The Spirit of the Border and the Last Trail

by Zane Grey

  The men went into the house; but their voices came distinctly through the door.

  “Eb, if Bing Leggett or Girty ever see that big-eyed lass, they’ll have her even if Fort Henry has to be burned, an’ in case they do get her, Wetzel an’ I’ll have taken our last trail.”

  CHAPTER III

  Supper over, Colonel Zane led his guests to a side porch, where they were soon joined by Mrs. Zane and Betty. The host’s two boys, Noah and Sammy, who had preceded them, were now astride the porch-rail and, to judge by their antics, were riding wild Indian mustangs.

  “It’s quite cool,” said Colonel Zane; “but I want you to see the sunset in the valley. A good many of your future neighbors may come over to-night for a word of welcome. It’s the border custom.”

  He was about to seat himself by the side of Mr. Sheppard, on a rustic bench, when a negro maid appeared in the doorway carrying a smiling, black-eyed baby. Colonel Zane took the child and, holding it aloft, said with fatherly pride:

  “This is Rebecca Zane, the first girl baby born to the Zanes, and destined to be the belle of the border.”

  “May I have her?” asked Helen softly, holding out her arms. She took the child, and placed it upon her knee where its look of solemnity soon changed to one of infantile delight.

  “Here come Nell and Jim,” said Mrs. Zane, pointing toward the fort.

  “Yes, and there comes my brother Silas with his wife, too,” added Colonel Zane. “The first couple are James Downs, our young minister, and Nell, his wife. They came out here a year or so ago. James had a brother Joe, the finest young fellow who ever caught the border fever. He was killed by one of the Girtys. His was a wonderful story, and some day you shall hear about the parson and his wife.”

  “What’s the border fever?” asked Mr. Sheppard.

  “It’s what brought you out here,” replied Colonel Zane with a hearty laugh.

  Helen gazed with interest at the couple now coming into the yard, and when they gained the porch she saw that the man was big and tall, with a frank, manly bearing, while his wife was a slender little woman with bright, sunny hair, and a sweet, smiling face. They greeted Helen and her father cordially.

  Next came Silas Zane, a typical bronzed and bearded pioneer, with his buxom wife. Presently a little group of villagers joined the party. They were rugged men, clad in faded buckskins, and sober-faced women who wore dresses of plain gray linsey. They welcomed the newcomers with simple, homely courtesy. Then six young frontiersmen appeared from around a corner of the cabin, advancing hesitatingly. To Helen they all looked alike, tall, awkward, with brown faces and big hands. When Colonel Zane cheerily cried out to them, they stumbled forward with evident embarrassment, each literally crushing Helen’s hand in his horny palm. Afterward they leaned on the rail and stole glances at her.

  Soon a large number of villagers were on the porch or in the yard. After paying their respects to Helen and her father they took part in a general conversation. Two or three girls, the latest callers, were surrounded by half a dozen young fellows, and their laughter sounded high above the hum of voices.

  Helen gazed upon this company with mingled feelings of relief and pleasure. She had been more concerned regarding the young people with whom her lot might be cast, than the dangers of which others had told. She knew that on the border there was no distinction of rank. Though she came of an old family, and, during her girlhood, had been surrounded by refinement, even luxury, she had accepted cheerfully the reverses of fortune, and was determined to curb the pride which had been hers. It was necessary she should have friends. Warm-hearted, impulsive, and loving, she needed to have around her those in whom she could confide. Therefore it was with sincere pleasure she understood how groundless were her fears and knew that if she did not find good, true friends the fault would be her own. She saw at a glance that the colonel’s widowed sister was her equal, perhaps her superior, in education and breeding, while Nellie Downs was as well-bred and gracious a little lady as she had ever met. Then, the other girls, too, were charming, with frank wholesomeness and freedom.

  Concerning the young men, of whom there were about a dozen, Helen had hardly arrived at a conclusion. She liked the ruggedness, the signs of honest worth which clung to them. Despite her youth, she had been much sought after because of her personal attractions, and had thus added experience to the natural keen intuition all women possess. The glances of several of the men, particularly the bold regard of one Roger Brandt, whom Colonel Zane introduced, she had seen before, and learned to dislike. On the whole, however, she was delighted with the prospect of new friends and future prosperity, and she felt ever greater pleasure in the certainty that her father shared her gratification.

  Suddenly she became aware that the conversation had ceased. She looked up to see the tall, lithe form of Jonathan Zane as he strode across the porch. She could see that a certain constraint had momentarily fallen upon the company. It was an involuntary acknowledgment of the borderman’s presence, of a presence that worked on all alike with a subtle, strong magnetism.

  “Ah, Jonathan, come out to see the sunset? It’s unusually fine to-night,” said Colonel Zane.

  With hardly more than a perceptible bow to those present, the borderman took a seat near the rail, and, leaning upon it, directed his gaze westward.

  Helen sat so near she could have touched him. She was conscious of the same strange feeling, and impelling sense of power, which had come upon her so strongly at first sight of him. More than that, a lively interest had been aroused in her. This borderman was to her a new and novel character. She was amused at learning that here was a young man absolutely indifferent to the charms of the opposite sex, and although hardly admitting such a thing, she believed it would be possible to win him from his indifference. On raising her eyelids, it was with the unconcern which a woman feigns when suspecting she is being regarded with admiring eyes. But Jonathan Zane might not have known of her presence, for all the attention he paid her. Therefore, having a good opportunity to gaze at this borderman of daring deeds, Helen regarded him closely.

  He was clad from head to foot in smooth, soft buckskin which fitted well his powerful frame. Beaded moccasins, leggings bound high above the knees, hunting coat laced and fringed, all had the neat, tidy appearance due to good care. He wore no weapons. His hair fell in a raven mass over his shoulders. His profile was regular, with a long, straight nose, strong chin, and eyes black as night. They were now fixed intently on the valley. The whole face gave an impression of serenity, of calmness.

  Helen was wondering if the sad, almost stern, tranquillity of that face ever changed, when the baby cooed and held out its chubby little hands. Jonathan’s smile, which came quickly, accompanied by a warm light in the eyes, relieved Helen of an unaccountable repugnance she had begun to feel toward the borderman. That smile, brief as a flash, showed his gentle kindness and told that he was not a creature who had set himself apart from human life and love.

  As he took little Rebecca, one of his hands touched Helen’s. If he had taken heed of the contact, as any ordinary man might well have, she would, perhaps, have thought nothing about it, but because he did not appear to realize that her hand had been almost enclosed in his, she could not help again feeling his singular personality. She saw that this man had absolutely no thought of her. At the moment this did not awaken resentment, for with all her fire and pride she was not vain; but amusement gave place to a respect which came involuntarily.

  Little Rebecca presently manifested the faithlessness peculiar to her sex, and had no sooner been taken upon Jonathan’s knee than she cried out to go back to Helen.

  “Girls are uncommon coy critters,” said he, with a grave smile in his eyes. He handed back the child, and once more was absorbed in the setting sun.

  Helen looked down the valley to behold the most beautiful spectacle she had ever seen. Between the hills far to the west, the sky flamed with a red and gold light. The sun was poised above the river, and the shimmer
ing waters merged into a ruddy horizon. Long rays of crimson fire crossed the smooth waters. A few purple clouds above caught the refulgence, until aided by the delicate rose and blue space beyond, they became many hued ships sailing on a rainbow sea. Each second saw a gorgeous transformation. Slowly the sun dipped into the golden flood; one by one the clouds changed from crimson to gold, from gold to rose, and then to gray; slowly all the tints faded until, as the sun slipped out of sight, the brilliance gave way to the soft afterglow of warm lights. These in turn slowly toned down into gray twilight.

  Helen retired to her room soon afterward, and, being unusually thoughtful, sat down by the window. She reviewed the events of this first day of her new life on the border. Her impressions had been so many, so varied, that she wanted to distinguish them. First she felt glad, with a sweet, warm thankfulness, that her father seemed so happy, so encouraged by the outlook. Breaking old ties had been, she knew, no child’s play for him. She realized also that it had been done solely because there had been nothing left to offer her in the old home, and in a new one were hope and possibilities. Then she was relieved at getting away from the attentions of a man whose persistence had been most annoying to her. From thoughts of her father, and the old life, she came to her new friends of the present. She was so grateful for their kindness. She certainly would do all in her power to win and keep their esteem.

  Somewhat of a surprise was it to her, that she reserved for Jonathan Zane the last and most prominent place in her meditations. She suddenly asked herself how she regarded this fighting borderman. She recalled her unbounded enthusiasm for the man as Colonel Zane had told of him; then her first glimpse, and her surprise and admiration at the lithe-limbed young giant; then incredulity, amusement, and respect followed in swift order, after which an unaccountable coldness that was almost resentment. Helen was forced to admit that she did not know how to regard him, but surely he was a man, throughout every inch of his superb frame, and one who took life seriously, with neither thought nor time for the opposite sex. And this last brought a blush to her cheek, for she distinctly remembered she had expected, if not admiration, more than passing notice from this hero of the border.

  Presently she took a little mirror from a table near where she sat. Holding it to catch the fast-fading light, she studied her face seriously.

  “Helen Sheppard, I think on the occasion of your arrival in a new country a little plain talk will be wholesome. Somehow or other, perhaps because of a crowd of idle men back there in the colonies, possibly from your own misguided fancy, you imagined you were fair to look at. It is well to be undeceived.”

  Scorn spoke in Helen’s voice. She was angry because of having been interested in a man, and allowed that interest to betray her into a girlish expectation that he would treat her as all other men had. The mirror, even in the dim light, spoke more truly than she, for it caught the golden tints of her luxuriant hair, the thousand beautiful shadows in her great, dark eyes, the white glory of a face fair as a star, and the swelling outline of neck and shoulders.

  With a sudden fiery impetuosity she flung the glass to the floor, where it was broken into several pieces.

  “How foolish of me! What a temper I have!” she exclaimed repentantly. “I’m glad I have another glass. Wouldn’t Mr. Jonathan Zane, borderman, Indian fighter, hero of a hundred battles, and never a sweetheart, be flattered? No, most decidedly he wouldn’t. He never looked at me. I don’t think I expected that; I’m sure I didn’t want it; but still he might have— Oh! what am I thinking, and he a stranger?”

  Before Helen lost herself in slumber on that eventful evening, she vowed to ignore the borderman; assured herself that she did not want to see him again, and, rather inconsistently, that she would cure him of his indifference.

  * * *

  When Colonel Zane’s guests had retired, and the villagers were gone to their homes, he was free to consult with Jonathan.

  “Well, Jack,” he said, “I’m ready to hear about the horse thieves.”

  “Wetzel makes it out the man who’s runnin’ this hoss-stealin’ is located right here in Fort Henry,” answered the borderman.

  The colonel had lived too long on the frontier to show surprise; he hummed a tune while the genial expression faded slowly from his face.

  “Last count there were one hundred and ten men at the fort,” he replied thoughtfully. “I know over a hundred, and can trust them. There are some new fellows on the boats, and several strangers hanging round Metzar’s.”

  “’Pears to Lew an’ me that this fellar is a slick customer, an’ one who’s been here long enough to know our hosses an’ where we keep them.”

  “I see. Like Miller, who fooled us all, even Betty, when he stole our powder and then sold us to Girty,” rejoined Colonel Zane grimly.

  “Exactly, only this fellar is slicker an’ more desperate than Miller.”

  “Right you are, Jack, for the man who is trusted and betrays us, must be desperate. Does he realize what he’ll get if we ever find out, or is he underrating us?”

  “He knows all right, an’ is matchin’ his cunnin’ against our’n.”

  “Tell me what you and Wetzel learned?”

  The borderman proceeded to relate the events that had occurred during a recent tramp in the forest with Wetzel. While returning from a hunt in a swamp several miles over the ridge, back of Fort Henry, they ran across the trail of three Indians. They followed this until darkness set in, when both laid down to rest and wait for the early dawn, that time most propitious for taking the savage by surprise. On resuming the trail they found that other Indians had joined the party they were tracking. To the bordermen this was significant of some unusual activity directed toward the settlement. Unable to learn anything definite from the moccasin traces, they hurried up on the trail to find that the Indians had halted.

  Wetzel and Jonathan saw from their covert that the savages had a woman prisoner. A singular feature about it all was that the Indians remained in the same place all day, did not light a campfire, and kept a sharp lookout. The bordermen crept up as close as safe, and remained on watch during the day and night.

  Early next morning, when the air was fading from black to gray, the silence was broken by the snapping of twigs and a tremor of the ground. The bordermen believed another company of Indians was approaching; but they soon saw it was a single white man leading a number of horses. He departed before daybreak. Wetzel and Jonathan could not get a clear view of him owing to the dim light; but they heard his voice, and afterwards found the imprint of his moccasins. They did, however, recognize the six horses as belonging to settlers in Yellow Creek.

  While Jonathan and Wetzel were consulting as to what it was best to do, the party of Indians divided, four going directly west, and the others north. Wetzel immediately took the trail of the larger party with the prisoner and four of the horses. Jonathan caught two of the animals which the Indians had turned loose, and tied them in the forest. He then started after the three Indians who had gone northward.

  “Well?” Colonel Zane said impatiently, when Jonathan hesitated in his story.

  “One got away,” he said reluctantly. “I barked him as he was runnin’ like a streak through the bushes, an’ judged that he was hard hit. I got the hosses, an’ turned back on the trail of the white man.”

  “Where did it end?”

  “In that hard-packed path near the blacksmith shop. An’ the feller steps as light as an Injun.”

  “He’s here, then, sure as you’re born. We’ve lost no horses yet, but last week old Sam heard a noise in the barn, and on going there found Betty’s mare out of her stall.”

  “Some one as knows the lay of the land had been after her,” suggested Jonathan.

  “You can bet on that. We’ve got to find him before we lose all the fine horse-flesh we own. Where do these stolen animals go? Indians would steal any kind; but this thief takes only the best.”

  “I’m to meet Wetzel on the ridge soon, an’ then we’l
l know, for he’s goin’ to find out where the hosses are taken.”

  “That’ll help some. On the way back you found where the white girl had been taken from. Murdered father, burned cabin, the usual deviltry.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Poor Mabel! Do you think this white thief had anything to do with carrying her away?”

  “No. Wetzel says that’s Bing Leggett’s work. The Shawnees were members of his gang.”

  “Well, Jack, what’ll I do?”

  “Keep quiet an’ wait,” was the borderman’s answer.

  Colonel Zane, old pioneer and frontiersman though he was, shuddered as he went to his room. His brother’s dark look, and his deadly calmness, were significant.

  CHAPTER IV

  To those few who saw Jonathan Zane in the village, it seemed as if he was in his usual quiet and dreamy state. The people were accustomed to his silence, and long since learned that what little time he spent in the settlement was not given to sociability. In the morning he sometimes lay with Colonel Zane’s dog, Chief, by the side of a spring under an elm tree, and in the afternoon strolled aimlessly along the river bluff, or on the hillside. At night he sat on his brother’s porch smoking a long Indian pipe. Since that day, now a week past, when he had returned with the stolen horses, his movements and habits were precisely what would have been expected of an unsuspicious borderman.

  In reality, however, Jonathan was not what he seemed. He knew all that was going on in the settlement. Hardly a bird could have entered the clearing unobserved.

  At night, after all the villagers were in bed, he stole cautiously about the stockade, silencing with familiar word the bristling watch-hounds, and went from barn to barn, ending his stealthy tramp at the corral where Colonel Zane kept his thoroughbreds.

  But all this scouting by night availed nothing. No unusual event occurred, not even the barking of a dog, a suspicious rustling among the thickets, or whistling of a nighthawk had been heard.