Books: The Last Trail
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Zane Grey >> The Last Trail
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"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.
CHAPTER V
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.
A blue smoke curling lazily from the stone chimney of his cabin,
showed that Sam had made the kitchen fire, and a little later a rich,
savory odor gave pleasing evidence that his wife was cooking
breakfast.
"Any sign of Jack?" a voice called from the open door, and Betty
appeared.
"Nary sign."
"Of the Indians, then?"
"Well, Betts, they left you a token of their regard," and Colonel Zane
smiled as he took a broken halter from the fence.
"Madcap?" cried Betty.
"Yes, they've taken Madcap and Bess."
"Oh, the villains! Poor pony," exclaimed Betty indignantly. "Eb, I'll
coax Wetzel to fetch the pony home if he has to kill every Shawnee in
the valley."
"Now you're talking, Betts," Colonel Zane replied. "If you could get
Lew to do that much, you'd be blessed from one end of the border to
the other."
He walked up the road; then back, keeping a sharp lookout on all
sides, and bestowing a particularly keen glance at the hillside across
the ravine, but could see no sign of the bordermen. As it was now
broad daylight he felt convinced that further watch was unnecessary,
and went in to breakfast. When he came out again the villagers were
astir. The sharp strokes of axes rang out on the clear morning air,
and a mellow anvil-clang pealed up from the blacksmith shop. Colonel
Zane found his brother Silas and Jim Douns near the gate.
"Morning, boys," he cried cheerily.
"Any glimpse of Jack or Lew?" asked Silas.
"No; but I'm expecting one of 'em any moment."
"How about the Indians?" asked Douns. "Silas roused me out last night;
but didn't stay long enough to say more than 'Indians.'"
"I don't know much more than Silas. I saw several of the red devils
who stole the horses; but how many, where they've gone, or what we're
to expect, I can't say. We've got to wait for Jack or Lew. Silas, keep
the garrison in readiness at the fort, and don't allow a man, soldier
or farmer, to leave the clearing until further orders. Perhaps there
were only three of those Shawnees, and then again the woods might have
been full of them. I take it something's amiss, or Jack and Lew would
be in by now."
"Here come Sheppard and his girl," said Silas, pointing down the lane.
"'Pears George is some excited."
Colonel Zane had much the same idea as he saw Sheppard and his
daughter. The old man appeared in a hurry, which was sufficient reason
to believe him anxious or alarmed, and Helen looked pale.
"Ebenezer, what's this I hear about Indians?" Sheppard asked
excitedly. "What with Helen's story about the fort being besieged, and
this brother of yours routing honest people from their beds, I haven't
had a wink of sleep. What's up? Where are the redskins?"
"Now, George, be easy," said Colonel Zane calmly. "And you, Helen,
mustn't be frightened. There's no danger. We did have a visit from
Indians last night; but they hurt no one, and got only two horses."
"Oh, I'm so relieved that it's not worse," said Helen.
"It's bad enough, Helen," Betty cried, her black eyes flashing, "my
pony Madcap is gone."
"Colonel Zane, come here quick!" cried Douns, who stood near the gate.
With one leap Colonel Zane was at the gate, and, following with his
eyes the direction indicated by Douns' trembling finger, he saw two
tall, brown figures striding down the lane. One carried two rifles,
and the other a long bundle wrapped in a blanket.
"It's Jack and Wetzel," whispered Colonel Zane to Jim. "They've got
the girl, and by God! from the way that bundle hangs, I think she's
dead. Here," he added, speaking loudly, "you women get into
the house."
Mrs. Zane, Betty and Helen stared.
"Go into the house!" he cried authoritatively.
Without a protest the three women obeyed.
At that moment Nellie Douns came across the lane; Sam shuffled out
from the backyard, and Sheppard arose from his seat on the steps. They
joined Colonel Zane, Silas and Jim at the gate.
"I wondered what kept you so late," Colonel Zane said to Jonathan, as
he and his companion came up. "You've fetched Mabel, and she's----".
The good man could say no more. If he should live an hundred years on
the border amid savage murderers, he would still be tender-hearted.
Just now he believed the giant borderman by the side of Jonathan held
a dead girl, one whom he had danced, when a child, upon his knee.
"Mabel, an' jest alive," replied Jonathan.
"By God! I'm glad!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. "Here, Lew, give her to
me."
Wetzel relinquished his burden to the colonel.
"Lew, any bad Indian sign?" asked Colonel Zane as he turned to go into
the house.
The borderman shook his head.
"Wait for me," added the colonel.
He carried the girl to that apartment in the cabin which served the
purpose of a sitting-room, and laid her on a couch. He gently removed
the folds of the blanket, disclosing to view a fragile,
white-faced girl.
"Bess, hurry, hurry!" he screamed to his wife, and as she came running
in, followed no less hurriedly by Betty, Helen and Nellie, he
continued, "Here's Mabel Lane, alive, poor child; but in sore need of
help. First see whether she has any bodily injury. If a bullet must be
cut out, or a knife-wound sewed up, it's better she remained
unconscious. Betty, run for Bess's instruments, and bring brandy and
water. Lively now!" Then he gave vent to an oath and left the room.
Helen, her heart throbbing wildly, went to the side of Mrs. Zane, who
was kneeling by the couch. She saw a delicate girl, not over eighteen
years old, with a face that would have been beautiful but for the set
lips, the closed eyelids, and an expression of intense pain.
"Oh! Oh!" breathed Helen.
"Nell, hand me the scissors," said Mrs. Zane, "and help me take off
this dress. Why, it's wet, but, thank goodness! 'tis not with blood. I
know that slippery touch too well. There, that's right. Betty, give me
a spoonful of brandy. Now heat a blanket, and get one of your linsey
gowns for this poor child."
Helen watched Mrs. Zane as if fascinated. The colonel's wife continued
to talk while with deft fingers she forced a few drops of brandy
between the girl's closed teeth. Then with the adroitness of a skilled
surgeon, she made the examination. Helen had heard of this pioneer
woman's skill in setting broken bones and treating injuries, and when
she looked from the calm face to the steady fingers, she had no doubt
as to the truth of what had been told.
"Neither bullet wound, cut, bruise, nor broken bone," said Mrs. Zane.
"It's fear, starvation, and the terrible shock."
She rubbed Mabel's hands while gazing at her pale face. Then she
forced more brandy between the tightly-closed lips. She was rewarded
by ever so faint a color tinging the wan cheeks, to be followed by a
fluttering of the eyelids. Then the eyes opened wide. They were large,
soft, dark and humid with agony.
Helen could not bear their gaze. She saw the shadow of death, and of
worse than death. She looked away, while in her heart rose a storm of
passionate fury at the brutes who had made of this tender girl
a wreck.
The room was full of women now, sober-faced matrons and grave-eyed
girls, yet all wore the same expression, not alone of anger, nor fear,
nor pity, but of all combined.
Helen instinctively felt that this was one of the trials of border
endurance, and she knew from the sterner faces of the maturer women
that such a trial was familiar. Despite all she had been told, the
shock and pain were too great, and she went out of the room sobbing.
She almost fell over the broad back of Jonathan Zane who was sitting
on the steps. Near him stood Colonel Zane talking with a tall man clad
in faded buckskin.
"Lass, you shouldn't have stayed," said Colonel Zane kindly.
"It's--hurt--me--here," said Helen, placing her hand over her heart.
"Yes, I know, I know; of course it has," he replied, taking her hand.
"But be brave, Helen, bear up, bear up. Oh! this border is a stern
place! Do not think of that poor girl. Come, let me introduce
Jonathan's friend, Wetzel!"
Helen looked up and held out her hand. She saw a very tall man with
extremely broad shoulders, a mass of raven-black hair, and a white
face. He stepped forward, and took her hand in his huge, horny palm,
pressing it, he stepped back without speaking. Colonel Zane talked to
her in a soothing voice; but she failed to hear what he said. This
Wetzel, this Indian-hunter whom she had heard called "Deathwind of the
Border," this companion, guide, teacher of Jonathan Zane, this
borderman of wonderful deeds, stood before her.
Helen saw a cold face, deathly in its pallor, lighted by eyes
sloe-black but like glinting steel. Striking as were these features,
they failed to fascinate as did the strange tracings which apparently
showed through the white, drawn skin. This first repelled, then drew
her with wonderful force. Suffering, of fire, and frost, and iron was
written there, and, stronger than all, so potent as to cause fear,
could be read the terrible purpose of this man's tragic life.
"You avenged her! Oh! I know you did!" cried Helen, her whole heart
leaping with a blaze to her eyes.
She was answered by a smile, but such a smile! Kindly it broke over
the stern face, giving a glimpse of a heart still warm beneath that
steely cold. Behind it, too, there was something fateful,
something deadly.
Helen knew, though the borderman spoke not, that somewhere among the
grasses of the broad plains, or on the moss of the wooded hills, lay
dead the perpetrators of this outrage, their still faces bearing the
ghastly stamp of Deathwind.
CHAPTER VI
Happier days than she had hoped for, dawned upon Helen after the first
touch of border sorrow. Mabel Lane did not die. Helen and Betty nursed
the stricken girl tenderly, weeping for very joy when signs of
improvement appeared. She had remained silent for several days, always
with that haunting fear in her eyes, and then gradually came a change.
Tender care and nursing had due effect in banishing the dark shadow.
One morning after a long sleep she awakened with a bright smile, and
from that time her improvement was rapid.
Helen wanted Mabel to live with her. The girl's position was pitiable.
Homeless, fatherless, with not a relative on the border, yet so brave,
so patient that she aroused all the sympathy in Helen's breast.
Village gossip was in substance, that Mabel had given her love to a
young frontiersman, by name Alex Bennet, who had an affection for her,
so it was said, but as yet had made no choice between her and the
other lasses of the settlement. What effect Mabel's terrible
experience might have on this lukewarm lover, Helen could not even
guess; but she was not hopeful as to the future. Colonel Zane and
Betty approved of Helen's plan to persuade Mabel to live with her, and
the latter's faint protestations they silenced by claiming she could
be of great assistance in the management of the house, therefore it
was settled.
Finally the day came when Mabel was ready to go with Helen. Betty had
given her a generous supply of clothing, for all her belongings had
been destroyed when the cabin was burned. With Helen's strong young
arm around her she voiced her gratitude to Betty and Mrs. Zane and
started toward the Sheppard home.
From the green square, where the ground was highest, an unobstructed
view could be had of the valley. Mabel gazed down the river to where
her home formerly stood. Only a faint, dark spot, like a blur on the
green landscape, could be seen. Her soft eyes filled with tears; but
she spoke no word.
"She's game and that's why she didn't go under," Colonel Zane said to
himself as he mused on the strength and spirit of borderwomen. To
their heroism, more than any other thing, he attributed the
establishing of homes in this wilderness.
In the days that ensued, as Mabel grew stronger, the girls became very
fond of each other. Helen would have been happy at any time with such
a sweet companion, but just then, when the poor girl's mind was so
sorely disturbed she was doubly glad. For several days, after Mabel
was out of danger, Helen's thoughts had dwelt on a subject which
caused extreme vexation. She had begun to suspect that she encouraged
too many admirers for whom she did not care, and thought too much of a
man who did not reciprocate. She was gay and moody in turn. During the
moody hours she suspected herself, and in her gay ones, scorned the
idea that she might ever care for a man who was indifferent. But that
thought once admitted, had a trick of returning at odd moments,
clouding her cheerful moods.
One sunshiny morning while the May flowers smiled under the hedge,
when dew sparkled on the leaves, and the locust-blossoms shone
creamy-white amid the soft green of the trees, the girls set about
their much-planned flower gardening. Helen was passionately fond of
plants, and had brought a jar of seeds of her favorites all the way
from her eastern home.
"We'll plant the morning-glories so they'll run up the porch, and the
dahlias in this long row and the nasturtiums in this round bed,"
Helen said.
"You have some trailing arbutus," added Mabel, "and must have
clematis, wild honeysuckle and golden-glow, for they are all
sweet flowers."
"This arbutus is so fresh, so dewy, so fragrant," said Helen, bending
aside a lilac bush to see the pale, creeping flowers. "I never saw
anything so beautiful. I grow more and more in love with my new home
and friends. I have such a pretty garden to look into, and I never
tire of the view beyond."
Helen gazed with pleasure and pride at the garden with its fresh green
and lavender-crested lilacs, at the white-blossomed trees, and the
vine-covered log cabins with blue smoke curling from their stone
chimneys. Beyond, the great bulk of the fort stood guard above the
willow-skirted river, and far away over the winding stream the dark
hills, defiant, kept their secrets.
"If it weren't for that threatening fort one could imagine this little
hamlet, nestling under the great bluff, as quiet and secure as it is
beautiful," said Helen. "But that charred stockade fence with its
scarred bastions and these lowering port-holes, always keep me alive
to the reality."
"It wasn't very quiet when Girty was here," Mabel replied
thoughtfully.
"Were you in the fort then?" asked Helen breathlessly.
"Oh, yes, I cooled the rifles for the men," replied Mabel calmly.
"Tell me all about it."
Helen listened again to a story she had heard many times; but told by
new lips it always gained in vivid interest. She never tired of
hearing how the notorious renegade, Girty, rode around the fort on his
white horse, giving the defenders an hour in which to surrender; she
learned again of the attack, when the British soldiers remained silent
on an adjoining hillside, while the Indians yelled exultantly and ran
about in fiendish glee, when Wetzel began the battle by shooting an
Indian chieftain who had ventured within range of his ever fatal
rifle. And when it came to the heroic deeds of that memorable siege
Helen could not contain her enthusiasm. She shed tears over little
Harry Bennet's death at the south bastion where, though riddled with
bullets, he stuck to his post until relieved. Clark's race, across the
roof of the fort to extinguish a burning arrow, she applauded with
clapping hands. Her great eyes glowed and burned, but she was silent,
when hearing how Wetzel ran alone to a break in the stockade, and
there, with an ax, the terrible borderman held at bay the whole
infuriated Indian mob until the breach was closed. Lastly Betty Zane's
never-to-be-forgotten run with the powder to the relief of the
garrison and the saving of the fort was something not to cry over or
applaud; but to dream of and to glorify.
"Down that slope from Colonel Zane's cabin is where Betty ran with the
powder," said Mabel, pointing.
"Did you see her?" asked Helen.
"Yes, I looked out of a port-hole. The Indians stopped firing at the
fort in their eagerness to shoot Betty. Oh, the banging of guns and
yelling of savages was one fearful, dreadful roar! Through all that
hail of bullets Betty ran swift as the wind."
"I almost wish Girty would come again," said Helen.
"Don't; he might."
"How long has Betty's husband, Mr. Clarke, been dead?" inquired Helen.
"I don't remember exactly. He didn't live long after the siege. Some
say he inhaled the flames while fighting fire inside the stockade."
"How sad!"
"Yes, it was. It nearly killed Betty. But we border girls do not give
up easily; we must not," replied Mabel, an unquenchable spirit showing
through the sadness of her eyes.
Merry voices interrupted them, and they turned to see Betty and Nell
entering the gate. With Nell's bright chatter and Betty's wit, the
conversation became indeed vivacious, running from gossip to gowns,
and then to that old and ever new theme, love. Shortly afterward the
colonel entered the gate, with swinging step and genial smile.
"Well, now, if here aren't four handsome lasses," he said with an
admiring glance.
"Eb, I believe if you were single any girl might well suspect you of
being a flirt," said Betty.
"No girl ever did. I tell you I was a lady-killer in my day," replied
Colonel Zane, straightening his fine form. He was indeed handsome,
with his stalwart frame, dark, bronzed face and rugged, manly bearing.
"Bess said you were; but that it didn't last long after you saw her,"
cried Betty, mischief gleaming in her dark eye.
"Well, that's so," replied the colonel, looking a trifle crest-fallen;
"but you know every dog has his day." Then advancing to the porch, he
looked at Mabel with a more serious gaze as he asked, "How are
you to-day?"
"Thank you, Colonel Zane, I am getting quite strong."
"Look up the valley. There's a raft coming down the river," said he
softly.
Far up the broad Ohio a square patch showed dark against the green
water.
Colonel Zane saw Mabel start, and a dark red flush came over her pale
face. For an instant she gazed with an expression of appeal, almost
fear. He knew the reason. Alex Bennet was on that raft.
"I came over to ask if I can be of any service?"
"Tell him," she answered simply.
"I say, Betts," Colonel Zane cried, "has Helen's cousin cast any more
such sheep eyes at you?"
"Oh, Eb, what nonsense!" exclaimed Betty, blushing furiously.
"Well, if he didn't look sweet at you I'm an old fool."
"You're one anyway, and you're horrid," said Betty, tears of anger
glistening in her eyes.
Colonel Zane whistled softly as he walked down the lane. He went into
the wheelwright's shop to see about some repairs he was having made on
a wagon, and then strolled on down to the river. Two Indians were
sitting on the rude log wharf, together with several frontiersmen and
rivermen, all waiting for the raft. He conversed with the Indians, who
were friendly Chippewas, until the raft was tied up. The first person
to leap on shore was a sturdy young fellow with a shock of yellow
hair, and a warm, ruddy skin.
"Hello, Alex, did you have a good trip?" asked Colonel Zane of the
youth.
"H'are ye, Colonel Zane. Yes, first-rate trip," replied young Bennet.
"Say, I've a word for you. Come aside," and drawing Colonel Zane out
of earshot of the others, he continued, "I heard this by accident, not
that I didn't spy a bit when I got interested, for I did; but the way
it came about was all chance. Briefly, there's a man, evidently an
Englishman, at Fort Pitt whom I overheard say he was out on the border
after a Sheppard girl. I happened to hear from one of Brandt's men,
who rode into Pitt just before we left, that you had new friends here
by that name. This fellow was a handsome chap, no common sort, but
lordly, dissipated and reckless as the devil. He had a servant
traveling with him, a sailor, by his gab, who was about the toughest
customer I've met in many a day. He cut a fellow in bad shape at Pitt.
These two will be on the next boat, due here in a day or so, according
to river and weather conditions, an' I thought, considerin' how
unusual the thing was, I'd better tell ye."
"Well, well," said Colonel Zane reflectively. He recalled Sheppard's
talk about an Englishman. "Alex, you did well to tell me. Was the man
drunk when he said he came west after a woman?"
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