by Zane Grey
CHAPTER XI.
He following afternoon the sun shone fair and warm; the sweet smellof the tan-bark pervaded the air and the birds sang their gladsomesongs. The scene before the grim battle-scarred old fort was notwithout its picturesqueness. The low vine-covered cabins on the hillside looked more like picture houses than like real habitations ofmen; the mill with its burned-out roof--a reminder of theIndians--and its great wheel, now silent and still, might have beenfrom its lonely and dilapidated appearance a hundred years old.
On a little knoll carpeted with velvety grass sat Isaac and hisIndian bride. He had selected this vantage point because it affordeda fine view of the green square where the races and the matches wereto take place. Admiring women stood around him and gazed at hiswife. They gossiped in whispers about her white skin, her littlehands, her beauty. The girls stared with wide open and wonderingeyes. The youngsters ran round and round the little group; theypushed each other over, and rolled in the long grass, and screamedwith delight.
It was to be a gala occasion and every man, woman and child in thesettlement had assembled on the green. Col. Zane and Sam wereplanting a post in the center of the square. It was to be used inthe shooting matches. Capt. Boggs and Major McColloch were arrangingthe contestants in order. Jonathan Zane, Will Martin, AlfredClarke--all the young men were carefully charging and priming theirrifles. Betty was sitting on the black stallion which Col. Zane hadgenerously offered as first prize. She was in the gayest of moodsand had just coaxed Isaac to lift her on the tall horse, from whichheight she purposed watching the sports. Wetzel alone did not seeminfected by the spirit of gladsomeness which pervaded. He stoodapart leaning on his long rifle and taking no interest in theproceedings behind him. He was absorbed in contemplating the foreston the opposite shore of the river.
"Well, boys, I guess we are ready for the fun," called Col. Zane,cheerily. "Only one shot apiece, mind you, except in case of a tie.Now, everybody shoot his best."
The first contest was a shooting match known as "driving the nail."It was as the name indicated, nothing less than shooting at the headof a nail. In the absence of a nail--for nails were scarce--one wasusually fashioned from a knife blade, or an old file, or even apiece of silver. The nail was driven lightly into the stake, thecontestants shot at it from a distance as great as the eyesightpermitted. To drive the nail hard and fast into the wood at onehundred yards was a feat seldom accomplished. By many hunters it wasdeemed more difficult than "snuffing the candle," another borderpastime, which consisted of placing in the dark at any distance alighted candle, and then putting out the flame with a single rifleball. Many settlers, particularly those who handled the plow morethan the rifle, sighted from a rest, and placed a piece of mossunder the rife-barrel to prevent its spring at the discharge.
The match began. Of the first six shooters Jonathan Zane and AlfredClarke scored the best shots. Each placed a bullet in the half-inchcircle round the nail.
"Alfred, very good, indeed," said Col. Zane. "You have made adecided improvement since the last shooting-match."
Six other settlers took their turns. All were unsuccessful ingetting a shot inside the little circle. Thus a tie between Alfredand Jonathan had to be decided.
"Shoot close, Alfred," yelled Isaac. "I hope you beat him. He alwayswon from me and then crowed over it."
Alfred's second shot went wide of the mark, and as Jonathan placedanother bullet in the circle, this time nearer the center, Alfredhad to acknowledge defeat.
"Here comes Miller," said Silas Zane. "Perhaps he will want a try."
Col. Zane looked round. Miller had joined the party. He carried hisrifle and accoutrements, and evidently had just returned to thesettlement. He nodded pleasantly to all.
"Miller, will you take a shot for the first prize, which I was aboutto award to Jonathan?" said Col. Zane.
"No. I am a little late, and not entitled to a shot. I will take atry for the others," answered Miller.
At the arrival of Miller on the scene Wetzel had changed hisposition to one nearer the crowd. The dog, Tige, trotted closely athis heels. No one heard Tige's low growl or Wetzel's stern word tosilence him. Throwing his arm over Betty's pony, Wetzel apparentlywatched the shooters. In reality he studied intently Miller's everymovement.
"I expect some good shooting for this prize," said Col. Zane, wavinga beautifully embroidered buckskin bullet pouch, which was one ofBetty's donations.
Jonathan having won his prize was out of the lists and could competeno more. This entitled Alfred to the first shot for second prize. Hefelt he would give anything he possessed to win the dainty triflewhich the Colonel had waved aloft. Twice he raised his rifle in hisexceeding earnestness to score a good shot and each time lowered thebarrel. When finally he did shoot the bullet embedded itself in thesecond circle. It was a good shot, but he knew it would never winthat prize.
"A little nervous, eh?" remarked Miller, with a half sneer on hisswarthy face.
Several young settlers followed in succession, but their aims werepoor. Then little Harry Bennet took his stand. Harry had won manyprizes in former matches, and many of the pioneers considered himone of the best shots in the country.
"Only a few more after you, Harry," said Col. Zane. "You have a goodchance."
"All right, Colonel. That's Betty's prize and somebody'll have to dosome mighty tall shootin' to beat me," said the lad, his blue eyesflashing as he toed the mark.
Shouts and cheers of approval greeted his attempt. The bullet hadpassed into the wood so close to the nail that a knife blade couldnot have been inserted between.
Miller's turn came next. He was a fine marksman and he knew it. Withthe confidence born of long experience and knowledge of his weapon,he took a careful though quick aim and fired. He turned awaysatisfied that he would carry off the coveted prize. He had nickedthe nail.
But Miller reckoned without his host. Betty had seen the result ofhis shot and the self-satisfied smile on his face. She watchedseveral of the settlers make poor attempts at the nail, and then,convinced that not one of the other contestants could do so well asMiller, she slipped off the horse and ran around to where Wetzel wasstanding by her pony.
"Lew, I believe Miller will win my prize," she whispered, placingher hand on the hunter's arm. "He has scratched the nail, and I amsure no one except you can do better. I do not want Miller to haveanything of mine."
"And, little girl, you want me to shoot fer you," said Lewis.
"Yes, Lew, please come and shoot for me."
It was said of Wetzel that he never wasted powder. He never enteredinto the races and shooting-matches of the settlers, yet it was wellknown that he was the fleetest runner and the most unerring shot onthe frontier. Therefore, it was with surprise and pleasure that Col.Zane heard the hunter say he guessed he would like one shot anyway.
Miller looked on with a grim smile. He knew that, Wetzel or noWetzel, it would take a remarkably clever shot to beat his.
"This shot's for Betty," said Wetzel as he stepped to the mark. Hefastened his keen eyes on the stake. At that distance the head ofthe nail looked like a tiny black speck. Wetzel took one of thelocks of hair that waved over his broad shoulders and held it up infront of his eyes a moment. He thus ascertained that there was notany perceptible breeze. The long black barrel started slowly torise--it seemed to the interested onlookers that it would neverreach a level and when, at last, it became rigid, there was a singlesecond in which man and rifle appeared as if carved out of stone.Then followed a burst of red flame, a puff of white smoke, a clearringing report.
Many thought the hunter had missed altogether. It seemed that thenail had not changed its position; there was no bullet hole in thewhite lime wash that had been smeared round the nail. But on closeinspection the nail was found to have been driven to its head in thewood.
"A wonderful shot!" exclaimed Col. Zane. "Lewis, I don't rememberhaving seen the like more than once or twice in my life."
Wetzel made no answer. He moved away to his for
mer position andcommenced to reload his rifle. Betty came running up to him, holdingin her hand the prize bullet pouch.
"Oh, Lew, if I dared I would kiss you. It pleases me more for you tohave won my prize than if any one else had won it. And it was thefinest, straightest shot ever made."
"Betty, it's a little fancy for redskins, but it'll be a keepsake,"answered Lewis, his eyes reflecting the bright smile on her face.
Friendly rivalry in feats that called for strength, speed and daringwas the diversion of the youth of that period, and the pioneersconducted this good-natured but spirited sport strictly on itsmerits. Each contestant strove his utmost to outdo his opponent. Itwas hardly to be expected that Alfred would carry off any of thelaurels. Used as he had been to comparative idleness he was no matchfor the hardy lads who had been brought up and trained to a life ofaction, wherein a ten mile walk behind a plow, or a cord of woodchopped in a day, were trifles. Alfred lost in the foot-race and thesackrace, but by dint of exerting himself to the limit of hisstrength, he did manage to take one fall out of the best wrestler.He was content to stop here, and, throwing himself on the grass,endeavored to recover his breath. He felt happier today than forsome time past. Twice during the afternoon he had met Betty's eyesand the look he encountered there made his heart stir with a strangefeeling of fear and hope. While he was ruminating on what hadhappened between Betty and himself he allowed his eyes to wanderfrom one person to another. When his gaze alighted on Wetzel itbecame riveted there. The hunter's attitude struck him as singular.Wetzel had his face half turned toward the boys romping near him andhe leaned carelessly against a white oak tree. But a close observerwould have seen, as Alfred did, that there was a certain alertnessin that rigid and motionless figure. Wetzel's eyes were fixed on thewestern end of the island. Almost involuntarily Alfred's eyes soughtthe same direction. The western end of the island ran out into along low point covered with briars, rushes and saw-grass. As Alfreddirected his gaze along the water line of this point he distinctlysaw a dark form flit from one bush to another. He was positive hehad not been mistaken. He got up slowly and unconcernedly, andstrolled over to Wetzel.
"Wetzel, I saw an object just now," he said in a low tone. "It wasmoving behind those bushes at the head of the island. I am not surewhether it was an animal or an Indian."
"Injuns. Go back and be natur'l like. Don't say nothin' and watchMiller," whispered Wetzel.
Much perturbed by the developments of the last few moments, andwondering what was going to happen, Alfred turned away. He hadscarcely reached the others when he heard Betty's voice raised inindignant protest.
"I tell you I did swim my pony across the river," cried Betty. "Itwas just even with that point and the river was higher than it isnow."
"You probably overestimated your feat," said Miller, with hisdisagreeable, doubtful smile. "I have seen the river so low that itcould be waded, and then it would be a very easy matter to cross.But now your pony could not swim half the distance."
"I'll show you," answered Betty, her black eyes flashing. She puther foot in the stirrup and leaped on Madcap.
"Now, Betty, don't try that foolish ride again," implored Mrs. Zane."What do you care whether strangers believe or not? Eb, make hercome back."
Col. Bane only laughed and made no attempt to detain Betty. Herather indulged her caprices.
"Stop her!" cried Clarke.
"Betty, where are you goin'?" said Wetzel, grabbing at Madcap'sbridle. But Betty was too quick for him. She avoided the hunter, andwith a saucy laugh she wheeled the fiery little pony and urged herover the bank. Almost before any one could divine her purpose shehad Madcap in the water up to her knees.
"Betty, stop!" cried Wetzel.
She paid no attention to his call. In another moment the pony wouldbe off the shoal and swimming.
"Stop! Turn back, Betty, or I'll shoot the pony," shouted Wetzel,and this time there was a ring of deadly earnestness in his voice.With the words he had cocked and thrown forward the long rifle.
Betty heard, and in alarm she turned her pony. She looked up withgreat surprise and concern, for she knew Wetzel was not one totrifle.
"For God's sake!" exclaimed Colonel Zane, looking in amazement atthe hunter's face, which was now white and stern.
"Why, Lew, you do not mean you would shoot Madcap?" said Betty,reproachfully, as she reached the shore.
All present in that watching crowd were silent, awaiting thehunter's answer. They felt that mysterious power which portends therevelation of strange events. Col. Zane and Jonathan knew theinstant they saw Wetzel that something extraordinary was coming. Hisface had grown cold and gray; his lips were tightly compressed; hiseyes dilated and shone with a peculiar lustre.
"Where were you headin' your pony?" asked Wetzel.
"I wanted to reach that point where the water is shallow," answeredBetty.
"That's what I thought. Well, Betty, hostile Injuns are hidin' andwaitin' fer you in them high rushes right where you were makin'fer," said Wetzel. Then he shouldered his rifle and walked rapidlyaway.
"Oh, he cannot be serious!" cried Betty. "Oh, how foolish am I."
"Get back up from the river, everybody," commanded Col. Zane.
"Col. Zane," said Clarke, walking beside the Colonel up the bank, "Isaw Wetzel watching the island in a manner that I thought odd, underthe circumstances, and I watched too. Presently I saw a dark formdart behind a bush. I went over and told Wetzel, and he said therewere Indians on the island."
"This is most d--n strange," said Col. Zane, frowning heavily."Wetzel's suspicions, Miller turns up, teases Betty attempting thatfoolhardy trick, and then--Indians! It may be a coincidence, but itlooks bad."
"Col. Zane, don't you think Wetzel may be mistaken?" said Miller,coming up. "I came over from the other side this morning and I didnot see any Indian sign. Probably Wetzel has caused needlessexcitement."
"It does not follow that because you came from over the river thereare no Indians there," answered Col. Zane, sharply. "Do you presumeto criticise Wetzel's judgment?"
"I saw an Indian!" cried Clarke, facing Miller with blazing eyes."And if you say I did not, you lie! What is more, I believe you knowmore than any one else about it. I watched you. I saw you wereuneasy and that you looked across the river from time to time.Perhaps you had better explain to Col. Zane the reason you tauntedhis sister into attempting that ride."
With a snarl more like that of a tiger than of a human being, Millersprang at Clarke. His face was dark with malignant hatred, as hereached for and drew an ugly knife. There were cries of fright fromthe children and screams from the women. Alfred stepped aside withthe wonderful quickness of the trained boxer and shot out his rightarm. His fist caught Miller a hard blow on the head, knocking himdown and sending the knife flying in the air.
It had all happened so quickly that everyone was as if paralyzed.The settlers stood still and watched Miller rise slowly to his feet.
"Give me my knife!" he cried hoarsely. The knife had fallen at thefeet of Major McColloch, who had concealed it with his foot.
"Let this end right here," ordered Col. Zane. "Clarke, you have madea very strong statement. Have you anything to substantiate yourwords?"
"I think I have," said Clarke. He was standing erect, his face whiteand his eyes like blue steel. "I knew him at Ft. Pitt. He was a liarand a drunkard there. He was a friend of the Indians and of theBritish. What he was there he must be here. It was Wetzel who toldme to watch him. Wetzel and I both think he knew the Indians were onthe island."
"Col. Zane, it is false," said Miller, huskily. "He is trying to putyou against me. He hates me because your sister--"
"You cur!" cried Clarke, striking at Miller. Col. Zane struck up theinfuriated young man's arm.
"Give us knives, or anything," panted Clarke.
"Yes, let us fight it out now," said Miller.
"Capt. Boggs, take Clarke to the block-house. Make him stay there ifyou have to lock him up," commanded Col. Zane. "Miller, as for yo
u,I cannot condemn you without proof. If I knew positively that therewere Indians on the island and that you were aware of it, you wouldbe a dead man in less time than it takes to say it. I will give youthe benefit of the doubt and twenty-four hours to leave the Fort."
The villagers dispersed and went to their homes. They were inclinedto take Clarke's side. Miller had become disliked. His drinkinghabits and his arrogant and bold manner had slowly undermined thefriendships he had made during the early part of his stay at Ft.Henry; while Clarke's good humor and willingness to help any one,his gentleness with the children, and his several acts of heroismhad strengthened their regard.
"Jonathan, this looks like some of Girty's work. I wish I knew thetruth," said Col. Zane, as he, his brothers and Betty and Myeerahentered the house. "Confound it! We can't have even one afternoon ofenjoyment. I must see Lewis. I cannot be sure of Clarke. He isevidently bitter against Miller. That would have been a terriblefight. Those fellows have had trouble before, and I am afraid wehave not seen the last of their quarrel."
"If they meet again--but how can you keep them apart?" said Silas."If Miller leaves the Fort without killing Clarke he'll hide aroundin the woods and wait for a chance to shoot him."
"Not with Wetzel here," answered Col. Zane. "Betty, do you see whatyour--" he began, turning to his sister, but when he saw her whiteand miserable face he said no more.
"Don't mind, Betts. It wasn't any fault of yours," said Isaac,putting his arm tenderly round the trembling girl. "I for anotherbelieve Clarke was right when he said Miller knew there were Indiansover the river. It looks like a plot to abduct you. Have no fear forAlfred. He can take care of himself. He showed that pretty well."
An hour later Clarke had finished his supper and was sitting by hiswindow smoking his pipe. His anger had cooled somewhat and hisreflections were not of the pleasantest kind. He regretted that helowered himself so far as to fight with a man little better than anoutlaw. Still there was a grim satisfaction in the thought of theblow he had given Miller. He remembered he had asked for a knife andthat his enemy and he be permitted to fight to the death. After allto have ended, then and there, the feud between them would have beenthe better course; for he well knew Miller's desperate character,that he had killed more than one white man, and that now a fairfight might not be possible. Well, he thought, what did it matter?He was not going to worry himself. He did not care much, one way oranother. He had no home; he could not make one without the woman heloved. He was a Soldier of Fortune; he was at the mercy of Fate, andhe would drift along and let what came be welcome. A soft footfallon the stairs and a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened and Wetzel strode into the room.
"I come over to say somethin' to you," said the hunter taking thechair by the window and placing his rifle over his knee.
"I will be pleased to listen or talk, as you desire," said Alfred.
"I don't mind tellin' you that the punch you give Miller was what hedeserved. If he and Girty didn't hatch up that trick to ketch Betty,I don't know nothin'. But we can't prove nothin' on him yet. Mebbehe knew about the redskins; mebbe he didn't. Personally, I think hedid. But I can't kill a white man because I think somethin'. I'dhave to know fer sure. What I want to say is to put you on yourguard against the baddest man on the river."
"I am aware of that," answered Alfred. "I knew his record at Ft.Pitt. What would you have me do?"
"Keep close till he's gone."
"That would be cowardly."
"No, it wouldn't. He'd shoot you from behind some tree or cabin."
"Well, I'm much obliged to you for your kind advice, but for allthat I won't stay in the house," said Alfred, beginning to wonder atthe hunter's earnest manner.
"You're in love with Betty, ain't you?"
The question came with Wetzel's usual bluntness and it staggeredAlfred. He could not be angry, and he did not know what to say. Thehunter went on:
"You needn't say so, because I know it. And I know she loves you andthat's why I want you to look out fer Miller."
"My God! man, you're crazy," said Alfred, laughing scornfully. "Shecares nothing for me."
"That's your great failin', young feller. You fly off'en the handletoo easy. And so does Betty. You both care fer each other and areunhappy about it. Now, you don't know Betty, and she keepsmisunderstandin' you."
"For Heaven's sake! Wetzel, if you know anything tell me. Love her?Why, the words are weak! I love her so well that an hour ago I wouldhave welcomed death at Miller's hands only to fall and die at herfeet defending her. Your words set me on fire. What right have youto say that? How do you know?"
The hunter leaned forward and put his hand on Alfred's shoulder. Onhis pale face was that sublime light which comes to great souls whenthey give up a life long secret, or when they sacrifice what is bestbeloved. His broad chest heaved: his deep voice trembled.
"Listen. I'm not a man fer words, and it's hard to tell. Betty lovesyou. I've carried her in my arms when she was a baby. I've made hertoys and played with her when she was a little girl. I know all hermoods. I can read her like I do the moss, and the leaves, and thebark of the forest. I've loved her all my life. That's why I knowshe loves you. I can feel it. Her happiness is the only dear thingleft on earth fer me. And that's why I'm your friend."
In the silence that followed his words the door opened and closedand he was gone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Betty awoke with a start. She was wide awake in a second. Themoonbeams came through the leaves of the maple tree near her windowand cast fantastic shadows on the wall of her room. Betty lay quiet,watching the fairy-like figures on the wall and listening intently.What had awakened her? The night was still; the crow of a cock inthe distance proclaimed that the hour of dawn was near at hand. Shewaited for Tige's bark under her window, or Sam's voice, or thekicking and trampling of horses in the barn--sounds that usuallybroke her slumbers in the morning. But no such noises wereforthcoming. Suddenly she heard a light, quick tap, tap, and then arattling in the corner. It was like no sound but that made by apebble striking the floor, bounding and rolling across the room.There it was again. Some one was tossing stones in at her window.She slipped out of bed, ran, and leaned on the window-sill andlooked out. The moon was going down behind the hill, but there waslight enough for her to distinguish objects. She saw a dark figurecrouching by the fence.
"Who is it?" said Betty, a little frightened, but more curious.
"Sh-h-h, it's Miller," came the answer, spoken in low voice.
The bent form straightened and stood erect. It stepped forward underBetty's window. The light was dim, but Betty recognized the darkface of Miller. He carried a rifle in his hand and a pack on hisshoulder.
"Go away, or I'll call my brother. I will not listen to you," saidBetty, making a move to leave the window.
"Sh-h-h, not so loud," said Miller, in a quick, hoarse whisper."You'd better listen. I am going across the border to join Girty. Heis going to bring the Indians and the British here to burn thesettlement. If you will go away with me I'll save the lives of yourbrothers and their families. I have aided Girty and I have influencewith him. If you won't go you'll be taken captive and you'll see allyour friends and relatives scalped and burned. Quick, your answer."
"Never, traitor! Monster! I'd be burned at the stake before I'd go astep with you!" cried Betty.
"Then remember that you've crossed a desperate man. If you escapethe massacre you will beg on your knees to me. This settlement isdoomed. Now, go to your white-faced lover. You'll find him cold. Ha!Ha! Ha!" and with a taunting laugh he leaped the fence anddisappeared in the gloom.
Betty sank to the floor stunned, horrified. She shuddered at themalignity expressed in Miller's words. How had she ever beendeceived in him? He was in league with Girty. At heart he was asavage, a renegade. Betty went over his words, one by one.
"Your white-faced lover. You will find him cold," whispe
red Betty."What did he mean?"
Then came the thought. Miller had murdered Clarke. Betty gave oneagonized quiver, as if a knife had been thrust into her side, andthen her paralyzed limbs recovered the power of action. She flew outinto the passage-way and pounded on her brother's door.
"Eb! Eb! Get up! Quickly, for God's sake!" she cried. A smotheredexclamation, a woman's quick voice, the heavy thud of feet strikingthe floor followed Betty's alarm. Then the door opened.
"Hello, Betts, what's up?" said Col. Zane, in his rapid voice.
At the same moment the door at the end of the hall opened and Isaaccame out.
"Eb, Betty, I heard voices out doors and in the house. What's therow?"
"Oh, Isaac! Oh, Eb! Something terrible has happened!" cried Betty,breathlessly.
"Then it is no time to get excited," said the Colonel, calmly. Heplaced his arm round Betty and drew her into the room. "Isaac, getdown the rifles. Now, Betty, time is precious. Tell me quickly,briefly."
"I was awakened by a stone rolling on the floor. I ran to the windowand saw a man by the fence. He came under my window and I saw it wasMiller. He said he was going to join Girty. He said if I would gowith him he would save the lives of all my relatives. If I would notthey would all be killed, massacred, burned alive, and I would betaken away as his captive. I told him I'd rather die before I'd gowith him. Then he said we were all doomed, and that my white-facedlover was already cold. With that he gave a laugh which made myflesh creep and ran on toward the river. Oh! he has murdered Mr.Clarke."
"Hell! What a fiend!" cried Col. Zane, hurriedly getting into hisclothes. "Betts, you had a gun in there. Why didn't you shoot him?Why didn't I pay more attention to Wetzel's advice?"
"You should have allowed Clarke to kill him yesterday," said Isaac."Like as not he'll have Girty here with a lot of howling devils.What's to be done?"
"I'll send Wetzel after him and that'll soon wind up his ball ofyarn," answered Col. Zane.
"Please--go--and find--if Mr. Clarke--"
"Yes, Betty, I'll go at once. You must not lose courage, Betty. It'squite probable that Miller has killed Alfred and that there's worseto follow."
"I'll come, Eb, as soon as I have told Myeerah. She is scared halfto death," said Isaac, starting for the door.
"All right, only hurry," said Col. Zane, grabbing his rifle. Withoutwasting more words, and lacing up his hunting shirt as he went heran out of the room.
The first rays of dawn came streaking in at the window. The chillgray light brought no cheer with its herald of the birth of anotherday. For what might the morning sun disclose? It might shine on along line of painted Indians. The fresh breeze from over the rivermight bring the long war whoop of the savage.
No wonder Noah and his brother, awakened by the voice of theirfather, sat up in their little bed and looked about with frightenedeyes. No wonder Mrs. Zane's face blanched. How many times she hadseen her husband grasp his rifle and run out to meet danger!
"Bessie," said Betty. "If it's true I will not be able to bear it.It's all my fault."
"Nonsense! You heard Eb say Miller and Clarke had quarreled before.They hated each other before they ever saw you."
A door banged, quick footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Isaac camerushing into the room. Betty, deathly pale, stood with her handspressed to her bosom, and looked at Isaac with a question in hereyes that her tongue could not speak.
"Betty, Alfred's badly hurt, but he's alive. I can tell you no morenow," said Isaac. "Bessie, bring your needle, silk linen,liniment--everything you need for a bad knife wound, and comequickly."
Betty's haggard face changed as if some warm light had beenreflected on it; her lips moved, and with a sob of thankfulness shefled to her room.
Two hours later, while Annie was serving breakfast to Betty andMyeerah, Col. Zane strode into the room.
"Well, one has to eat whatever happens," he said, his clouded facebrightening somewhat. "Betty, there's been bad work, bad work. WhenI got to Clarke's room I found him lying on the bed with a knifesticking in him. As it is we are doubtful about pulling himthrough."
"May I see him?" whispered Betty, with pale lips.
"If the worst comes to the worst I'll take you over. But it would dono good now and would surely unnerve you. He still has a fightingchance."
"Did they fight, or was Mr. Clarke stabbed in his sleep?"
"Miller climbed into Clarke's window and knifed him in the dark. AsI came over I met Wetzel and told him I wanted him to trail Millerand find if there is any truth in his threat about Girty and theIndians. Sam just now found Tige tied fast in the fence corner backof the barn. That explains the mystery of Miller's getting so nearthe house. You know he always took pains to make friends with Tige.The poor dog was helpless; his legs were tied and his jaws boundfast. Oh, Miller is as cunning as an Indian! He has had this allplanned out, and he has had more than one arrow to his bow. But, ifI mistake not he has shot his last one."
"Miller must be safe from pursuit by this time," said Betty.
"Safe for the present, yes," answered Col. Zane, "but while Jonathanand Wetzel live I would not give a snap of my fingers for Miller'schances. Hello, I hear some one talking. I sent for Jack and theMajor."
The Colonel threw open the door. Wetzel, Major McColloch, Jonathanand Silas Zane were approaching. They were all heavily armed. Wetzelwas equipped for a long chase. Double leggins were laced round hislegs. A buckskin knapsack was strapped to his shoulders.
"Major, I want you and Jonathan to watch the river," said Col. Zane."Silas, you are to go to the mouth of Yellow Creek and reconnoiter.We are in for a siege. It may be twenty-four hours and it may be tendays. In the meantime I will get the Fort in shape to meet theattack. Lewis, you have your orders. Have you anything to suggest?"
"I'll take the dog," answered Wetzel. "He'll save time for me. I'llstick to Miller's trail and find Girty's forces. I've believed allalong that Miller was helpin' Girty, and I'm thinkin' that whereMiller goes there I'll find Girty and his redskins. If it's nightwhen I get back I'll give the call of the hoot-owl three times,quick, so Jack and the Major will know I want to get back across theriver."
"All right, Lewis, we'll be expecting you any time," said Col. Zane.
"Betty, I'm goin' now and I want to tell you somethin'," saidWetzel, as Betty appeared. "Come as far as the end of the path withme."
"I'm sorry you must go. But Tige seems delighted," said Betty,walking beside Wetzel, while the dog ran on before.
"Betty, I wanted to tell you to stay close like to the house, ferthis feller Miller has been layin' traps fer you, and the Injuns ison the war-path. Don't ride your pony, and stay home now."
"Indeed, I shall never again do anything as foolish as I didyesterday. I have learned my lesson. And Oh! Lew, I am so gratefulto you for saving me. When will you return to the Fort?"
"Mebbe never, Betty."
"Oh, no. Don't say that. I know all this Indian talk will blow over,as it always does, and you will come back and everything will be allright again."
"I hope it'll be as you say, Betty, but there's no tellin', there'sno tellin'."
"You are going to see if the Indians are making preparations tobesiege the Fort?"
"Yes, I am goin' fer that. And if I happen to find Miller on my wayI'll give him Betty's regards."
Betty shivered at his covert meaning. Long ago in a moment ofplayfulness, Betty had scratched her name on the hunter's rifle.Ever after that Wetzel called his fatal weapon by her name.
"If you were going simply to avenge I would not let you go. Thatwretch will get his just due some day, never fear for that."
"Betty, 'taint likely he'll get away from me, and if he does there'sJonathan. This mornin' when we trailed Miller down to the river bankJonathan points across the river and says: 'You or me,' and I says:'Me,' so it's all settled."
"Will Mr. Clarke live?" said Betty, in an altered tone, asking thequestion which was uppermost in her mind.
"I think so, I hop
e so. He's a husky young chap and the cut wasn'tbad. He lost so much blood. That's why he's so weak. If he gets wellhe'll have somethin' to tell you."
"Lew, what do you mean?" demanded Betty, quickly.
"Me and him had a long talk last night and--"
"You did not go to him and talk of me, did you?" said Betty,reproachfully.
They had now reached the end of the path. Wetzel stopped and droppedthe butt of his rifle on the ground. Tige looked on and wagged histail. Presently the hunter spoke.
"Yes, we talked about you."
"Oh! Lewis. What did--could you have said?" faltered Betty.
"You think I hadn't ought to speak to him of you?"
"I do not see why you should. Of course you are my good friend, buthe--it is not like you to speak of me."
"Fer once I don't agree with you. I knew how it was with him so Itold him. I knew how it was with you so I told him, and I know howit is with me, so I told him that too."
"With you?" whispered Betty.
"Yes, with me. That kind of gives me a right, don't it, considerin'it's all fer your happiness?"
"With you?" echoed Betty in a low tone. She was beginning to realizethat she had not known this man. She looked up at him. His eyes weremisty with an unutterable sadness.
"Oh, no! No! Lew. Say it is not true," she cried, piteously. All ina moment Betty's burdens became too heavy for her. She wrung herlittle hands. Her brother's kindly advice, Bessie's warnings, andold Grandmother Watkins' words came back to her. For the first timeshe believed what they said--that Wetzel loved her. All at once thescales fell from her eyes and she saw this man as he really was. Allthe thousand and one things he had done for her, his simpleteaching, his thoughtfulness, his faithfulness, and his watchfulprotection--all came crowding on her as debts that she could neverpay. For now what could she give this man to whom she owed more thanher life? Nothing. It was too late. Her love could have reclaimedhim, could have put an end to that solitary wandering, and have madehim a good, happy man.
"Yes, Betty, it's time to tell it. I've loved you always," he saidsoftly.
She covered her face and sobbed. Wetzel put his arm round her anddrew her to him until the dark head rested on his shoulder. Thusthey stood a moment.
"Don't cry, little one," he said, tenderly. "Don't grieve fer me. Mylove fer you has been the only good in my life. It's been happinessto love you. Don't think of me. I can see you and Alfred in a happyhome, surrounded by bright-eyed children. There'll be a brave ladnamed fer me, and when I come, if I ever do, I'll tell him stories,and learn him the secrets of the woods, and how to shoot, and thingsI know so well."
"I am so wretched--so miserable. To think I have been so--so blind,and I have teased you--and--it might have been--only now it's toolate," said Betty, between her sobs.
"Yes, I know, and it's better so. This man you love rings true. Hehas learnin' and edication. I have nothin' but muscle and a quickeye. And that'll serve you and Alfred when you are in danger. I'mgoin' now. Stand here till I'm out of sight."
"Kiss me goodbye," whispered Betty.
The hunter bent his head and kissed her on the brow. Then he turnedand with a rapid step went along the bluff toward the west. When hereached the laurel bushes which fringed the edge of the forest helooked back. He saw the slender gray clad figure standing motionlessin the narrow path. He waved his hand and then turned and plungedinto the forest. The dog looked back, raised his head and gave along, mournful howl. Then, he too disappeared.
A mile west of the settlement Wetzel abandoned the forest and pickedhis way down the steep bluff to the river. Here he prepared to swimto the western shore. He took off his buckskin garments, spread themout on the ground, placed his knapsack in the middle, and rollingall into a small bundle tied it round his rifle. Grasping the riflejust above the hammer he waded into the water up to his waist andthen, turning easily on his back he held the rifle straight up,allowing the butt to rest on his breast. This left his right armunhampered. With a powerful back-arm stroke he rapidly swam theriver, which was deep and narrow at this point. In a quarter of anhour he was once more in his dry suit.
He was now two miles below the island, where yesterday the Indianshad been concealed, and where this morning Miller had crossed.Wetzel knew Miller expected to be trailed, and that he would useevery art and cunning of woodcraft to elude his pursuers, or to leadthem into a death-trap. Wetzel believed Miller had joined theIndians, who had undoubtedly been waiting for him, or for a signalfrom him, and that he would use them to ambush the trail.
Therefore Wetzel decided he would try to strike Miller's tracks farwest of the river. He risked a great deal in attempting this becauseit was possible he might fail to find any trace of the spy. ButWetzel wasted not one second. His course was chosen. With allpossible speed, which meant with him walking only when he could notrun, he traveled northwest. If Miller had taken the direction Wetzelsuspected, the trails of the two men would cross about ten milesfrom the Ohio. But the hunter had not traversed more than a mile ofthe forest when the dog put his nose high in the air and growled.Wetzel slowed down into a walk and moved cautiously onward, peeringthrough the green aisles of the woods. A few rods farther on Tigeuttered another growl and put his nose to the ground. He found atrail. On examination Wetzel discovered in the moss two moccasintracks. Two Indians had passed that point that morning. They weregoing northwest directly toward the camp of Wingenund. Wetzel stuckclose to the trail all that day and an hour before dusk he heard thesharp crack of a rifle. A moment afterward a doe came crashingthrough the thicket to Wetzel's right and bounding across a littlebrook she disappeared.
A tree with a bushy, leafy top had been uprooted by a storm and hadfallen across the stream at this point. Wetzel crawled among thebranches. The dog followed and lay down beside him. Before darknessset in Wetzel saw that the clear water of the brook had been roiled;therefore, he concluded that somewhere upstream Indians had wadedinto the brook. Probably they had killed a deer and were gettingtheir evening meal.
Hours passed. Twilight deepened into darkness. One by one the starsappeared; then the crescent moon rose over the wooded hill in thewest, and the hunter never moved. With his head leaning against thelog he sat quiet and patient. At midnight he whispered to the dog,and crawling from his hiding place glided stealthily up the stream.Far ahead from the dark depths of the forest peeped the flickeringlight of a camp-fire. Wetzel consumed a half hour in approachingwithin one hundred feet of this light. Then he got down on his handsand knees and crawled behind a tree on top of the little ridge whichhad obstructed a view of the camp scene.
From this vantage point Wetzel saw a clear space surrounded by pinesand hemlocks. In the center of this glade a fire burned briskly. TwoIndians lay wrapped in their blankets, sound asleep. Wetzel pressedthe dog close to the ground, laid aside his rifle, drew histomahawk, and lying flat on his breast commenced to work his way,inch by inch, toward the sleeping savages. The tall ferns trembledas the hunter wormed his way among them, but there was no sound, nota snapping of a twig nor a rustling of a leaf. The nightwind sighedsoftly through the pines; it blew the bright sparks from the burninglogs, and fanned the embers into a red glow; it swept caressinglyover the sleeping savages, but it could not warn them that anotherwind, the Wind-of-Death, was near at hand.
A quarter of an hour elapsed. Nearer and nearer; slowly but surelydrew the hunter. With what wonderful patience and self-control didthis cold-blooded Nemesis approach his victims! Probably any otherIndian slayer would have fired his rifle and then rushed to combatwith a knife or a tomahawk. Not so Wetzel. He scorned to use powder.He crept forward like a snake gliding upon its prey. He slid onehand in front of him and pressed it down on the moss, at firstgently, then firmly, and when he had secured a good hold he slowlydragged his body forward the length of his arm. At last his darkform rose and stood over the unconscious Indians, like a minister ofDoom. The tomahawk flashed once, twice in the firelight, and theIndians, without a moan, and with a convulsive quiveri
ng andstraightening of their bodies, passed from the tired sleep of natureto the eternal sleep of death.
Foregoing his usual custom of taking the scalps, Wetzel hurriedlyleft the glade. He had found that the Indians were Shawnees and hehad expected they were Delawares. He knew Miller's red comradesbelonged to the latter tribe. The presence of Shawnees so near thesettlement confirmed his belief that a concerted movement was to bemade on the whites in the near future. He would not have beensurprised to find the woods full of redskins. He spent the remainderof that night close under the side of a log with the dog curled upbeside him.
Next morning Wetzel ran across the trail of a white man and sixIndians. He tracked them all that day and half of the night beforehe again rested. By noon of the following day he came in sight ofthe cliff from which Jonathan Zane had watched the sufferings ofCol. Crawford. Wetzel now made his favorite move, a wide detour, andcame up on the other side of the encampment.
From the top of the bluff he saw down into the village of theDelawares. The valley was alive with Indians; they were working likebeavers; some with weapons, some painting themselves, and othersdancing war-dances. Packs were being strapped on the backs ofponies. Everywhere was the hurry and bustle of the preparation forwar. The dancing and the singing were kept up half the night.
At daybreak Wetzel was at his post. A little after sunrise he hearda long yell which he believed announced the arrival of an importantparty. And so it turned out. Amid thrill yelling and whooping, thelike of which Wetzel had never before heard, Simon Girty rode intoWingenund's camp at the head of one hundred Shawnee warriors and twohundred British Rangers from Detroit. Wetzel recoiled when he sawthe red uniforms of the Britishers and their bayonets. IncludingPipe's and Wingenund's braves the total force which was going tomarch against the Fort exceeded six hundred. An impotent frenzypossessed Wetzel as he watched the orderly marching of the Rangersand the proud bearing of the Indian warriors. Miller had spoken thetruth. Ft. Henry vas doomed.
"Tige, there's one of them struttin' turkey cocks as won't see theOhio," said Wetzel to the dog.
Hurriedly slipping from round his neck the bullet-pouch that Bettyhad given him, he shook out a bullet and with the point of his knifehe scratched deep in the soft lead the letter W. Then he cut thebullet half through. This done he detached the pouch from the cordand running the cord through the cut in the bullet he bit the lead.He tied the string round the neck of the dog and pointing eastwardhe said: "Home."
The intelligent animal understood perfectly. His duty was to getthat warning home. His clear brown eyes as much as said: "I will notfail." He wagged his tail, licked the hunter's hand, bounded awayand disappeared in the forest.
Wetzel rested easier in mind. He knew the dog would stop fornothing, and that he stood a far better chance of reaching the Fortin safety than did he himself.
With a lurid light in his eyes Wetzel now turned to the Indians. Hewould never leave that spot without sending a leaden messenger intothe heart of someone in that camp. Glancing on all sides he atlength selected a place where it was possible he might approach nearenough to the camp to get a shot. He carefully studied the lay ofthe ground, the trees, rocks, bushes, grass,--everything that couldhelp screen him from the keen eye of savage scouts. When he hadmarked his course he commenced his perilous descent. In an hour hehad reached the bottom of the cliff. Dropping flat on the ground, heonce more started his snail-like crawl. A stretch of swampy ground,luxuriant with rushes and saw-grass, made a part of the way easy forhim, though it led through mud, and slime, and stagnant water. Frogsand turtles warming their backs in the sunshine scampered in alarmfrom their logs. Lizards blinked at him. Moccasin snakes dartedwicked forked tongues at him and then glided out of reach of histomahawk. The frogs had stopped their deep bass notes. Aswamp-blackbird rose in fright from her nest in the saw-grass, andtwittering plaintively fluttered round and round over the pond. Theflight of the bird worried Wetzel. Such little things as these mightattract the attention of some Indian scout. But he hoped that in theexcitement of the war preparations these unusual disturbances wouldescape notice. At last he gained the other side of the swamp. At theend of the cornfield before him was the clump of laurel which he hadmarked from the cliff as his objective point. The Indian corn wasnow about five feet high. Wetzel passed through this field unseen.He reached the laurel bushes, where he dropped to the ground and layquiet a few minutes. In the dash which he would soon make to theforest he needed all his breath and all his fleetness. He looked tothe right to see how far the woods was from where he lay. Not morethan one hundred feet. He was safe. Once in the dark shade of thosetrees, and with his foes behind him, he could defy the whole race ofDelawares. He looked to his rifle, freshened the powder in the pan,carefully adjusted the flint, and then rose quietly to his feet.
Wetzel's keen gaze, as he swept it from left to right, took in everydetail of the camp. He was almost in the village. A tepee stood nottwenty feet from his hiding-place. He could have tossed a stone inthe midst of squaws, and braves, and chiefs. The main body ofIndians was in the center of the camp. The British were lined upfurther on. Both Indians and soldiers were resting on their arms andwaiting. Suddenly Wetzel started and his heart leaped. Under a mapletree not one hundred and fifty yards distant stood four men inearnest consultation. One was an Indian. Wetzel recognized thefierce, stern face, the haughty, erect figure. He knew that long,trailing war-bonnet. It could have adorned the head of but onechief--Wingenund, the sachem of the Delawares. A British officer,girdled and epauletted, stood next to Wingenund. Simon Girty, therenegade, and Miller, the traitor, completed the group.
Wetzel sank to his knees. The perspiration poured from his face. Themighty hunter trembled, but it was from eagerness. Was not Girty,the white savage, the bane of the poor settlers, within range of aweapon that never failed? Was not the murderous chieftain, who hadonce whipped and tortured him, who had burned Crawford alive, therein plain sight? Wetzel revelled a moment in fiendish glee. He passedhis hands tenderly over the long barrel of his rifle. In that momentas never before he gloried in his power--a power which enabled himto put a bullet in the eye of a squirrel at the distance these menwere from him. But only for an instant did the hunter yield to thisfeeling. He knew too well the value of time and opportunity.
He rose again to his feet and peered out from under the shadinglaurel branches. As he did so the dark face of Miller turned fulltoward him. A tremor, like the intense thrill of a tiger when he isabout to spring, ran over Wetzel's frame. In his mad gladness atbeing within rifle-shot of his great Indian foe, Wetzel hadforgotten the man he had trailed for two days. He had forgottenMiller. He had only one shot--and Betty was to be avenged. Hegritted his teeth. The Delaware chief was as safe as though he werea thousand miles away. This opportunity for which Wetzel had waitedso many years, and the successful issue of which would have gone sofar toward the fulfillment of a life's purpose, was worse thanuseless. A great temptation assailed the hunter.
Wetzel's face was white when he raised the rifle; his dark eye,gleaming vengefully, ran along the barrel. The little bead on thefront sight first covered the British officer, and then the broadbreast of Girty. It moved reluctantly and searched out the heart ofWingenund, where it lingered for a fleeting instant. At last itrested upon the swarthy face of Miller.
"Fer Betty," muttered the hunter, between his clenched teeth as hepressed the trigger.
The spiteful report awoke a thousand echoes. When the shot broke thestillness Miller was talking and gesticulating. His hand droppedinertly; he stood upright for a second, his head slowly bowing andhis body swaying perceptibly. Then he plunged forward like a log,his face striking the sand. He never moved again. He was dead evenbefore he struck the ground.
Blank silence followed this tragic denouement. Wingenund, a crueland relentless Indian, but never a traitor, pointed to the smallbloody hole in the middle of Miller's forehead, and then nodded hishead solemnly. The wondering Indians stood aghast. Then with loudyells the braves ran to t
he cornfield; they searched the laurelbushes. But they only discovered several moccasin prints in thesand, and a puff of white smoke wafting away upon the summer breeze.