Zane Grey (15 page)

"Last night's job was a good one, I ain't gainsayin'; but the redskin
I wanted got away," Wetzel said gloomily.

"He's safe now as a squirrel in a hole. I saw him dartin' among the
trees with his white eagle feathers stickin' up like a buck's flag,"
replied Jonathan. "He can run. If I'd only had my rifle loaded! But
I'm not sure he was that arrow-shootin' Shawnee."

"It was him. I saw his bow. We ought'er taken more time an' picked him
out," Wetzel replied, shaking his head gravely. "Though mebbe that'd
been useless. I think he was hidin'. He's precious shy of his red
skin. I've been after him these ten year, an' never ketched him
nappin' yet. We'd have done much toward snuffin' out Legget an' his
gang if we'd winged the Shawnee."

"He left a plain trail."

"One of his tricks. He's slicker on a trail than any other Injun on
the border, unless mebbe it's old Wingenund, the Huron. This Shawnee'd
lead us many a mile for nuthin', if we'd stick to his trail. I'm long
ago used to him. He's doubled like an old fox, run harder'n a skeered
fawn, an', if needs be, he'll lay low as cunnin' buck. I calkilate
once over the mountain, he's made a bee-line east. We'll go on with
the hosses, an' then strike across country to find his trail."

"It 'pears to me, Lew, that we've taken a long time in makin' a show
against these hoss-thieves," said Jonathan.

"I ain't sayin' much; but I've felt it," replied Wetzel.

"All summer, an' nothin' done. It was more luck than sense that we run
into those Injuns with the hosses. We only got three out of four, an'
let the best redskin give us the slip. Here fall is nigh on us, with
winter comin' soon, an' still we don't know who's the white traitor in
the settlement."

"I said it's be a long, an' mebbe, our last trail."

"Why?"

"Because these fellars red or white, are in with a picked gang of the
best woodsmen as ever outlawed the border. We'll get the Fort Henry
hoss-thief. I'll back the bright-eyed lass for that."

"I haven't seen her lately, an' allow she'd left me word if she
learned anythin'."

"Wal, mebbe it's as well you hain't seen so much of her." In silence
they traveled and, arriving at the edge of the meadow, were about to
mount two of the horses, when Wetzel said in a sharp tone:

"Look!"

He pointed to a small, well-defined moccasin track in the black earth
on the margin of a rill.

"Lew, it's a woman's, sure's you're born," declared Jonathan.

Wetzel knelt and closely examined the footprint; "Yes, a woman's, an'
no Injun."

"What?" Jonathan exclaimed, as he knelt to scrutinize the imprint.

"This ain't half a day old," added Wetzel. "An' not a redskin's
moccasin near. What d'you reckon?"

"A white girl, alone," replied Jonathan as he followed the trail a
short distance along the brook. "See, she's makin' upland. Wetzel,
these tracks could hardly be my sister's, an' there's only one other
girl on the border whose feet will match 'em! Helen Sheppard has
passed here, on her way up the mountain to find you or me."

"I like your reckonin'."

"She's suddenly discovered somethin', Injuns, hoss-thieves, the Fort
Henry traitor, or mebbe, an' most likely, some plottin'. Bein' bound
to secrecy by me, she's not told my brother. An' it must be call for
hurry. She knows we frequent this mountain-top; said Eb told her about
the way we get here."

"I'd calkilate about the same."

"What'll you do? Go with me after her?" asked Jonathan.

"I'll take the hosses, an' be at the fort inside of an hour. If
Helen's gone, I'll tell her father you're close on her trail. Now
listen! It'll be dark soon, an' a storm's comin'. Don't waste time on
her trail. Hurry up to the rock. She'll be there, if any lass could
climb there. If not, come back in the mornin', hunt her trail out, an'
find her. I'm thinkin', Jack, we'll find the Shawnee had somethin' to
do with this. Whatever happens after I get back to the fort, I'll
expect you hard on my trail."

Jonathan bounded across the brook and with an easy lope began the
gradual ascent. Soon he came upon a winding path. He ran along this
for perhaps a quarter of an hour, until it became too steep for rapid
traveling, when he settled down to a rapid walk. The forest was
already dark. A slight rustling of the leaves beneath his feet was the
only sound, except at long intervals the distant rumbling of thunder.

The mere possibility of Helen's being alone on that mountain seeking
him, made Jonathan's heart beat as it never had before. For weeks he
had avoided her, almost forgot her. He had conquered the strange,
yearning weakness which assailed him after that memorable Sunday, and
once more the silent shaded glens, the mystery of the woods, the
breath of his wild, free life had claimed him. But now as this
evidence of her spirit, her recklessness, was before him, and he
remembered Betty's avowal, a pain, which was almost physical, tore at
his heart. How terrible it would be if she came to her death through
him! He pictured the big, alluring eyes, the perfect lips, the
haunting face, cold in death. And he shuddered.

The dim gloom of the woods soon darkened into blackness. The flashes
of lightning, momentarily streaking the foliage, or sweeping overhead
in pale yellow sheets, aided Jonathan in keeping the trail.

He gained the plateau just as a great flash illumined it, and
distinctly saw the dark hollow where he had taken refuge in many a
storm, and where he now hoped to find the girl. Picking his way
carefully over the sharp, loose stones, he at last put his hand on the
huge rock. Another blue-white, dazzling flash enveloped the scene.

Under the rock he saw a dark form huddled, and a face as white as
snow, with wide, horrified eyes.

"Lass," he said, when the thunder had rumbled away. He received no
answer, and called again. Kneeling, he groped about until touching
Helen's dress. He spoke again; but she did not reply.

Jonathan crawled under the ledge beside the quiet figure. He touched
her hands; they were very cold. Bending over, he was relieved to hear
her heart beating. He called her name, but still she made no reply.
Dipping his hand into a little rill that ran beside the stone, he
bathed her face. Soon she stirred uneasily, moaned, and suddenly
sat up.

"'Tis Jonathan," he said quickly; "don't be scared."

Another illuminating flare of lightning brightened the plateau.

"Oh! thank Heaven!" cried Helen. "I thought you were an Indian!"

Helen sank trembling against the borderman, who enfolded her in his
long arms. Her relief and thankfulness were so great that she could
not speak. Her hands clasped and unclasped round his strong fingers.
Her tears flowed freely.

The storm broke with terrific fury. A seething torrent of rain and
hail came with the rushing wind. Great heaven-broad sheets of
lightning played across the black dome overhead. Zigzag ropes,
steel-blue in color, shot downward. Crash, and crack, and boom the
thunder split and rolled the clouds above. The lightning flashes
showed the fall of rain in columns like white waterfalls, borne on the
irresistible wind.

The grandeur of the storm awed, and stilled Helen's emotion. She sat
there watching the lightning, listening to the peals of thunder, and
thrilling with the wonder of the situation.

Gradually the roar abated, the flashes became less frequent, the
thunder decreased, as the storm wore out its strength in passing. The
wind and rain ceased on the mountain-top almost as quickly as they had
begun, and the roar died slowly away in the distance. Far to the
eastward flashes of light illumined scowling clouds, and brightened
many a dark, wooded hill and valley.

"Lass, how is't I find you here?" asked Jonathan gravely.

With many a pause and broken phrase, Helen told the story of what she
had seen and heard at the spring.

"Child, why didn't you go to my brother?" asked Jonathan. "You don't
know what you undertook!"

"I thought of everything; but I wanted to find you myself. Besides, I
was just as safe alone on this mountain as in the village."

"I don't know but you're right," replied Jonathan thoughtfully. "So
Brandt planned to make off with you to-morrow?"

"Yes, and when I heard it I wanted to run away from the village."

"You've done a wondrous clever thing, lass. This Brandt is a bad man,
an' hard to match. But if he hasn't shaken Fort Henry by now, his
career'll end mighty sudden, an' his bad trails stop short on the
hillside among the graves, for Eb will always give outlaws or Injuns
decent burial."

"What will the colonel, or anyone, think has become of me?"

"Wetzel knows, lass, for he found your trail below."

"Then he'll tell papa you came after me? Oh! poor papa! I forgot him.
Shall we stay here until daylight?"

"We'd gain nothin' by startin' now. The brooks are full, an' in the
dark we'd make little distance. You're dry here, an' comfortable.
What's more, lass, you're safe."

"I feel perfectly safe, with you," Helen said softly.

"Aren't you tired, lass?"

"Tired? I'm nearly dead. My feet are cut and bruised, my wrist is
sprained, and I ache all over. But, Jonathan, I don't care. I am so
happy to have my wild venture turn out successfully."

"You can lie here an' sleep while I keep watch."

Jonathan made a move to withdraw his arm, which was still between
Helen and the rock but had dropped from her waist.

"I am very comfortable. I'll sit here with you, watching for daybreak.
My! how dark it is! I cannot see my hand before my eyes."

Helen settled herself back upon the stone, leaned a very little
against his shoulder, and tried to think over her adventure. But her
mind refused to entertain any ideas, except those of the present.
Mingled with the dreamy lassitude that grew stronger every moment, was
a sense of delight in her situation. She was alone on a wild mountain,
in the night, with this borderman, the one she loved. By chance and
her own foolhardiness this had come about, yet she was fortunate to
have it tend to some good beyond her own happiness. All she would
suffer from her perilous climb would be aching bones, and, perhaps, a
scolding from her father. What she might gain was more than she had
dared hope. The breaking up of the horse-thief gang would be a boon to
the harassed settlement. How proudly Colonel Zane would smile! Her
name would go on that long roll of border honor and heroism. That was
not, however, one thousandth part so pleasing, as to be alone with her
borderman.

With a sigh of mingled weariness and content, Helen leaned her head on
Jonathan's shoulder and fell asleep.

The borderman trembled. The sudden nestling of her head against him,
the light caress of her fragrant hair across his cheek, revived a
sweet, almost-conquered, almost-forgotten emotion. He felt an
inexplicable thrill vibrate through him. No untrodden, ambushed wild,
no perilous trail, no dark and bloody encounter had ever made him feel
fear as had the kiss of this maiden. He had sternly silenced faint,
unfamiliar, yet tender, voices whispering in his heart; and now his
rigorous discipline was as if it were not, for at her touch he
trembled. Still he did not move away. He knew she had succumbed to
weariness, and was fast asleep. He could, gently, without awakening
her, have laid her head upon the pillow of leaves; indeed, he thought
of doing it, but made no effort. A woman's head softly lying against
him was a thing novel, strange, wonderful. For all the power he had
then, each tumbling lock of her hair might as well have been a chain
linking him fast to the mountain.

With the memory of his former yearning, unsatisfied moods, and the
unrest and pain his awakening tenderness had caused him, came a
determination to look things fairly in the face, to be just in thought
toward this innocent, impulsive girl, and be honest with himself.

Duty commanded that he resist all charm other than that pertaining to
his life in the woods. Years ago he had accepted a borderman's
destiny, well content to be recompensed by its untamed freedom from
restraint; to be always under the trees he loved so well; to lend his
cunning and woodcraft in the pioneer's cause; to haunt the savage
trails; to live from day to day a menace to the foes of civilization.
That was the life he had chosen; it was all he could ever have.

In view of this, justice demanded that he allow no friendship to
spring up between himself and this girl. If his sister's belief was
really true, if Helen really was interested in him, it must be a
romantic infatuation which, not encouraged, would wear itself out.
What was he, to win the love of any girl? An unlettered borderman, who
knew only the woods, whose life was hard and cruel, whose hands were
red with Indian blood, whose vengeance had not spared men even of his
own race. He could not believe she really loved him. Wildly impulsive
as girls were at times, she had kissed him. She had been grateful,
carried away by a generous feeling for him as the protector of her
father. When she did not see him for a long time, as he vowed should
be the case after he had carried her safely home, she would forget.

Then honesty demanded that he probe his own feelings. Sternly, as if
judging a renegade, he searched out in his simple way the truth. This
big-eyed lass with her nameless charm would bewitch even a borderman,
unless he avoided her. So much he had not admitted until now. Love he
had never believed could be possible for him. When she fell asleep her
hand had slipped from his arm to his fingers, and now rested there
lightly as a leaf. The contact was delight. The gentle night breeze
blew a tress of hair across his lips. He trembled. Her rounded
shoulder pressed against him until he could feel her slow, deep
breathing. He almost held his own breath lest he disturb her rest.