Zane Grey (6 page)

"Chief must have gone with Sam. The old nigger sometimes goes at this
hour to see his daughter."

Jonathan lay on the grass several moments; then suddenly he arose much
as a bent sapling springs to place.

"I hear footsteps. Get the rifles," he said in a fierce whisper.

"Damn! There is some one in the barn."

"No; they're outside. Hurry, but softly."

Colonel Zane had but just risen to his feet, when Mrs. Zane came to
the door and called him by name.

Instantly from somewhere in the darkness overhanging the road, came a
low, warning whistle.

"A signal!" exclaimed Colonel Zane.

"Quick, Eb! Look toward Metzar's light. One, two, three,
shadows—Injuns!"

"By the Lord Harry! Now they're gone; but I couldn't mistake those
round heads and bristling feathers."

"Shawnees!" said the borderman, and his teeth shut hard like steel on
flint.

"Jack, they were after the horses, and some one was on the lookout! By
God! right under our noses!"

"Hurry," cried Jonathan, pulling his brother off the porch.

Colonel Zane followed the borderman out of the yard, into the road,
and across the grassy square.

"We might find the one who gave the signal," said the colonel. "He was
near at hand, and couldn't have passed the house."

Colonel Zane was correct, for whoever had whistled would be forced to
take one of two ways of escape; either down the straight road ahead,
or over the high stockade fence of the fort.

"There he goes," whispered Jonathan.

"Where? I can't see a blamed thing."

"Go across the square, run around the fort, an' head him off on the
road. Don't try to stop him for he'll have weapons, just find out
who he is."

"I see him now," replied Colonel Zane, as he hurried off into the
darkness.

During a few moments Jonathan kept in view the shadow he had seen
first come out of the gloom by the stockade, and thence pass swiftly
down the road. He followed swiftly, silently. Presently a light beyond
threw a glare across the road. He thought he was approaching a yard
where there was a fire, and the flames proved to be from pine cones
burning in the yard of Helen Sheppard. He remembered then that she was
entertaining some of the young people.

The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jonathan made
certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and he knew his
eyesight too well not to trust to it absolutely. Advancing nearer the
yard, he heard the murmur of voices in gay conversation, and soon saw
figures moving about under the trees.

No doubt was in his mind but that the man who gave the signal to warn
the Indians, was one of Helen Sheppard's guests.

Jonathan had walked across the street then down the path, before he
saw the colonel coming from the opposite direction. Halting under a
maple he waited for his brother to approach.

"I didn't meet any one. Did you lose him?" whispered Colonel Zane
breathlessly.

"No; he's in there."

"That's Sheppard's place. Do you mean he's hiding there?"

"No!"

Colonel Zane swore, as was his habit when exasperated. Kind and
generous man that he was, it went hard with him to believe in the
guilt of any of the young men he had trusted. But Jonathan had said
there was a traitor among them, and Colonel Zane did not question this
assertion. He knew the borderman. During years full of strife, and
war, and blood had he lived beside this silent man who said little,
but that little was the truth. Therefore Colonel Zane gave way
to anger.

"Well, I'm not so damned surprised! What's to be done?"

"Find out what men are there?"

"That's easy. I'll go to see George and soon have the truth."

"Won't do," said the borderman decisively. "Go back to the barn, an'
look after the hosses."

When Colonel Zane had obeyed Jonathan dropped to his hands and knees,
and swiftly, with the agile movements of an Indian, gained a corner of
the Sheppard yard. He crouched in the shade of a big plum tree. Then,
at a favorable opportunity, vaulted the fence and disappeared under a
clump of lilac bushes.

The evening wore away no more tediously to the borderman, than to
those young frontiersmen who were whispering tender or playful words
to their partners. Time and patience were the same to Jonathan Zane.
He lay hidden under the fragrant lilacs, his eyes, accustomed to the
dark from long practice, losing no movement of the guests. Finally it
became evident that the party was at an end. One couple took the
initiative, and said good night to their hostess.

"Tom Bennet, I hope it's not you," whispered the borderman to himself,
as he recognized the young fellow.

A general movement followed, until the merry party were assembled
about Helen near the front gate.

"Jim Morrison, I'll bet it's not you," was Jonathan's comment. "That
soldier Williams is doubtful; Hart an' Johnson being strangers, are
unknown quantities around here, an' then comes Brandt."

All departed except Brandt, who remained talking to Helen in low,
earnest tones. Jonathan lay very quietly, trying to decide what should
be his next move in the unraveling of the mystery. He paid little
attention to the young couple, but could not help overhearing their
conversation.

"Indeed, Mr. Brandt, you frontiersmen are not backward," Helen was
saying in her clear voice. "I am surprised to learn that you love me
upon such short acquaintance, and am sorry, too, for I hardly know
whether I even so much as like you."

"I love you. We men of the border do things rapidly," he replied
earnestly.

"So it seems," she said with a soft laugh.

"Won't you care for me?" he pleaded.

"Nothing is surer than that I never know what I am going to do," Helen
replied lightly.

"All these fellows are in love with you. They can't help it any more
than I. You are the most glorious creature. Please give me hope."

"Mr. Brandt, let go my hand. I'm afraid I don't like such impulsive
men."

"Please let me hold your hand."

"Certainly not."

"But I will hold it, and if you look at me like that again I'll do
more," he said.

"What, bold sir frontiersman?" she returned, lightly still, but in a
voice which rang with a deeper note.

"I'll kiss you," he cried desperately.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I though? You don't know us border fellows yet. You come
here with your wonderful beauty, and smile at us with that light in
your eyes which makes men mad. Oh, you'll pay for it."

The borderman listened to all this love-making half disgusted, until
he began to grow interested. Brandt's back was turned to him, and
Helen stood so that the light from the pine cones shone on her face.
Her eyes were brilliant, otherwise she seemed a woman perfectly
self-possessed. Brandt held her hand despite the repeated efforts she
made to free it. But she did not struggle violently, or make
an outcry.

Suddenly Brandt grasped her other hand, pulling her toward him.

"These other fellows will kiss you, and I'm going to be the first!" he
declared passionately.

Helen drew back, now thoroughly alarmed by the man's fierce energy.
She had been warned against this very boldness in frontiersmen; but
had felt secure in her own pride and dignity. Her blood boiled at the
thought that she must exert strength to escape insult. She struggled
violently when Brandt bent his head. Almost sick with fear, she had
determined to call for help, when a violent wrench almost toppled her
over. At the same instant her wrists were freed; she heard a fierce
cry, a resounding blow, and then the sodden thud of a heavy body
falling. Recovering her balance, she saw a tall figure beside her, and
a man in the act of rising from the ground.

"You?" whispered Helen, recognizing the tall figure as Jonathan's.

The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping his hand
inside his hunting frock. Brandt sprang nimbly to his feet, and with a
face which, even in the dim light, could be seen distorted with fury,
bent forward to look at the stranger. He, too, had his hand within his
coat, as if grasping a weapon; but he did not draw it.

"Zane, a lighter blow would have been easier to forget," he cried, his
voice clear and cutting. Then he turned to the girl. "Miss Helen, I
got what I deserved. I crave your forgiveness, and ask you to
understand a man who was once a gentleman. If I am one no longer, the
frontier is to blame. I was mad to treat you as I did."

Thus speaking, he bowed low with the grace of a man sometimes used to
the society of ladies, and then went out of the gate.

"Where did you come from?" asked Helen, looking up at Jonathan.

He pointed under the lilac bushes.

"Were you there?" she asked wonderingly. "Did you hear all?"

"I couldn't help hearin'."

"It was fortunate for me; but why—why were you there?"

Helen came a step nearer, and regarded him curiously with her great
eyes now black with excitement.

The borderman was silent.

Helen's softened mood changed instantly. There was nothing in his cold
face which might have betrayed in him a sentiment similar to that of
her admirers.

"Did you spy on me?" she asked quickly, after a moment's thought.

"No," replied Jonathan calmly.

Helen gazed in perplexity at this strange man. She did not know how to
explain it; she was irritated, but did her best to conceal it. He had
no interest in her, yet had hidden under the lilacs in her yard. She
was grateful because he had saved her from annoyance, yet could not
fathom his reason for being so near.

"Did you come here to see me?" she asked, forgetting her vexation.

"No."

"What for, then?"

"I reckon I won't say," was the quiet, deliberate refusal.

Helen stamped her foot in exasperation.

"Be careful that I do not put a wrong construction on your strange
action," said she coldly. "If you have reasons, you might trust me. If
you are only—"

"Sh-s-sh!" he breathed, grasping her wrist, and holding it firmly in
his powerful hand. The whole attitude of the man had altered swiftly,
subtly. The listlessness was gone. His lithe body became rigid as he
leaned forward, his head toward the ground, and turned slightly in a
manner that betokened intent listening.

Helen trembled as she felt his powerful frame quiver. Whatever had
thus changed him, gave her another glimpse of his complex personality.
It seemed to her incredible that with one whispered exclamation this
man could change from cold indifference to a fire and force so strong
as to dominate her.

Statue-like she remained listening; but hearing no sound, and
thrillingly conscious of the hand on her arm.

Far up on the hillside an owl hooted dismally, and an instant later,
faint and far away, came an answer so low as to be almost indistinct.

The borderman raised himself erect as he released her.

"It's only an owl," she said in relief.

His eyes gleamed like stars.

"It's Wetzel, an' it means Injuns!"

Then he was gone into the darkness.

In the misty morning twilight Colonel Zane, fully armed, paced to and
fro before his cabin, on guard. All night he had maintained a watch.
He had not considered it necessary to send his family into the fort,
to which they had often been compelled to flee. On the previous night
Jonathan had come swiftly back to the cabin, and, speaking but two
words, seized his weapons and vanished into the black night. The words
were "Injuns! Wetzel!" and there were none others with more power to
affect hearers on the border. The colonel believed that Wetzel had
signaled to Jonathan.

On the west a deep gully with precipitous sides separated the
settlement from a high, wooded bluff. Wetzel often returned from his
journeying by this difficult route. He had no doubt seen Indian signs,
and had communicated the intelligence to Jonathan by their system of
night-bird calls. The nearness of the mighty hunter reassured
Colonel Zane.

When the colonel returned from his chase of the previous night, he
went directly to the stable, there to find that the Indians had made
off with a thoroughbred, and Betty's pony. Colonel Zane was furious,
not on account of the value of the horses, but because Bess was his
favorite bay, and Betty loved nothing more than her pony Madcap. To
have such a march stolen on him after he had heard and seen the
thieves was indeed hard. High time it was that these horse thieves be
run to earth. No Indian had planned these marauding expeditions. An
intelligent white man was at the bottom of the thieving, and he should
pay for his treachery.

The colonel's temper, however, soon cooled. He realized after thinking
over the matter, that he was fortunate it passed off without
bloodshed. Very likely the intent had been to get all his horses,
perhaps his neighbor's as well, and it had been partly frustrated by
Jonathan's keen sagacity. These Shawnees, white leader or not, would
never again run such risks.

"It's like a skulking Shawnee," muttered Colonel Zane, "to slip down
here under cover of early dusk, when no one but an Indian hunter could
detect him. I didn't look for trouble, especially so soon after the
lesson we gave Girty and his damned English and redskins. It's lucky
Jonathan was here. I'll go back to the old plan of stationing scouts
at the outposts until snow flies."

While Colonel Zane talked to himself and paced the path he had
selected to patrol, the white mists cleared, and a rosy hue followed
the brightening in the east. The birds ceased twittering to break into
gay songs, and the cock in the barnyard gave one final clarion-voiced
salute to the dawn. The rose in the east deepened into rich red, and
then the sun peeped over the eastern hilltops to drench the valley
with glad golden light.