Books: The Last Trail
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Zane Grey >> The Last Trail
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17 Produced by Suzanne Shell, Audrey Longhurst, Tom Allen
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
ZANE GREY
The Last Trail
MCMIX
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.
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