by Zane Grey
“Jeff was on the first raft, and for all we know he is now safe at Fort Henry. Our steersman was shot, and we were captured.”
“Has the Shawnee anythin’ ag’inst you boys?”
“Why, yes, I guess so. I played a joke on him—took his shirt and put it on another fellow.”
“Might jes’ as well kick an’ Injun. What has he ag’in you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he did not like my talk to him,” answered Jim. “I am a preacher, and have come west to teach the gospel to the Indians.”
“They’re good Injuns now,” said Wetzel, pointing to the prostrate figures.
“How did you find us?” eagerly asked Joe.
“Run acrost yer trail two days back.”
“And you’ve been following us?”
The hunter nodded.
“Did you see anything of another band of Indians? A tall chief and Jim Girty were among them.”
“They’ve been arter me fer two days. I was followin’ you when Silvertip got wind of Girty an’ his Delawares. The big chief was Wingenund. I seen you pull Girty’s nose. Arter the Delawares went I turned loose yer dog an’ horse an’ lit out on yer trail.”
“Where are the Delawares now?”
“I reckon they’re nosin’ my back trail. We must be gittin’. Silvertip’ll soon hev a lot of Injuns here.”
Joe intended to ask the hunter about what had frightened the Indians, but despite his eager desire for information, he refrained from doing so.
“Girty nigh did fer you,” remarked Wetzel, examining Joe’s wound. “He’s in a bad humor. He got kicked a few days back, and then hed the skin pulled offen his nose. Somebody’ll hev to suffer. Wal, you fellers grab yer rifles, an’ we’ll be startin’ fer the fort.”
Joe shuddered as he leaned over one of the dusky forms to detach powder and bullet horn. He had never seen a dead Indian, and the tense face, the sightless, vacant eyes made him shrink. He shuddered again when he saw the hunter scalp his victims. He shuddered a third time when he saw Wetzel pick up Silvertip’s beautiful white eagle plume, dabble it in a pool of blood, and stick it in the bark of a tree. Bereft of its graceful beauty, drooping with its gory burden, the long feather was a deadly message. It had been Silvertip’s pride; it was now a challenge, a menace to the Shawnee chief.
“Come,” said Wetzel, leading the way into the forest.
* * *
Shortly after daylight on the second day following the release of the Downs brothers the hunter brushed through a thicket of alder and said:
“That’s Fort Henry.”
The boys were on the summit of a mountain from which the land sloped in a long incline of rolling ridges and gentle valleys like a green, billowy sea, until it rose again abruptly into a peak higher still than the one upon which they stood. The broad Ohio, glistening in the sun, lay at the base of the mountain.
Upon the bluff overlooking the river, and under the brow of the mountain, lay the frontier fort. In the clear atmosphere it stood out in bold relief. A small, low structure surrounded by a high stockade fence was all, and yet it did not seem unworthy of its fame. Those watchful, forbidding loopholes, the blackened walls and timbers, told the history of ten long, bloody years. The whole effect was one of menace, as if the fort sent out a defiance to the wilderness, and meant to protect the few dozen log cabins clustered on the hillside.
“How will we ever get across that big river?” asked Jim, practically.
“Wade—swim,” answered the hunter, laconically, and began the descent of the ridge. An hour’s rapid walking brought the three to the river. Depositing his rifle in a clump of willows, and directing the boys to do the same with their guns, the hunter splashed into the water. His companions followed him into the shallow water, and waded a hundred yards, which brought them near the island that they now perceived hid the fort. The hunter swam the remaining distance, and, climbing the bank, looked back for the boys. They were close behind him. Then he strode across the island, perhaps a quarter of a mile wide.
“We’ve a long swim here,” said Wetzel, waving his hand toward the main channel of the river. “Good fer it?” he inquired of Joe, since Jim had not received any injuries during the short captivity and consequently showed more endurance.
“Good for anything,” answered Joe, with that coolness Wetzel had been quick to observe in him.
The hunter cast a sharp glance at the lad’s haggard face, his bruised temple, and his hair matted with blood. In that look he read Joe thoroughly. Had the young man known the result of that scrutiny, he would have been pleased as well as puzzled, for the hunter had said to himself: “A brave lad an’ the border fever’s on him.”
“Swim close to me,” said Wetzel, and he plunged into the river. The task was accomplished without accident.
“See the big cabin, thar, on the hillside? Thar’s Colonel Zane in the door,” said Wetzel.
As they neared the building several men joined the one who had been pointed out as the colonel. It was evident the boys were the subject of their conversation. Presently Colonel Zane left the group and came toward them. The brothers saw a handsome, stalwart man, in the prime of life.
“Well, Lew, what luck?” he said to Wetzel.
“Not much. I treed five Injuns, an’ two got away,” answered the hunter as he walked toward the fort.
“Lads, welcome to Fort Henry,” said Colonel Zane, a smile lighting his dark face. “The others of your party arrived safely. They certainly will be overjoyed to see you.”
“Colonel Zane, I had a letter from my uncle to you,” replied Jim; “but the Indians took that and everything else we had with us.”
“Never mind the letter. I knew your uncle, and your father, too. Come into the house and change those wet clothes. And you, my lad, have got an ugly knock on the head. Who gave you that?”
“Jim Girty.”
“What?” exclaimed the colonel.
“Jim Girty did that. He was with a party of Delawares who ran across us. They were searching for Wetzel.”
“Girty and the Delawares! The devil’s to pay now. And you say hunting Wetzel? I must learn more about it. It looks bad. But tell me, how did Girty come to strike you?”
“I pulled his nose.”
“You did? Good! Good!” cried Colonel Zane, heartily. “By George, that’s great! Tell me—but wait until you are more comfortable. Your packs came safely on Jeff’s raft, and you will find them inside.”
As Joe followed the colonel he heard one of the other men say:
“Like as two peas in a pod.”
Farther on he saw an Indian standing a little apart from the others. Hearing Joe’s slight exclamation of surprise, he turned, disclosing a fine, manly countenance, characterized by calm dignity. The Indian read the boy’s thought.
“Ugh! Me friend,” he said in English.
“That’s my Shawnee guide, Tomepomehala. He’s a good fellow, although Jonathan and Wetzel declare the only good Indian is a dead one. Come right in here. There are your packs, and you’ll find water outside the door.”
Thus saying, Colonel Zane led the brothers into a small room, brought out their packs, and left them. He came back presently with a couple of soft towels.
“Now you lads fix up a bit; then come out and meet my family and tell us all about your adventure. By that time dinner will be ready.”
“Geminy! Don’t that towel remind you of home?” said Joe, when the colonel had gone. “From the looks of things, Colonel Zane means to have comfort here in the wilderness. He struck me as being a fine man.”
The boys were indeed glad to change the few articles of clothing the Indians had left them, and when they were shaved and dressed they presented an entirely different appearance. Once more they were twin brothers, in costume and feature. Joe contrived, by brushing his hair down on his forehead, to conceal the discolored bump.
“I think I saw a charming girl,” observed Joe.
“Suppose you did—what then?” aske
d Jim, severely.
“Why—nothing—see here, mayn’t I admire a pretty girl if I want?”
“No, you may not. Joe, will nothing ever cure you? I should think the thought of Miss Well’s——”
“Look here, Jim; she don’t care—at least, it’s very little she cares. And I’m—I’m not worthy of her.”
“Turn around here and face me,” said the young minister sharply.
Joe turned and looked in his brother’s eyes.
“Have you trifled with her, as you have with so many others? Tell me. I know you don’t lie.”
“No.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“Nothing much, Jim, except I’m really not worthy of her. I’m no good, you know, and she ought to get a fellow like—like you.”
“Absurd! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Never mind me. See here; don’t you admire her?”
“Why—why, yes,” stammered Jim, flushing a dark guilty red at the direct question. “Who could help admiring her?”
“That’s what I thought. And I know she admires you for qualities which I lack. Nell’s like a tender vine just beginning to creep around and cling to something strong. She cares for me; but her love is like the vine. It may hurt her a little to tear that love away, but it won’t kill her; and in the end it will be best for her. You need a good wife. What could I do with a woman? Go in and win her, Jim.”
“Joe, you’re sacrificing yourself again for me,” cried Jim, white to the lips. “It’s wrong to yourself and wrong to her. I tell you——”
“Enough!” Joe’s voice cut in cold and sharp. “Usually you influence me; but sometimes you can’t. I say this: Nell will drift into your arms as surely as the leaf falls. It will not hurt her—will be best for her. Remember, she is yours for the winning.”
“You do not say whether that will hurt you,” whispered Jim.
“Come—we’ll find Colonel Zane,” said Joe, opening the door.
They went out in the hallway which opened into the yard as well as the larger room through which the colonel had first conducted them. As Jim, who was in advance, passed into this apartment a trim figure entered from the yard. It was Nell, and she ran directly against him. Her face was flushed, her eyes were beaming with gladness, and she seemed the incarnation of girlish joy.
“Oh, Joe,” was all she whispered. But the happiness and welcome in that whisper could never have been better expressed in longer speech. Then slightly, ever so slightly, she tilted her sweet face up to his.
It all happened with the quickness of thought. In a single instant Jim saw the radiant face, the outstretched hands, and heard the glad whisper. He knew that she had again mistaken him for Joe; but for his life he could not draw back his head. He had kissed her, and even as his lips thrilled with her tremulous caress he flushed with the shame of his deceit.
“You’re mistaken again—I’m Jim,” he whispered.
For a moment they stood staring into each other’s eyes, slowly awakening to what had really happened, slowly conscious of a sweet, alluring power. Then Colonel Zane’s cheery voice rang in their ears.
“Ah, here’s Nellie and your brother! Now, lads, tell me which is which!”
“That’s Jim, and I’m Joe,” answered the latter. He appeared not to notice his brother, and his greeting to Nell was natural and hearty. For the moment she drew the attention of the others from them.
Joe found himself listening to the congratulations of a number of people. Among the many names he remembered were those of Mrs. Zane, Silas Zane, and Major McColloch. Then he found himself gazing at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.
“My only sister, Mrs. Alfred Clarke—once Betty Zane, and the heroine of Fort Henry,” said Colonel Zane proudly, with his arm around the slender, dark-eyed girl.
“I would brave the Indians and the wilderness again for this pleasure,” replied Joe gallantly, as he bowed low over the little hand she cordially extended.
“Bess, is dinner ready?” inquired Colonel Zane of his comely wife. She nodded her head, and the colonel led the way into the adjoining room. “I know you boys must be hungry as bears.”
During the meal Colonel Zane questioned his guests about their journey, and as to the treatment they had received at the hands of the Indians. He smiled at the young minister’s earnestness in regard to the conversion of the redmen, and he laughed outright when Joe said he guessed he came to the frontier because it was too slow at home.
“I am sure your desire for excitement will soon be satisfied, if indeed it is not so already,” remarked the colonel. “But as to the realization of your brother’s hopes I am not so sanguine. Undoubtedly the Moravian missionaries have accomplished wonders with the Indians. Not long ago I visited the Village of Peace—the Indian name for the mission—and was struck by the friendliness and industry which prevailed there. Truly it was a village of peace. Yet it is almost too early to be certain of permanent success of this work. The Indian’s nature is one hard to understand. He is naturally roving and restless, which, however, may be owing to his habit of moving from place to place in search of good hunting grounds. I believe—though I must confess I haven’t seen any pioneers who share my belief—that the savage has a beautiful side to his character. I know of many noble deeds done by them, and I believe, if they are honestly dealt with, they will return good for good. There are bad ones, of course; but the French traders, and men like the Girtys, have caused most of this long war. Jonathan and Wetzel tell me the Shawnees and Chippewas have taken the warpath again. Then the fact that the Girtys are with the Delawares is reason for alarm. We have been comparatively quiet here of late. Did you boys learn to what tribe your captors belong? Did Wetzel say?”
“He did not; he spoke little, but I will say he was exceedingly active,” answered Joe, with a smile.
“To have seen Wetzel fight Indians is something you are not likely to forget,” said Colonel Zane grimly. “Now, tell me, how did those Indians wear their scalplock?”
“Their heads were shaved closely, with the exception of a little place on top. The remaining hair was twisted into a tuft, tied tightly, and into this had been thrust a couple of painted pins. When Wetzel scalped the Indians the pins fell out. I picked one up, and found it to be bone.”
“You will make a woodsman, that’s certain,” replied Colonel Zane. “The Indians were Shawnees on the warpath. Well, we will not borrow trouble, for when it comes in the shape of redskins it usually comes quickly. Mr. Wells seemed anxious to resume the journey down the river; but I shall try to persuade him to remain with us awhile. Indeed, I am sorry I cannot keep you all here at Fort Henry, and more especially the girls. On the border we need young people, and while I do not want to frighten the women, I fear there will be more than Indians fighting for them.”
“I hope not; but we have come prepared for anything,” said Kate, with a quiet smile. “Our home was with Uncle, and when he announced his intention of going west we decided our duty was to go with him.”
“You were right, and I hope you will find a happy home,” rejoined Colonel Zane. “If life among the Indians proves to be too hard, we shall welcome you here. Betty, show the girls your pets and Indian trinkets. I am going to take the boys to Silas’ cabin to see Mr. Wells, and then show them over the fort.”
As they went out Joe saw the Indian guide standing in exactly the same position as when they entered the building.
“Can’t that Indian move?” he asked curiously.
“He can cover one hundred miles in a day, when he wants to,” replied Colonel Zane. “He is resting now. An Indian will often stand or sit in one position for many hours.”
“He’s a fine-looking chap,” remarked Joe, and then to himself: “but I don’t like him. I guess I’m prejudiced.”
“You’ll learn to like Tome, as we call him.”
“Colonel Zane, I want a light for my pipe. I haven’t had a smoke since the day we were captured. That bla
med redskin took my tobacco. It’s lucky I had some in my other pack. I’d like to meet him again; also Silvertip and that brute Girty.”
“My lad, don’t make such wishes,” said Colonel Zane, earnestly. “You were indeed fortunate to escape, and I can well understand your feelings. There is nothing I should like better than to see Girty over the sights of my rifle; but I never hunt after danger, and to look for Girty is to court death.”
“But Wetzel——”
“Ah, my lad, I know Wetzel goes alone in the woods; but then, he is different from other men. Before you leave I will tell you all about him.”
Colonel Zane went around the corner of the cabin and returned with a live coal on a chip of wood, which Joe placed in the bowl of his pipe, and because of the strong breeze stepped close to the cabin wall. Being a keen observer, he noticed many small, round holes in the logs. They were so near together that the timbers had an odd, speckled appearance, and there was hardly a place where he could have put his thumb without covering a hole. At first he thought they were made by a worm or bird peculiar to that region; but finally he concluded that they were bullet holes. He thrust his knife blade into one, and out rolled a leaden ball.
“I’d like to have been here when these were made,” he said.
“Well, at the time I wished I was back on the Potomac,” replied Colonel Zane.
They found the old missionary on the doorstep of the adjacent cabin. He appeared discouraged when Colonel Zane interrogated him, and said that he was impatient because of the delay.
“Mr. Wells, is it not possible that you underrate the danger of your enterprise?”
“I fear naught but the Lord,” answered the old man.
“Do you not fear for those with you?” went on the colonel earnestly. “I am heart and soul with you in your work, but want to impress upon you that the time is not propitious. It is a long journey to the village, and the way is beset with dangers of which you have no idea. Will you not remain here with me for a few weeks, or, at least, until my scouts report?”
“I thank you; but go I will.”