Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “We must try in some way to get her out of this stupor, and I have an idea. Have you noticed that Mr. Wells has failed very much in the last few weeks?”

  “Indeed I have, and I’m afraid he’s breaking down. He has grown so thin, eats very little, and doesn’t sleep. He is old, you know, and, despite his zeal, this border life is telling on him.”

  “Dave, I believe he knows it. Poor, earnest old man! He never says a word about himself, yet he must know he is going down hill. Well, we all begin, sooner or later, that descent which ends in the grave. I believe we might stir Nellie by telling her Mr. Wells’ health is breaking.”

  “Let us try.”

  A hurried knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

  “Come in,” said Edwards.

  The door opened to admit a man, who entered eagerly.

  “Jim! Jim!” exclaimed both missionaries, throwing themselves upon the newcomer.

  It was, indeed, Jim, but no answering smile lighted his worn, distressed face while he wrung his friends’ hands.

  “You’re not hurt?” asked Dave.

  “No, I’m uninjured.”

  “Tell us all. Did you escape? Did you see your brother? Did you know Wetzel rescued Nell?”

  “Wingenund set me free in spite of many demands for my death. He kept Joe a prisoner, and intends to kill him, for the lad was Wetzel’s companion. I saw the hunter come into the glade where we camped, break through the line of fighting Indians and carry Nell off.”

  “Kate?” faltered Young, with ashen face.

  “George, I wish to God I could tell you she is dead,” answered Jim, nervously pacing the room. “But she was well when I last saw her. She endured the hard journey better than either Nell or I. Girty did not carry her into the encampment, as Silvertip did Joe and me, but the renegade left us on the outskirts of the Delaware town. There was a rocky ravine with dense undergrowth where he disappeared with his captive. I suppose he has his den somewhere in that ravine.”

  George sank down and buried his face in his arms; neither movement nor sound betokened consciousness.

  “Has Wetzel come in with Nell? Joe said he had a cave where he might have taken her in case of illness or accident.”

  “Yes, he brought her back,” answered Edwards, slowly.

  “I want to see her,” said Jim, his haggard face expressing a keen anxiety. “She’s not wounded? hurt? ill?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s a shock which she can’t get over, can’t forget.”

  “I must see her,” cried Jim, moving toward the door.

  “Don’t go,” replied Dave, detaining him. “Wait. We must see what’s best to be done. Wait till Heckewelder comes. He’ll be here soon. Nell thinks you’re dead, and the surprise might be bad for her.”

  Heckewelder came in at that moment, and shook hands warmly with Jim.

  “The Delaware runner told me you were here. I am overjoyed that Wingenund freed you,” said the missionary. “It is a most favorable sign. I have heard rumors from Goshocking and Sandusky that have worried me. This good news more than offsets the bad. I am sorry about your brother. Are you well?”

  “Well, but miserable. I want to see Nell. Dave tells me she is not exactly ill, but something is wrong with her. Perhaps I ought not to see her just yet.”

  “It’ll be exactly the tonic for her,” replied Heckewelder. “She’ll be surprised out of herself. She is morbid, apathetic, and, try as we may, we can’t interest her. Come at once.”

  Heckewelder had taken Jim’s arm and started for the door when he caught sight of Young, sitting bowed and motionless. Turning to Jim he whispered:

  “Kate?”

  “Girty did not take her into the encampment,” answered Jim, in a low voice. “I hoped he would, because the Indians are kind, but he didn’t. He took her to his den.”

  Just then Young raised his face. The despair in it would have melted a heart of stone. It had become the face of an old man.

  “If only you’d told me she had died,” he said to Jim, “I’d have been man enough to stand it, but — this — this kills me — I can’t breathe!”

  He staggered into the adjoining room, where he flung himself upon a bed.

  “It’s hard, and he won’t be able to stand up under it, for he’s not strong,” whispered Jim.

  Heckewelder was a mild, pious man, in whom no one would ever expect strong passion; but now depths were stirred within his heart that had ever been tranquil. He became livid, and his face was distorted with rage.

  “It’s bad enough to have these renegades plotting and working against our religion; to have them sow discontent, spread lies, make the Indians think we have axes to grind, to plant the only obstacle in our path — all this is bad; but to doom an innocent white woman to worse than death! What can I call it!”

  “What can we do?” asked Jim.

  “Do? That’s the worst of it. We can do nothing, nothing. We dare not move.”

  “Is there no hope of getting Kate back?”

  “Hope? None. That villain is surrounded by his savages. He’ll lie low now for a while. I’ve heard of such deeds many a time, but it never before came so close home. Kate Wells was a pure, loving Christian woman. She’ll live an hour, a day, a week, perhaps, in that snake’s clutches, and then she’ll die. Thank God!”

  “Wetzel has gone on Girty’s trail. I know that from his manner when he left us,” said Edwards.

  “Wetzel may avenge her, but he can never save her. It’s too late. Hello—”

  The exclamation was called forth by the appearance of Young, who entered with a rifle in his hands.

  “George, where are you going with that gun?” asked Edwards, grasping his friend by the arm.

  “I’m going after her,” answered George wildly. He tottered as he spoke, but wrenched himself free from Dave.

  “Come, George, listen, listen to reason,” interposed Heckewelder, laying hold of Young. “You are frantic with grief now. So are all of us. But calm yourself. Why, man, you’re a preacher, not a hunter. You’d be lost, you’d starve in the woods before getting half way to the Indian town. This is terrible enough; don’t make it worse by throwing your life away. Think of us, your friends; think of your Indian pupils who rely so much on you. Think of the Village of Peace. We can pray, but we can’t prevent these border crimes. With civilization, with the spread of Christianity, they will pass away. Bear up under this blow for the sake of your work. Remember we alone can check such barbarity. But we must not fight. We must sacrifice all that men hold dear, for the sake of the future.”

  He took the rifle away from George, and led him back into the little, dark room. Closing the door he turned to Jim and Dave.

  “He is in a bad way, and we must carefully watch him for a few days.”

  “Think of George starting out to kill Girty!” exclaimed Dave. “I never fired a gun, but yet I’d go too.”

  “So would we all, if we did as our hearts dictate,” retorted Heckewelder, turning fiercely upon Dave as if stung. “Man! we have a village full of Christians to look after. What would become of them? I tell you we’ve all we can do here to outwit these border ruffians. Simon Girty is plotting our ruin. I heard it to-day from the Delaware runner who is my friend. He is jealous of our influence, when all we desire is to save these poor Indians. And, Jim, Girty has killed our happiness. Can we ever recover from the misery brought upon us by poor Kate’s fate?”

  The missionary raised his hand as if to exhort some power above.

  “Curse the Girty’s!” he exclaimed in a sudden burst of uncontrollable passion. “Having conquered all other obstacles, must we fail because of wicked men of our own race? Oh, curse them!”

  “Come,” he said, presently, in a voice which trembled with the effort he made to be calm. “We’ll go in to Nellie.”

  The three men entered Mr. Wells’ cabin. The old missionary, with bowed head and hands clasped behind his back, was pacing to and fro. He greeted Jim with glad su
rprise.

  “We want Nellie to see him,” whispered Heckewelder. “We think the surprise will do her good.”

  “I trust it may,” said Mr. Wells.

  “Leave it to me.”

  They followed Heckewelder into an adjoining room. A torch flickered over the rude mantle-shelf, lighting up the room with fitful flare. It was a warm night, and the soft breeze coming in the window alternately paled and brightened the flame.

  Jim saw Nell lying on the bed. Her eyes were closed, and her long, dark lashes seemed black against the marble paleness of her skin.

  “Stand behind me,” whispered Heckewelder to Jim.

  “Nellie,” he called softly, but only a faint flickering of her lashes answered him.

  “Nellie, Nellie,” repeated Heckewelder, his deep, strong voice thrilling.

  Her eyes opened. They gazed at Mr. Wells on one side, at Edwards standing at the foot of the bed, at Heckewelder leaning over her, but there was no recognition or interest in her look.

  “Nellie, can you understand me?” asked Heckewelder, putting into his voice all the power and intensity of feeling of which he was capable.

  An almost imperceptible shadow of understanding shone in her eyes.

  “Listen. You have had a terrible shock, and it has affected your mind. You are mistaken in what you think, what you dream of all the time. Do you understand? You are wrong!”

  Nell’s eyes quickened with a puzzled, questioning doubt. The minister’s magnetic, penetrating voice had pierced her dulled brain.

  “See, I have brought you Jim!”

  Heckewelder stepped aside as Jim fell on his knees by the bed. He took her cold hands in his and bent over her. For the moment his voice failed.

  The doubt in Nell’s eyes changed to a wondrous gladness. It was like the rekindling of a smoldering fire.

  “Jim?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Nellie, it’s Jim alive and well. It’s Jim come back to you.”

  A soft flush stained her white face. She slipped her arm tenderly around his neck, and held her cheek close to his.

  “Jim,” she murmured.

  “Nellie, don’t you know me?” asked Mr. Wells, trembling, excited. This was the first word she had spoken in four days.

  “Uncle!” she exclaimed, suddenly loosening her hold on Jim, and sitting up in bed, then she gazed wildly at the others.

  “Was it all a horrible dream?”

  Mr. Wells took her hand soothingly, but he did not attempt to answer her question. He looked helplessly at Heckewelder, but that missionary was intently studying the expression on Nell’s face.

  “Part of it was a dream,” he answered,impressively.

  “Then that horrible man did take us away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh-h! but we’re free now? This is my room. Oh, tell me?”

  “Yes, Nellie, you’re safe at home now.”

  “Tell — tell me,” she cried, shudderingly, as she leaned close to Jim and raised a white, imploring face to his. “Where is Kate? — Oh! Jim — say, say she wasn’t left with Girty?”

  “Kate is dead,” answered Jim, quickly. He could not endure the horror in her eyes. He deliberately intended to lie, as had Heckewelder.

  It was as if the tension of Nell’s nerves was suddenly relaxed. The relief from her worst fear was so great that her mind took in only the one impression. Then, presently, a choking cry escaped her, to be followed by a paroxysm of sobs.

  Chapter XX.

  EARLY ON THE following day Heckewelder, astride his horse, appeared at the door of Edwards’ cabin.

  “How is George?” he inquired of Dave, when the latter had opened the door.

  “He had a bad night, but is sleeping now. I think he’ll be all right after a time,” answered Dave.

  “That’s well. Nevertheless keep a watch on him for a few days.”

  “I’ll do so.”

  “Dave, I leave matters here to your good judgment. I’m off to Goshocking to join Zeisberger. Affairs there demand our immediate attention, and we must make haste.”

  “How long do you intend to be absent?”

  “A few days; possibly a week. In case of any unusual disturbance among the Indians, the appearance of Pipe and his tribe, or any of the opposing factions, send a fleet runner at once to warn me. Most of my fears have been allayed by Wingenund’s attitude toward us. His freeing Jim in face of the opposition of his chiefs is a sure sign of friendliness. More than once I have suspected that he was interested in Christianity. His daughter, Whispering Winds, exhibited the same intense fervor in religion as has been manifested by all our converts. It may be that we have not appealed in vain to Wingenund and his daughter; but their high position in the Delaware tribe makes it impolitic for them to reveal a change of heart. If we could win over those two we’d have every chance to convert the whole tribe. Well, as it is we must be thankful for Wingenund’s friendship. We have two powerful allies now. Tarhe, the Wyandot chieftain, remains neutral, to be sure, but that’s almost as helpful as his friendship.”

  “I, too, take a hopeful view of the situation,” replied Edwards.

  “We’ll trust in Providence, and do our best,” said Heckewelder, as he turned his horse. “Good-by.”

  “Godspeed!” called Edwards, as his chief rode away.

  The missionary resumed his work of getting breakfast. He remained in doors all that day, except for the few moments when he ran over to Mr. Wells’ cabin to inquire regarding Nell’s condition. He was relieved to learn she was so much better that she had declared her intention of moving about the house. Dave kept a close watch on Young. He, himself, was suffering from the same blow which had prostrated his friend, but his physical strength and fortitude were such that he did not weaken. He was overjoyed to see that George rallied, and showed no further indications of breaking down.

  True it was, perhaps, that Heckewelder’s earnest prayer on behalf of the converted Indians had sunk deeply into George’s heart and thus kept it from breaking. No stronger plea could have been made than the allusion to those gentle, dependent Christians. No one but a missionary could realize the sweetness, the simplicity, the faith, the eager hope for a good, true life which had been implanted in the hearts of these Indians. To bear it in mind, to think of what he, as a missionary and teacher, was to them, relieved him of half his burden, and for strength to bear the remainder he went to God. For all worry there is a sovereign cure, for all suffering there is a healing balm; it is religious faith. Happiness had suddenly flashed with a meteor-like radiance into Young’s life only to be snuffed out like a candle in a windy gloom, but his work, his duty remained. So in his trial he learned the necessity of resignation. He chaffed no more at the mysterious, seemingly brutal methods of nature; he questioned no more. He wondered no more at the apparent indifference of Providence. He had one hope, which was to be true to his faith, and teach it to the end.

  Nell mastered her grief by an astonishing reserve of strength. Undoubtedly it was that marvelously merciful power which enables a person, for the love of others, to bear up under a cross, or even to fight death himself. As Young had his bright-eyed Indian boys and girls, who had learned Christianity from him, and whose future depended on him, so Nell had her aged and weakening uncle to care for and cherish.

  Jim’s attentions to her before the deep affliction had not been slight, but now they were so marked as to be unmistakable. In some way Jim seemed changed since he had returned from the Delaware encampment. Although he went back to the work with his old aggressiveness, he was not nearly so successful as he had been before. Whether or not this was his fault, he took his failure deeply to heart. There was that in his tenderness which caused Nell to regard him, in one sense, as she did her uncle. Jim, too, leaned upon her, and she accepted his devotion where once she had repelled it. She had unconsciously betrayed a great deal when she had turned so tenderly to him in the first moments after her recognition, and he remembered it. He did not speak of love to her; he let a
thousand little acts of kindness, a constant thoughtfulness of her plead his cause.

  The days succeeding Heckewelder’s departure were remarkable for several reasons. Although the weather was enticing, the number of visiting Indians gradually decreased. Not a runner from any tribe came into the village, and finally the day dawned when not a single Indian from the outlying towns was present to hear the preaching.

  Jim spoke, as usual. After several days had passed and none but converted Indians made up the congregation, the young man began to be uneasy in mind.

  Young and Edwards were unable to account for the unusual absence from worship, yet they did not see in it anything to cause especial concern. Often there had been days without visitation to the Village of Peace.

  Finally Jim went to consult Glickhican. He found the Delaware at work in the potato patch. The old Indian dropped his hoe and bowed to the missionary. A reverential and stately courtesy always characterized the attitude of the Indians toward the young white father.

  “Glickhican, can you tell me why no Indians have come here lately?”

  The old chief shook his head.

  “Does their absence signify ill to the Village of Peace?”

  “Glickhican saw a blackbird flitting in the shadow of the moon. The bird hovered above the Village of Peace, but sang no song.”

  The old Delaware vouchsafed no other than this strange reply.

  Jim returned to his cabin decidedly worried. He did not at all like Glickhican’s answer. The purport of it seemed to be that a cloud was rising on the bright horizon of the Christian village. He confided his fears to Young and Edwards. After discussing the situation, the three missionaries decided to send for Heckewelder. He was the leader of the Mission; he knew more of Indian craft than any of them, and how to meet it. If this calm in the heretofore busy life of the Mission was the lull before a storm, Heckewelder should be there with his experience and influence.

  “For nearly ten years Heckewelder has anticipated trouble from hostile savages,” said Edwards, “but so far he has always averted it. As you know, he has confined himself mostly to propitiating the Indians, and persuading them to be friendly, and listen to us. We’ll send for him.”