by Zane Grey
“Oh, is that all?” said Lydia, laughing.
“No, that is not all. He—he said I was a pretty little girl and that he was sorry I could not have my own way; that his present occupation was pleasant, and that the situation had its charm. The very idea. He was most impertinent,” and Betty’s telltale cheeks reddened again at the recollection.
“Betty, I do not think your experience was so dreadful, certainly nothing to put you out as it has,” said Lydia, laughing merrily. “Be serious. You know we are not in the backwoods now and must not expect so much of the men. These rough border men know little of refinement like that with which you have been familiar. Some of them are quiet and never speak unless addressed; their simplicity is remarkable; Lew Wetzel and your brother Jonathan, when they are not fighting Indians, are examples. On the other hand, some of them are boisterous and if they get anything to drink they will make trouble for you. Why, I went to a party one night after I had been here only a few weeks and they played a game in which every man in the place kissed me.”
“Gracious! Please tell me when any such games are likely to be proposed and I’ll stay home,” said Betty.
“I have learned to get along very well by simply making the best of it,” continued Lydia. “And to tell the truth, I have learned to respect these rugged fellows. They are uncouth; they have no manners, but their hearts are honest and true, and that is of much greater importance in frontiersmen than the little attentions and courtesies upon which women are apt to lay too much stress.”
“I think you speak sensibly and I shall try and be more reasonable hereafter. But, to return to the man who spoiled my ride. He, at least, is no frontiersman, notwithstanding his gun and his buckskin suit. He is an educated man. His manner and accent showed that. Then he looked at me so differently. I know it was that soldier from Fort Pitt.”
“Mr. Clarke? Why, of course!” exclaimed Lydia, clapping her hands in glee. “How stupid of me!”
“You seem to be amused,” said Betty, frowning.
“Oh, Betty, it is such a good joke.”
“Is it? I fail to see it.”
“But I can. I am very much amused. You see, I heard Mr. Clarke say, after papa told him there were lots of pretty girls here, that he usually succeeded in finding those things out and without any assistance. And the very first day he has met you and made you angry. It is delightful.”
“Lyde, I never knew you could be so horrid.”
“It is evident that Mr. Clarke is not only discerning, but not backward in expressing his thoughts. Betty, I see a romance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” retorted Betty, with an angry blush. “Of course, he had a right to stop me, and perhaps he did me a good turn by keeping me inside the clearing, though I cannot imagine why he hid behind the bushes. But he might have been polite. He made me angry. He was so cool and—and—”
“I see,” interrupted Lydia, teasingly. “He failed to recognize your importance.”
“Nonsense, Lydia. I hope you do not think I am a silly little fool. It is only that I have not been accustomed to that kind of treatment, and I will not have it.”
Lydia was rather pleased that someone had appeared on the scene who did not at once bow down before Betty, and therefore she took the young man’s side of the argument.
“Do not be hard on poor Mr. Clarke. Maybe he mistook you for an Indian girl. He is handsome. I am sure you saw that.”
“Oh, I don’t remember how he looked,” said Betty. She did remember, but would not admit it.
The conversation drifted into other channels after this, and soon twilight came stealing down on them. As Betty rose to go there came a hurried tap on the door.
“I wonder who would knock like that,” said Lydia, rising “Betty, wait a moment while I open the door.”
On doing this she discovered Clarke standing on the step with his cap in his hand.
“Why, Mr. Clarke! Will you come in?” exclaimed Lydia. “Thank you, only for a moment,” said Alfred. “I cannot stay. I came to find Betty. Is she here?”
He had not observed Betty, who had stepped back into the shadow of the darkening room. At his question Lydia became so embarrassed she did not know what to say or do, and stood looking helplessly at him.
But Betty was equal to the occasion. At the mention of her first name in such a familiar manner by this stranger, who had already grievously offended her once before that day, Betty stood perfectly still a moment, speechless with surprise, then she stepped quickly out of the shadow.
Clarke turned as he heard her step and looked straight into a pair of dark, scornful eyes and a face pale with anger.
“If it be necessary that you use my name, and I do not see how that can be possible, will you please have courtesy enough to say Miss Zane?” she cried haughtily.
Lydia recovered her composure sufficiently to falter out:
“Betty, allow me to introduce—”
“Do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I have met this person once before today, and I do not care for an introduction.”
When Alfred found himself gazing into the face that had haunted him all the afternoon, he forgot for the moment all about his errand. He was finally brought to a realization of the true state of affairs by Lydia’s words.
“Mr. Clarke, you are all wet. What has happened?” she exclaimed, noticing the water dripping from his garments.
Suddenly a light broke in on Alfred. So the girl he had accosted on the road and “Betty” were one and the same person. His face flushed. He felt that his rudeness on that occasion may have merited censure, but that it had not justified the humiliation she had put upon him.
These two persons, so strangely brought together, and on whom Fate had made her inscrutable designs, looked steadily into each other’s eyes. What mysterious force thrilled through Alfred Clarke and made Betty Zane tremble?
“Miss Boggs, I am twice unfortunate,” said Alfred, tuning to Lydia, and there was an earnest ring in his deep voice “This time I am indeed blameless. I have just left Colonel Zane’s house, where there has been an accident, and I was dispatched to find ‘Betty,’ being entirely ignorant as to who she might be. Colonel Zane did not stop to explain. Miss Zane is needed at the house, that is all.”
And without so much as a glance at Betty he bowed low to Lydia and then strode out of the open door.
“What did he say?” asked Betty, in a small trembling voice, all her anger and resentment vanished.
“There has been an accident. He did not say what or to whom. You must hurry home. Oh, Betty, I hope no one has been hurt! And you were very unkind to Mr. Clarke. I am sure he is a gentleman, and you might have waited a moment to learn what he meant.”
Betty did not answer, but flew out of the door and down the path to the gate of the fort. She was almost breathless when she reached Colonel Zane’s house, and hesitated on the step before entering. Summoning her courage she pushed open the door. The first thing that struck her after the bright light was the pungent odor of strong liniment. She saw several women neighbors whispering together. Major McColloch and Jonathan Zane were standing by a couch over which Mrs. Zane was bending. Colonel Zane sat at the foot of the couch. Betty saw this in the first rapid glance, and then, as the Colonel’s wife moved aside, she saw a prostrate figure, a white face and dark eyes that smiled at her.
“Betty,” came in a low voice from those pale lips.
Her heart leaped and then seemed to cease beating. Many long years had passed since she had heard that voice, but it had never been forgotten. It was the best beloved voice of her childhood, and with it came the sweet memories of her brother and playmate. With a cry of joy she fell on her knees beside him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Isaac, brother, brother!” she cried, as she kissed him again and again. “Can it really be you? Oh, it is too good to be true! Thank God! I have prayed and prayed that you would be restored to us.”
Then she began to cry and laugh at the same time in t
hat strange way in which a woman relieves a heart too full of joy. “Yes, Betty. It is all that is left of me,” he said, running his hand caressingly over the dark head that lay on his breast.
“Betty, you must not excite him,” said Colonel Zane.
“So you have not forgotten me?” whispered Isaac.
“No, indeed, Isaac. I have never forgotten,” answered Betty, softly. “Only last night I spoke of you and wondered if you were living. And now you are here. Oh, I am so happy!” The quivering lips and the dark eyes bright with tears spoke eloquently of her joy.
“Major will you tell Captain Boggs to come over after supper? Isaac will be able to talk a little by then, and he has some news of the Indians,” said Colonel Zane.
“And ask the young man who saved my life to come that I may thank him,” said Isaac.
“Saved your life?” exclaimed Betty, turning to her brother, in surprise, while a dark red flush spread over her face. A humiliating thought had flashed into her mind.
“Saved his life, of course,” said Colonel Zane, answering for Isaac. “Young Clarke pulled him out of the river. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No,” said Betty, rather faintly.
“Well, he is a modest young fellow. He saved Isaac’s life, there is no doubt of that. You will hear all about it after supper. Don’t make Isaac talk any more at present.”
Betty hid her face on Isaac’s shoulder and remained quiet a few moments; then, rising, she kissed his cheek and went quietly to her room. Once there she threw herself on the bed and tried to think. The events of the day, coming after a long string of monotonous, wearying days, had been confusing; they had succeeded one another in such rapid order as to leave no time for reflection. The meeting by the river with the rude but interesting stranger; the shock to her dignity; Lydia’s kindly advice; the stranger again, this time emerging from the dark depths of disgrace into the luminous light as the hero of her brother’s rescue—all these thoughts jumbled in her mind making it difficult for her to think clearly. But after a time one thing forced itself upon her. She could not help being conscious that she had wronged someone to whom she would be forever indebted. Nothing could alter that. She was under an eternal obligation to the man who had saved the life she loved best on earth. She had unjustly scorned and insulted the man to whom she owed the life of her brother.
Betty was passionate and quick-tempered, but she was generous and tender-hearted as well, and when she realized how unkind and cruel she kind been she felt very miserable. Her position admitted of no retreat. No matter how much pride rebelled; no matter how much she disliked to retract anything she had said, she knew no other course lay open to her. She would have to apologize to Mr. Clarke. How could she? What would she say? She remembered how cold and stern his face had been as he turned from her to Lydia. Perplexed and unhappy, Betty did what any girl in her position would have done: she resorted to the consoling and unfailing privilege of her sex—a good cry.
When she became composed again she got up and bathed her hot cheeks, brushed her hair, and changed her gown for a becoming one of white. She tied a red ribbon about her throat and put a rosette in her hair. She had forgotten all about the Indians. By the time Mrs. Zane called her for supper she had her mind made up to ask Mr. Clarke’s pardon, tell him she was sorry, and that she hoped they might be friends.
Isaac Zane’s fame had spread from the Potomac to Detroit and Louisville. Many an anxious mother on the border used the story of his captivity as a means to frighten truant youngsters who had evinced a love for running wild in the woods. The evening of Isaac’s return every one in the settlement called to welcome home the wanderer. In spite of the troubled times and the dark cloud hanging over them they made the occasion one of rejoicing.
Old John Bennet, the biggest and merriest man in the colony, came in and roared his appreciation of Isaac’s return. He was a huge man, and when he stalked into the room he made the floor shake with his heavy tread. His honest face expressed his pleasure as he stood over Isaac and nearly crushed his hand.
“Glad to see you, Isaac. Always knew you would come back. Always said so. There are not enough damn redskins on the river to keep you prisoner.”
“I think they managed to keep him long enough,” remarked Silas Zane.
“Well, here comes the hero,” said Colonel Zane, as Clarke entered, accompanied by Captain Boggs, Major McColloch and Jonathan. “Any sign of Wetzel or the Indians?”
Jonathan had not yet seen his brother, and he went over and seized Isaac’s hand and wrung it without speaking.
“There are no Indians on this side of the river,” said Major McColloch, in answer to the Colonel’s question.
“Mr. Clarke, you do not seem impressed with your importance,” said Colonel Zane. “My sister said you did not tell her what part you took in Isaac’s rescue.”
“I hardly deserve all the credit,” answered Alfred. “Your big black dog merits a great deal of it.”
“Well, I consider your first day at the fort a very satisfactory one, and an augury of that fortune you came west to find.”
“How are you?” said Alfred, going up to the couch where Isaac lay.
“I am doing well, thanks to you,” said Isaac, warmly shaking Alfred’s hand.
“It is good to see you pulling out all right,” answered Alfred. “I tell you, I feared you were in a bad way when I got you out of the water.”
Isaac reclined on the couch with his head and shoulder propped up by pillows. He was the handsomest of the brothers. His face would have been but for the marks of privation, singularly like Betty’s; the same low, level brows and dark eyes; the same mouth, though the lips were stronger and without the soft curves which made his sister’s mouth so sweet.
Betty appeared at the door, and seeing the room filled with men she hesitated a moment before coming forward. In her white dress she made such a dainty picture that she seemed out of place among those surroundings. Alfred Clarke, for one, thought such a charming vision was wasted on the rough settlers, every one of whom wore a faded and dirty buckskin suit and a belt containing a knife and a tomahawk. Colonel Zane stepped up to Betty and placing his arm around her turned toward Clarke with pride in his eyes.
“Betty, I want to make you acquainted with the hero of the hour, Mr. Alfred Clarke. This is my sister.”
Betty bowed to Alfred, but lowered her eyes instantly on encountering the young man’s gaze.
“I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Zane twice today,” said Alfred.
“Twice?” asked Colonel Zane, turning to Betty. She did not answer, but disengaged herself from his arm and sat down by Isaac.
“It was on the river road that I first met Miss Zane, although I did not know her then,” answered Alfred. “I had some difficulty in stopping her pony from going to Fort Pitt, or some other place down the river.”
“Ha! Ha! Well, I know she rides that pony pretty hard,” said Colonel Zane, with his hearty laugh. “I’ll tell you, Clarke, we have some riders here in the settlement. Have you heard of Major McColloch’s leap over the hill?”
“I have heard it mentioned, and I would like to hear the story,” responded Alfred. “I am fond of horses, and think I can ride a little myself. I am afraid I shall be compelled to change my mind.”
“That is a fine animal you rode from Fort Pitt,” remarked the Major. “I would like to own him.”
“Come, draw your chairs up and he’ll listen to Isaac’s story,” said Colonel Zane.
“I have not much of a story to tell,” said Isaac, in a voice still weak and low. “I have some bad news, I am sorry to say, but I shall leave that for the last. This year, if it had been completed, would have made my tenth year as a captive of the Wyandots. This last period of captivity, which has been nearly four years, I have not been ill-treated and have enjoyed more comfort than any of you can imagine. Probably you are all familiar with the reason for my long captivity. Because of the interest of Myeerah, the Indian Princess, they ha
ve importuned me for years to be adopted into the tribe, marry the White Crane, as they call Myeerah, and become a Wyandot chief. To this I would never consent, though I have been careful not to provoke the Indians. I was allowed the freedom of the camp, but have always been closely watched. I should still be with the Indians had I not suspected that Hamilton, the British Governor, had formed a plan with the Hurons, Shawnees, Delawares, and other tribes, to strike a terrible blow at the whites along, the river. For months I have watched the Indians preparing for an expedition, the extent of which they had never before undertaken. I finally learned from Myeerah that my suspicions were well founded. A favorable chance to escape presented and I took it and got away. I outran all the braves, even Arrowswift, the Wyandot runner, who shot me through the arm. I have had a hard time of it these last three or four days, living on herbs and roots, and when I reached the river I was ready to drop. I pushed a log into the water and started to drift over. When the old dog saw me I knew I was safe if I could hold on. Once, when the young man pointed his gun at me, I thought it was all over. I could not shout very loud.”
“Were you going to shoot?” asked Colonel Zane of Clarke.
“I took him for an Indian, but fortunately I discovered my mistake in time,” answered Alfred.
“Are the Indians on the way here?” asked Jonathan.
“That I cannot say. At present the Wyandots are at home. But I know that the British and the Indians will make a combined attack on the settlements. It may be a month, or a year, but it is coming.”
“And Hamilton, the hair buyer, the scalp buyer, is behind the plan,” said Colonel Zane, in disgust.
“The Indians have their wrongs. I sympathize with them in many ways. We have robbed them, broken faith with them, and have not lived up to the treaties. Pipe and Wingenund are particularly bitter toward the whites. I understand Cornplanter is also. He would give anything for Jonathan’s scalp, and I believe any of the tribes would give a hundred of their best warriors for ‘Black Wind,’ as they call Lew Wetzel.”