. In the morning he
sometimes lay with Colonel Zane's dog, Chief, by the side of a spring
under an elm tree, and in the afternoon strolled aimlessly along the
river bluff, or on the hillside. At night he sat on his brother's
porch smoking a long Indian pipe. Since that day, now a week past,
when he had returned with the stolen horses, his movements and habits
were precisely what would have been expected of an unsuspicious
borderman.

In reality, however, Jonathan was not what he seemed. He knew all that
was going on in the settlement. Hardly a bird could have entered the
clearing unobserved.

At night, after all the villagers were in bed, he stole cautiously
about the stockade, silencing with familiar word the bristling
watch-hounds, and went from barn to barn, ending his stealthy tramp at
the corral where Colonel Zane kept his thoroughbreds.

But all this scouting by night availed nothing. No unusual event
occurred, not even the barking of a dog, a suspicious rustling among
the thickets, or whistling of a night-hawk had been heard.

Vainly the borderman strained ears to catch some low night-signal
given by waiting Indians to the white traitor within the settlement.
By day there was even less to attract the sharp-eyed watcher. The
clumsy river boats, half raft, half sawn lumber, drifted down the Ohio
on their first and last voyage, discharged their cargoes of grain,
liquor, or merchandise, and were broken up. Their crews came back on
the long overland journey to Fort Pitt, there to man another craft.
The garrison at the fort performed their customary duties; the
pioneers tilled the fields; the blacksmith scattered sparks, the
wheelwright worked industriously at his bench, and the housewives
attended to their many cares. No strangers arrived at Fort Henry. The
quiet life of the village was uninterrupted.