Books: The Last Trail
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Zane Grey >> The Last Trail
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"Sure he was," replied Alex. "But not when he spoke the name. Ye see I
got suspicious, an' asked about him. It's this way: Jake Wentz, the
trader, told me the fellow asked for the Sheppards when he got off the
wagon-train. When I first seen him he was drunk, and I heard Jeff Lynn
say as how the border was a bad place to come after a woman. That's
what made me prick up my ears. Then the Englishman said: 'It is, eh?
By God! I'd go to hell after a woman I wanted.' An' Colonel, he
looked it, too."
Colonel Zane remained thoughtful while Alex made up a bundle and
forced the haft of an ax under the string; but as the young man
started away the colonel suddenly remembered his errand down to
the wharf.
"Alex, come back here," he said, and wondered if the lad had good
stuff in him. The boatman's face was plain, but not evil, and a close
scrutiny of it rather prepossessed the colonel.
"Alex, I've some bad news for you," and then bluntly, with his keen
gaze fastened on the young man's face, he told of old Lane's murder,
of Mabel's abduction, and of her rescue by Wetzel.
Alex began to curse and swear vengeance.
"Stow all that," said the colonel sharply. "Wetzel followed four
Indians who had Mabel and some stolen horses. The redskins quarreled
over the girl, and two took the horses, leaving Mabel to the others.
Wetzel went after these last, tomahawked them, and brought Mabel home.
She was in a bad way, but is now getting over the shock."
"Say, what'd we do here without Wetzel?" Alex said huskily, unmindful
of the tears that streamed from his eyes and ran over his brown
cheeks. "Poor old Jake! Poor Mabel! Damn me! it's my fault. If I'd 'a
done right an' married her as I should, as I wanted to, she wouldn't
have had to suffer. But I'll marry her yet, if she'll have me. It was
only because I had no farm, no stock, an' only that little cabin as is
full now, that I waited."
"Alex, you know me," said Colonel Zane in kindly tones. "Look there,
down the clearing half a mile. See that green strip of land along the
river, with the big chestnut in the middle and a cabin beyond. There's
as fine farming land as can be found on the border, eighty acres, well
watered. The day you marry Mabel that farm is yours."
Alex grew red, stammered, and vainly tried to express his gratitude.
"Come along, the sooner you tell Mabel the better," said the colonel
with glowing face. He was a good matchmaker. He derived more pleasure
from a little charity bestowed upon a deserving person, than from a
season's crops.
When they arrived at the Sheppard house the girls were still on the
porch. Mabel rose when she saw Alex, standing white and still. He,
poor fellow, was embarrassed by the others, who regarded him with
steady eyes.
Colonel Zane pushed Alex up on the porch, and said in a low voice:
"Mabel, I've just arranged something you're to give Alex. It's a nice
little farm, and it'll be a wedding present."
Mabel looked in a bewildered manner from Colonel Zane's happy face to
the girls, and then at the red, joyous features of her lover. Only
then did she understand, and uttering a strange little cry, put her
trembling hands to her bosom as she swayed to and fro.
But she did not fall, for Alex, quick at the last, leaped forward and
caught her in his arms.
* * * * *
That evening Helen denied herself to Mr. Brandt and several other
callers. She sat on the porch with her father while he smoked
his pipe.
"Where's Will?" she asked.
"Gone after snipe, so he said," replied her father.
"Snipe? How funny! Imagine Will hunting! He's surely catching the wild
fever Colonel Zane told us about."
"He surely is."
Then came a time of silence. Mr. Sheppard, accustomed to Helen's
gladsome spirit and propensity to gay chatter, noted how quiet she
was, and wondered.
"Why are you so still?"
"I'm a little homesick," Helen replied reluctantly.
"No? Well, I declare! This is a glorious country; but not for such as
you, dear, who love music and gaiety. I often fear you'll not be happy
here, and then I long for the old home, which reminds me of
your mother."
"Dearest, forget what I said," cried Helen earnestly. "I'm only a
little blue to-day; perhaps not at all homesick."
"Indeed, you always seemed happy."
"Father, I am happy. It's only--only a girl's foolish sentiment."
"I've got something to tell you, Helen, and it has bothered me since
Colonel Zane spoke of it to-night. Mordaunt is coming to Fort Henry."
"Mordaunt? Oh, impossible! Who said so? How did you learn?"
"I fear 'tis true, my dear. Colonel Zane told me he had heard of an
Englishman at Fort Pitt who asked after us. Moreover, the fellow
answers the description of Mordaunt. I am afraid it is he, and come
after you."
"Suppose he has--who cares? We owe him nothing. He cannot hurt us."
"But, Helen, he's a desperate man. Aren't you afraid of him?"
"Not I," cried Helen, laughing in scorn. "He'd better have a care. He
can't run things with a high hand out here on the border. I told him I
would have none of him, and that ended it."
"I'm much relieved. I didn't want to tell you; but it seemed
necessary. Well, child, good night, I'll go to bed."
Long after Mr. Sheppard had retired Helen sat thinking. Memories of
the past, and of the unwelcome suitor, Mordaunt, thronged upon her
thick and fast. She could see him now with his pale, handsome face,
and distinguished bearing. She had liked him, as she had other men,
until he involved her father, with himself, in financial ruin, and had
made his attention to her unpleasantly persistent. Then he had
followed the fall of fortune with wild dissipation, and became a
gambler and a drunkard. But he did not desist in his mad wooing. He
became like her shadow, and life grew to be unendurable, until her
father planned to emigrate west, when she hailed the news with joy.
And now Mordaunt had tracked her to her new home. She was sick with
disgust. Then her spirit, always strong, and now freer for this new,
wild life of the frontier, rose within her, and she dismissed all
thoughts of this man and his passion.
The old life was dead and buried. She was going to be happy here. As
for the present, it was enough to think of the little border village,
now her home; of her girl friends; of the quiet borderman: and, for
the moment, that the twilight was somber and beautiful.
High up on the wooded bluff rising so gloomily over the village, she
saw among the trees something silver-bright. She watched it rise
slowly from behind the trees, now hidden, now white through rifts in
the foliage, until it soared lovely and grand above the black horizon.
The ebony shadows of night seemed to lift, as might a sable mantle
moved by invisible hands. But dark shadows, safe from the moon-rays,
lay under the trees, and a pale, misty vapor hung below the brow of
the bluff.
Mysterious as had grown the night before darkness yielded to the moon,
this pale, white light flooding the still valley, was even more soft
and strange. To one of Helen's temperament no thought was needed; to
see was enough. Yet her mind was active. She felt with haunting power
the beauty of all before her; in fancy transporting herself far to
those silver-tipped clouds, and peopling the dells and shady nooks
under the hills with spirits and fairies, maidens and valiant knights.
To her the day was as a far-off dream. The great watch stars grew wan
before the radiant moon; it reigned alone. The immensity of the world
with its glimmering rivers, pensive valleys and deep, gloomy forests
lay revealed under the glory of the clear light.
Absorbed in this contemplation Helen remained a long time gazing with
dreamy ecstasy at the moonlit valley until a slight chill disturbed
her happy thoughts. She knew she was not alone. Trembling, she stood
up to see, easily recognizable in the moonlight, the tall
buckskin-garbed figure of Jonathan Zane.
"Well, sir," she called, sharply, yet with a tremor in her voice.
The borderman came forward and stood in front of her. Somehow he
appeared changed. The long, black rifle, the dull, glinting weapons
made her shudder. Wilder and more untamable he looked than ever. The
very silence of the forest clung to him; the fragrance of the grassy
plains came faintly from his buckskin garments.
"Evenin', lass," he said in his slow, cool manner.
"How did you get here?" asked Helen presently, because he made no
effort to explain his presence at such a late hour.
"I was able to walk."
Helen observed, with a vaulting spirit, one ever ready to rise in
arms, that Master Zane was disposed to add humor to his penetrating
mysteriousness. She flushed hot and then paled. This borderman
certainly possessed the power to vex her, and, reluctantly she
admitted, to chill her soul and rouse her fear. She strove to keep
back sharp words, because she had learned that this singular
individual always gave good reason for his odd actions.
"I think in kindness to me," she said, choosing her words carefully,
"you might tell me why you appear so suddenly, as if you had sprung
out of the ground."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes. Father is in bed; so is Mabel, and Will has not yet come home.
Why?"
"Has no one else been here?"
"Mr. Brandt came, as did some others; but wishing to be alone, I did
not see them," replied Helen in perplexity.
"Have you seen Brandt since?"
"Since when?"
"The night I watched by the lilac bush."
"Yes, several times," replied Helen. Something in his tone made her
ashamed. "I couldn't very well escape when he called. Are you
surprised because after he insulted me I'd see him?"
"Yes."
Helen felt more ashamed.
"You don't love him?" he continued.
Helen was so surprised she could only look into the dark face above
her. Then she dropped her gaze, abashed by his searching eyes. But,
thinking of his question, she subdued the vague stirrings of pleasure
in her breast, and answered coldly:
"No, I do not; but for the service you rendered me I should never have
answered such a question."
"I'm glad, an' hope you care as little for the other five men who were
here that night."
"I declare, Master Zane, you seem exceedingly interested in the
affairs of a young woman whom you won't visit, except as you have come
to-night."
He looked at her with his piercing eyes.
"You spied upon my guests," she said, in no wise abashed now that her
temper was high. "Did you care so very much?"
"Care?" he asked slowly.
"Yes; you were interested to know how many of my admirers were here,
what they did, and what they said. You even hint disparagingly
of them."
"True, I wanted to know," he replied; "but I don't hint about any
man."
"You are so interested you wouldn't call on me when I invited you,"
said Helen, with poorly veiled sarcasm. It was this that made her
bitter; she could never forget that she had asked this man to come to
see her, and he had refused.
"I reckon you've mistook me," he said calmly.
"Why did you come? Why do you shadow my friends? This is twice you
have done it. Goodness knows how many times you've been here!
Tell me."
The borderman remained silent.
"Answer me," commanded Helen, her eyes blazing. She actually stamped
her foot. "Borderman or not, you have no right to pry into my affairs.
If you are a gentleman, tell me why you came here?"
The eyes Jonathan turned on Helen stilled all the angry throbbing of
her blood.
"I come here to learn which of your lovers is the dastard who plotted
the abduction of Mabel Lane, an' the thief who stole our hosses. When
I find the villain I reckon Wetzel an' I'll swing him to some tree."
The borderman's voice rang sharp and cold, and when he ceased speaking
she sank back upon the step, shocked, speechless, to gaze up at him
with staring eyes.
"Don't look so, lass; don't be frightened," he said, his voice gentle
and kind as it had been hard. He took her hand in his. "You nettled me
into replyin'. You have a sharp tongue, lass, and when I spoke I was
thinkin' of him. I'm sorry."
"A horse-thief and worse than murderer among my friends!" murmured
Helen, shuddering, yet she never thought to doubt his word.
"I followed him here the night of your company."
"Do you know which one?"
"No."
He still held her hand, unconsciously, but Helen knew it well. A sense
of his strength came with the warm pressure, and comforted her. She
would need that powerful hand, surely, in the evil days which seemed
to darken the horizon.
"What shall I do?" she whispered, shuddering again.
"Keep this secret between you an' me."
"How can I? How can I?"
"You must," his voice was deep and low. "If you tell your father, or
any one, I might lose the chance to find this man, for, lass, he's
desperate cunnin'. Then he'd go free to rob others, an' mebbe help
make off with other poor girls. Lass, keep my secret."
"But he might try to carry me away," said Helen in fearful perplexity.
"Most likely he might," replied the borderman with the smile that came
so rarely.
"Oh! Knowing all this, how can I meet any of these men again? I'd
betray myself."
"No; you've got too much pluck. It so happens you are the one to help
me an' Wetzel rid the border of these hell-hounds, an' you won't fail.
I know a woman when it comes to that."
"I--I help you and Wetzel?"
"Exactly."
"Gracious!" cried Helen, half-laughing, half-crying. "And poor me with
more trouble coming on the next boat."
"Lass, the colonel told me about the Englishman. It'll be bad for him
to annoy you."
Helen thrilled with the depth of meaning in the low voice. Fate surely
was weaving a bond between her and this borderman. She felt it in his
steady, piercing gaze; in her own tingling blood.
Then as her natural courage dispelled all girlish fears, she faced
him, white, resolute, with a look in her eyes that matched his own.
"I will do what I can," she said.
CHAPTER VII
Westward from Fort Henry, far above the eddying river, Jonathan Zane
slowly climbed a narrow, hazel-bordered, mountain trail. From time to
time he stopped in an open patch among the thickets and breathed deep
of the fresh, wood-scented air, while his keen gaze swept over the
glades near by, along the wooded hillsides, and above at the
timber-strewn woodland.
This June morning in the wild forest was significant of nature's
brightness and joy. Broad-leaved poplars, dense foliaged oaks, and
vine-covered maples shaded cool, mossy banks, while between the trees
the sunshine streamed in bright spots. It shone silver on the glancing
silver-leaf, and gold on the colored leaves of the butternut tree.
Dewdrops glistened on the ferns; ripples sparkled in the brooks;
spider-webs glowed with wondrous rainbow hues, and the flower of the
forest, the sweet, pale-faced daisy, rose above the green like a
white star.
Yellow birds flitted among the hazel bushes caroling joyously, and
cat-birds sang gaily. Robins called; bluejays screeched in the tall,
white oaks; wood-peckers hammered in the dead hard-woods, and crows
cawed overhead. Squirrels chattered everywhere. Ruffed grouse rose
with great bustle and a whirr, flitting like brown flakes through the
leaves. From far above came the shrill cry of a hawk, followed by the
wilder scream of an eagle.
Wilderness music such as all this fell harmoniously on the borderman's
ear. It betokened the gladsome spirit of his wild friends, happy in
the warm sunshine above, or in the cool depths beneath the fluttering
leaves, and everywhere in those lonely haunts unalarmed and free.
Familiar to Jonathan, almost as the footpath near his home, was this
winding trail. On the height above was a safe rendezvous, much
frequented by him and Wetzel. Every lichen-covered stone, mossy bank,
noisy brook and giant oak on the way up this mountain-side, could have
told, had they spoken their secrets, stories of the bordermen. The
fragile ferns and slender-bladed grasses peeping from the gray and
amber mosses, and the flowers that hung from craggy ledges, had wisdom
to impart. A borderman lived under the green tree-tops, and,
therefore, all the nodding branches of sassafras and laurel, the
grassy slopes and rocky cliffs, the stately ash trees, kingly oaks and
dark, mystic pines, together with the creatures that dwelt among them,
save his deadly red-skinned foes, he loved. Other affection as close
and true as this, he had not known. Hearkening thus with single heart
to nature's teachings, he learned her secrets. Certain it was,
therefore, that the many hours he passed in the woods apart from
savage pursuits, were happy and fruitful.
Slowly he pressed on up the ascent, at length coming into open light
upon a small plateau marked by huge, rugged, weather-chipped stones.
On the eastern side was a rocky promontory, and close to the edge of
this cliff, an hundred feet in sheer descent, rose a gnarled, time and
tempest-twisted chestnut tree. Here the borderman laid down his rifle
and knapsack, and, half-reclining against the tree, settled himself to
rest and wait.
This craggy point was the lonely watch-tower of eagles. Here on the
highest headland for miles around where the bordermen were wont to
meet, the outlook was far-reaching and grand.
Below the gray, splintered cliffs sheered down to meet the waving
tree-tops, and then hill after hill, slope after slope, waved and
rolled far, far down to the green river. Open grassy patches, bright
little islands in that ocean of dark green, shone on the hillsides.
The rounded ridges ran straight, curved, or zigzag, but shaped their
graceful lines in the descent to make the valley. Long, purple-hued,
shadowy depressions in the wide expanse of foliage marked deep clefts
between ridges where dark, cool streams bounded on to meet the river.
Lower, where the land was level, in open spaces could be seen a broad
trail, yellow in the sunlight, winding along with the curves of the
water-course. On a swampy meadow, blue in the distance, a herd of
buffalo browsed. Beyond the river, high over the green island, Fort
Henry lay peaceful and solitary, the only token of the works of man in
all that vast panorama.
Jonathan Zane was as much alone as if one thousand miles, instead of
five, intervened between him and the settlement. Loneliness was to him
a passion. Other men loved home, the light of woman's eyes, the rattle
of dice or the lust of hoarding; but to him this wild, remote
promontory, with its limitless view, stretching away to the dim hazy
horizon, was more than all the aching joys of civilization.
Hours here, or in the shady valley, recompensed him for the loss of
home comforts, the soft touch of woman's hands, the kiss of baby lips,
and also for all he suffered in his pitiless pursuits, the hard fare,
the steel and blood of a borderman's life.
Soon the sun shone straight overhead, dwarfing the shadow of the
chestnut on the rock.
During such a time it was rare that any connected thought came into
the borderman's mind. His dark eyes, now strangely luminous, strayed
lingeringly over those purple, undulating slopes. This intense
watchfulness had no object, neither had his listening. He watched
nothing; he hearkened to the silence. Undoubtedly in this state of
rapt absorption his perceptions were acutely alert; but without
thought, as were those of the savage in the valley below, or the eagle
in the sky above.
Yet so perfectly trained were these perceptions that the least
unnatural sound or sight brought him wary and watchful from his
dreamy trance.
The slight snapping of a twig in the thicket caused him to sit erect,
and reach out toward his rifle. His eyes moved among the dark openings
in the thicket. In another moment a tall figure pressed the bushes
apart. Jonathan let fall his rifle, and sank back against the tree
once more. Wetzel stepped over the rocks toward him.
"Come from Blue Pond?" asked Jonathan as the newcomer took a seat
beside him.
Wetzel nodded as he carefully laid aside his long, black rifle.
"Any Injun sign?" continued Jonathan, pushing toward his companion the
knapsack of eatables he had brought from the settlement.
"Nary Shawnee track west of this divide," answered Wetzel, helping
himself to bread and cheese.
"Lew, we must go eastward, over Bing Legget's way, to find the trail
of the stolen horses."
"Likely, an' it'll be a long, hard tramp."
"Who's in Legget's gang now beside Old Horse, the Chippewa, an' his
Shawnee pard, Wildfire? I don't know Bing; but I've seen some of his
Injuns an' they remember me."
"Never seen Legget but onct," replied Wetzel, "an' that time I shot
half his face off. I've been told by them as have seen him since, that
he's got a nasty scar on his temple an' cheek. He's a big man an'
knows the woods. I don't know who all's in his gang, nor does anybody.
He works in the dark, an' for cunnin' he's got some on Jim Girty,
Deerin', an' several more renegades we know of lyin' quiet back here
in the woods. We never tackled as bad a gang as his'n; they're all
experienced woodsmen, old fighters, an' desperate, outlawed as they be
by Injuns an' whites. It wouldn't surprise me to find that it's him
an' his gang who are runnin' this hoss-thievin'; but bad or no, we're
goin' after 'em."
Jonathan told of his movements since he had last seen his companion.
"An' the lass Helen is goin' to help us," said Wetzel, much
interested. "It's a good move. Women are keen. Betty put Miller's
schemin' in my eye long 'afore I noticed it. But girls have chances we
men'd never get."
"Yes, an' she's like Betts, quicker'n lightnin'. She'll find out this
hoss-thief in Fort Henry; but Lew, when we do get him we won't be much
better off. Where do them hosses go? Who's disposin' of 'em for
this fellar?"
"Where's Brandt from?" asked Wetzel.
"Detroit; he's a French-Canadian."
Wetzel swung sharply around, his eyes glowing like wakening furnaces.
"Bing Legget's a French-Canadian, an' from Detroit. Metzar was once
thick with him down Fort Pitt way 'afore he murdered a man an' became
an outlaw. We're on the trail, Jack."
"Brandt an' Metzar, with Legget backin' them, an' the horses go
overland to Detroit?"
"I calkilate you've hit the mark."
"What'll we do?" asked Jonathan.
"Wait; that's best. We've no call to hurry. We must know the truth
before makin' a move, an' as yet we're only suspicious. This lass'll
find out more in a week than we could in a year. But Jack, have a care
she don't fall into any snare. Brandt ain't any too honest a lookin'
chap, an' them renegades is hell for women. The scars you wear prove
that well enough. She's a rare, sweet, bloomin' lass, too. I never
seen her equal. I remember how her eyes flashed when she said she knew
I'd avenged Mabel. Jack, they're wonderful eyes; an' that girl,
however sweet an' good as she must be, is chain-lightnin' wrapped up
in a beautiful form. Aren't the boys at the fort runnin' arter her?"
"Like mad; it'd make you laugh to see 'em," replied Jonathan calmly.
"There'll be some fights before she's settled for, an' mebbe arter
thet. Have a care for her, Jack, an' see that she don't ketch you."
"No more danger than for you."
"I was ketched onct," replied Wetzel.
Jonathan Zane looked up at his companion. Wetzel's head was bowed; but
there was no merriment in the serious face exposed to the
borderman's scrutiny.
"Lew, you're jokin'."
"Not me. Some day, when you're ketched good, an' I have to go back to
the lonely trail, as I did afore you an' me become friends, mebbe
then, when I'm the last borderman, I'll tell you."
"Lew, 'cordin' to the way settlers are comin', in a few more years
there won't be any need for a borderman. When the Injuns are all gone
where'll be our work?"
"'Tain't likely either of us'll ever see them times," said Wetzel,
"an' I don't want to. Wal, Jack, I'm off now, an' I'll meet you here
every other day."
Wetzel shouldered his long rifle, and soon passed out of sight down
the mountain-side.
Jonathan arose, shook himself as a big dog might have done, and went
down into the valley. Only once did he pause in his descent, and that
was when a crackling twig warned him some heavy body was moving near.
Silently he sank into the bushes bordering the trail. He listened with
his ear close to the ground. Presently he heard a noise as of two hard
substances striking together. He resumed his walk, having recognized
the grating noise of a deer-hoof striking a rock. Farther down he
espied a pair grazing. The buck ran into the thicket; but the doe eyed
him curiously.
Less than an hour's rapid walking brought him to the river. Here he
plunged into a thicket of willows, and emerged on a sandy strip of
shore. He carefully surveyed the river bank, and then pulled a small
birch-bark canoe from among the foliage. He launched the frail craft,
paddled across the river and beached it under a reedy, over-hanging bank.
The distance from this point in a straight line to his destination was
only a mile; but a rocky bluff and a ravine necessitated his making a
wide detour. While lightly leaping over a brook his keen eye fell on
an imprint in the sandy loam. Instantly he was on his knees. The
footprint was small, evidently a woman's, and, what was more unusual,
instead of the flat, round moccasin-track, it was pointed, with a
sharp, square heel. Such shoes were not worn by border girls. True
Betty and Nell had them; but they never went into the woods without
moccasins.
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