The Spirit of the Border: A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley

by Zane Grey

  Chapter XXVII.

  At last the fugitives breathed free under the gold and red cover ofthe woods. Never speaking, never looking back, the guide hurriedeastward with long strides. His followers were almost forced to runin order to keep him in sight. He had waited at the edge of theclearing for them, and, relieving Jim of the heavy pack, which heswung slightly over his shoulder, he set a pace that was mostdifficult to maintain. The young missionary half led, half carriedNell over the stones and rough places. Mr. Wells labored in therear.

  "Oh! Jim! Look back! Look back! See if we are pursued!" cried Nellfrequently, with many a earful glance into the dense thickets.

  The Indian took a straight course through the woods. He leaped thebrooks, climbed the rough ridges, and swiftly trod the glades thatwere free of windfalls. His hurry and utter disregard for the plaintrail left behind, proved his belief in the necessity of placingmany miles between the fugitives and the Village of Peace. Evidentlythey would be followed, and it would be a waste of valuable time totry to conceal their trail. Gradually the ground began to rise, theway become more difficult, but Wingenund never slackened his pace.Nell was strong, supple, and light of foot. She held her own withJim, but time and time again they were obliged to wait for heruncle. Once he was far behind. Wingenund halted for them at theheight of a ridge where the forest was open.

  "Ugh!" exclaimed the chieftain, as they finished the ascent. Hestretched a long arm toward the sun; his falcon eye gleamed.

  Far in the west a great black and yellow cloud of smoke rolledheavenward. It seemed to rise from out the forest, and to hang lowover the trees; then it soared aloft and grew thinner until it lostits distinct line far in the clouds. The setting sun stood yet anhour high over a distant hill, and burned dark red through the greatpall of smoke.

  "Is it a forest fire?" asked Nell, fearfully.

  "Fire, of course, but---" Jim did not voice his fear; he lookedclosely at Wingenund.

  The chieftain stood silent a moment as was his wont when addressed.The dull glow of the sun was reflected in the dark eyes that gazedfar away over forest and field.

  "Fire," said Wingenund, and it seemed that as he spoke a sternershadow flitted across his bronzed face. "The sun sets to-night overthe ashes of the Village of Peace."

  He resumed his rapid march eastward. With never a backward glancethe saddened party followed. Nell kept close beside Jim, and the oldman tramped after them with bowed head. The sun set, but Wingenundnever slackened his stride. Twilight deepened, yet he kept on.

  "Indian, we can go no further to-night, we must rest," cried Jim, asNell stumbled against him, and Mr. Wells panted wearily in the rear.

  "Rest soon," replied the chief, and kept on.

  Darkness had settled down when Wingenund at last halted. Thefugitives could see little in the gloom, but they heard the music ofrunning water, and felt soft moss beneath their feet.

  They sank wearily down upon a projecting stone. The moss was restfulto their tired limbs. Opening the pack they found food with which tosatisfy the demands of hunger. Then, close under the stone, thefugitives sank into slumber while the watchful Indian stood silentand motionless.

  Jim thought he had but just closed his eyes when he felt a gentlepressure on his arm.

  "Day is here," said the Indian.

  Jim opened his eyes to see the bright red sun crimsoning the easternhills, and streaming gloriously over the colored forests. He raisedhimself on his elbow to look around. Nell was still asleep. Theblanket was tucked close to her chin. Her chestnut hair was tumbledlike a schoolgirl's; she looked as fresh and sweet as the morning.

  "Nell, Nell, wake up," said Jim, thinking the while how he wouldlove to kiss those white eyelids.

  Nell's eyes opened wide; a smile lay deep in their hazel shadows.

  "Where a I? Oh, I remember," she cried, sitting up. "Oh, Jim, I hadsuch a sweet dream. I was at home with mother and Kate. Oh, to wakeand find it all a dream! I am fleeing for life. But, Jim, we aresafe, are we not?"

  "Another day, and we'll be safe."

  "Let us fly," she cried, leaping up and shaking out her crumpledskirt. "Uncle, come!"

  Mr. Wells lay quietly with his mild blue eyes smiling up at her. Heneither moved nor spoke.

  "Eat, drink," said the chief, opening the pack.

  "What a beautiful place," exclaimed Nell, taking the bread and meathanded to her. "This is a lovely little glade. Look at those goldenflowers, the red and purple leaves, the brown shining moss, andthose lichen-covered stones. Why! Some one has camped here. See thelittle cave, the screens of plaited ferns, and the stone fireplace."

  "It seems to me this dark spring and those gracefully spreadingbranches are familiar," said Jim.

  "Beautiful Spring," interposed Wingenund.

  "Yes, I know this place," cried Nell excitedly. "I remember thisglade though it was moonlight when I saw it. Here Wetzel rescued mefrom Girty."

  "Nell, you're right," replied Jim. "How strange we should run acrossthis place again."

  Strange fate, indeed, which had brought them again to BeautifulSpring! It was destined that the great scenes of their lives were tobe enacted in this mossy glade.

  "Come, uncle, you are lazy," cried Nell, a touch of her oldroguishness making playful her voice.

  Mr. Wells lay still, and smiled up at them.

  "You are not ill?" cried Nell, seeing for the first time how pallidwas his face.

  "Dear Nellie, I am not ill. I do not suffer, but I am dying," heanswered, again with that strange, sweet smile.

  "Oh-h-h!" breathed Nell, falling on her knees.

  "No, no, Mr. Wells, you are only weak; you will be all right againsoon," cried Jim.

  "Jim, Nellie, I have known all night. I have lain here wakeful. Myheart never was strong. It gave out yesterday, and now it is slowlygrowing weaker. Put your hand on my breast. Feel. Ah! you see! Mylife is flickering. God's will be done. I am content. My work isfinished. My only regret is that I brought you out to this terribleborderland. But I did not know. If only I could see you safe fromthe peril of this wilderness, at home, happy, married."

  Nell bent over him blinded by her tears, unable to see or speak,crushed by this last overwhelming blow. Jim sat on the other side ofthe old missionary, holding his hand. For many moments neitherspoke. They glanced at the pale face, watching with eager, wistfuleyes for a smile, or listening for a word.

  "Come," said the Indian.

  Nell silently pointed toward her uncle.

  "He is dying," whispered Jim to the Indian.

  "Go, leave me," murmured Mr. Wells. "You are still in danger."

  "We'll not leave you," cried Jim.

  "No, no, no," sobbed Nell, bending over to kiss him.

  "Nellie, may I marry you to Jim?" whispered Mr. Wells into her ear."He has told me how it is with him. He loves you, Nellie. I'd diehappier knowing I'd left you with him."

  Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell's fairface flushed.

  "Nell, will you marry me?" asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, hehad heard Mr. Wells' whisper.

  Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, whoinclosed it in his own. Her eyes met his. Through her tears shonefaintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, wouldhave beamed radiant.

  "Find the place," said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible. It was theone he always carried in his pocket.

  With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves. At last he found thelines, and handed the book back to the old man.

  Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service. Nell and Jim kneltwith hands clasped over Mr. Wells. The old missionary's voice wasfaint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep andtender feeling. Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificentfigure.

  "There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile,closing the Bible.

  "Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand.

  "Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of abell.r />
  Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect,motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air. His dark eyesseemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed todrink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were noquicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes. The breeze hadborne faint, suspicious sounds.

  "Keep--the--Bible," said Mr. Wells, "remember--its--word." His handclosely clasped Nell's, and then suddenly loosened. His pallid facewas lighted by a meaning, tender smile which slowly faded--faded,and was gone. The venerable head fell back. The old missionary wasdead.

  Nell kissed the pale, cold brow, and then rose, half dazed andshuddering. Jim was vainly trying to close the dead man's eyes. Shecould no longer look. On rising she found herself near the Indianchief. He took her fingers in his great hand, and held them with astrong, warm pressure. Strangely thrilled, she looked up atWingenund. His somber eyes, fixed piercingly on the forest, and hisdark stern face, were, as always, inscrutable. No compassion shonethere; no emotion unbefitting a chieftain would ever find expressionin that cold face, but Nell felt a certain tenderness in thisIndian, a response in his great heart. Felt it so surely, sopowerfully that she leaned her head against him. She knew he was herfriend.

  "Come," said the chief once more. He gently put Nell aside beforeJim arose from his sad task.

  "We can not leave him unburied," expostulated Jim.

  Wingenund dragged aside a large stone which formed one wall of thecavern. Then he grasped a log which was half covered by dirt, and,exerting his great strength, pulled it from its place. There was acrash, a rumble, the jar of a heavy weight striking the earth, thenthe rattling of gravel, and, before Nell and Jim realized what hadhappened, the great rock forming the roof of the cavern slipped downthe bank followed by a small avalanche. The cavern was completelycovered. Mr. Wells was buried. A mossy stone marked the oldmissionary's grave.

  Nell and Jim were lost in wonder and awe.

  "Ugh!" cried the chief, looking toward the opening in the glade.

  Fearfully Nell and Jim turned, to be appalled by four naked, paintedsavages standing with leveled rifles. Behind them stood Deering andJim Girty.

  "Oh, God! We are lost! Lost! Lost!" exclaimed Jim, unable to commandhimself. Hope died in his heart.

  No cry issued from Nell's white lips. She was dazed by this finalblow. Having endured so much, this last misfortune, apparently theruin of her life, brought no added suffering, only a strange, numbfeeling.

  "Ah-huh! Thought you'd give me the slip, eh?" croaked Girty,striding forward, and as he looked at Wingenund his little, yelloweyes flared like flint. "Does a wolf befriend Girty's captives?Chief you hev led me a hard chase."

  Wingenund deigned no reply. He stood as he did so often, still andsilent, with folded arms, and a look that was haughty, unresponsive.

  The Indians came forward into the glade, and one of them quicklybound Jim's hands behind his back. The savages wore a wild, brutishlook. A feverish ferocity, very near akin to insanity, possessedthem. They were not quiet a moment, but ran here and there, for noapparent reason, except, possibly, to keep in action with the ragingfire in their hearts. The cleanliness which characterized the normalIndian was absent in them; their scant buckskin dress was bedraggledand stained. They were still drunk with rum and the lust for blood.Murder gleamed from the glance of their eyes.

  "Jake, come over here," said Girty to his renegade friend. "Ain'tshe a prize?"

  Girty and Deering stood before the poor, stricken girl, and gloatedover her fair beauty. She stood as when first transfixed by thehorror from which she had been fleeing. Her pale face was lowered,her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her skirt.

  Never before had two such coarse, cruel fiends as Deering and Girtyencumbered the earth. Even on the border, where the best men werebad, they were the worst. Deering was yet drunk, but Girty hadrecovered somewhat from the effects of the rum he had absorbed. Theformer rolled his big eyes and nodded his shaggy head. He waspassing judgment, from his point of view, on the fine points of thegirl.

  "She cer'aintly is," he declared with a grin. "She's a littlebeauty. Beats any I ever seen!"

  Jim Girty stroked his sharp chin with dirty fingers. His yelloweyes, his burnt saffron skin, his hooked nose, his thin lips--allhis evil face seemed to shine with an evil triumph. To look at himwas painful. To have him gaze at her was enough to drive any womanmad.

  Dark stains spotted the bright frills of his gaudy dress, hisbuckskin coat and leggins, and dotted his white eagle plumes. Darkstains, horribly suggestive, covered him from head to foot. Bloodstains! The innocent blood of Christians crimsoned his renegade'sbody, and every dark red blotch cried murder.

  "Girl, I burned the Village of Peace to git you," growled Girty."Come here!"

  With a rude grasp that tore open her dress, exposing her beautifulwhite shoulder and bosom, the ruffian pulled her toward him. Hisface was transfixed with a fierce joy, a brutal passion.

  Deering looked on with a drunken grin, while his renegade friendhugged the almost dying girl. The Indians paced the glade with shortstrides like leashed tigers. The young missionary lay on the mosswith closed eyes. He could not endure the sight of Nell in Girty'sarms.

  No one noticed Wingenund. He stood back a little, half screened bydrooping branches. Once again the chief's dark eyes gleamed, hishead turned a trifle aside, and, standing in the statuesque positionhabitual with him when resting, he listened, as one who hearsmysterious sounds. Suddenly his keen glance was riveted on the fernsabove the low cliff. He had seen their graceful heads quivering.Then two blinding sheets of flame burst from the ferns.

  Spang! Spang!

  The two rifle reports thundered through the glade. Two Indiansstaggered and fell in their tracks--dead without a cry.

  A huge yellow body, spread out like a panther in his spring,descended with a crash upon Deering and Girty. The girl fell awayfrom the renegade as he went down with a shrill screech, draggingDeering with him. Instantly began a terrific, whirling, wrestlingstruggle.

  A few feet farther down the cliff another yellow body came crashingdown to alight with a thud, to bound erect, to rush forward swift asa leaping deer. The two remaining Indians had only time to drawtheir weapons before this lithe, threatening form whirled upon them.Shrill cries, hoarse yells, the clash of steel and dull blowsmingled together. One savage went down, twisted over, writhed andlay still. The other staggered, warded off lightninglike blows untilone passed under his guard, and crashed dully on his head. Then hereeled, rose again, but only to have his skull cloven by a bloodytomahawk.

  The victor darted toward the whirling mass.

  "Lew, shake him loose! Let him go!" yelled Jonathan Zane, swinginghis bloody weapon.

  High above Zane's cry, Deering's shouts and curses, Girty's shrieksof fear and fury, above the noise of wrestling bodies and dullblows, rose a deep booming roar.

  It was Wetzel's awful cry of vengeance.

  "Shake him loose," yelled Jonathan.

  Baffled, he ran wildly around the wrestlers. Time and time again hisgory tomahawk was raised only to be lowered. He found no opportunityto strike. Girty's ghastly countenance gleamed at him from the whirlof legs, and arms and bodies. Then Wetzel's dark face, lighted bymerciless eyes, took its place, and that gave way to Deering's broadfeatures. The men being clad alike in buckskin, and their motions sorapid, prevented Zane from lending a helping hand.

  Suddenly Deering was propelled from the mass as if by a catapult.His body straightened as it came down with a heavy thud. Zanepounced upon it with catlike quickness. Once more he swung aloft thebloody hatchet; then once more he lowered it, for there was no needto strike. The renegade's side was torn open from shoulder to hip. Adeluge of blood poured out upon the moss. Deering choked, a bloodyfroth formed on his lips. His fingers clutched at nothing. His eyesrolled violently and then were fixed in an awful stare.

  The girl lying so quiet
in the woods near the old hut was avenged!

  Jonathan turned again to Wetzel and Girty, not with any intention toaid the hunter, but simply to witness the end of the struggle.

  Without the help of the powerful Deering, how pitifully weak was theDeathshead of the frontier in the hands of the Avenger!

  Jim Girty's tomahawk was thrown in one direction and his knife inanother. He struggled vainly in the iron grip that held him.

  Wetzel rose to his feet clutching the renegade. With his left arm,which had been bared in the fight, he held Girty by the front of hisbuckskin shirt, and dragged him to that tree which stood alone inthe glade. He pushed him against it, and held him there.

  The white dog leaped and snarled around the prisoner.

  Girty's hands pulled and tore at the powerful arm which forced himhard against the beech. It was a brown arm, and huge with itsbulging, knotted, rigid muscles. A mighty arm, strong as the justicewhich ruled it.

  "Girty, thy race is run!" Wetzel's voice cut the silence like asteel whip.

  The terrible, ruthless smile, the glittering eyes of doom seemedliterally to petrify the renegade.

  The hunter's right arm rose slowly. The knife in his hand quiveredas if with eagerness. The long blade, dripping with Deering's blood,pointed toward the hilltop.

  "Look thar! See 'em! Thar's yer friends!" cried Wetzel.

  On the dead branches of trees standing far above the hilltop, weremany great, dark birds. They sat motionless as if waiting.

  "Buzzards! Buzzards!" hissed Wetzel.

  Girty's ghastly face became an awful thing to look upon. No livingcountenance ever before expressed such fear, such horror, suchagony. He foamed at the mouth, he struggled, he writhed. With aterrible fascination he watched that quivering, dripping blade, nowpoised high.

  Wetzel's arm swung with the speed of a shooting star. He drove theblade into Girty's groin, through flesh and bone, hard and fast intothe tree. He nailed the renegade to the beech, there to await hislingering doom.

  "Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h!" shrieked Girty, in cries of agony. He fumbledand pulled at the haft of the knife, but could not loosen it. Hebeat his breast, he tore his hair. His screams were echoed from thehilltop as if in mockery.

  The white dog stood near, his hair bristling, his teeth snapping.

  The dark birds sat on the dead branches above the hilltop, as ifwaiting for their feast.