 CHAPTER 1 Twilight of a certain summer day many years ago shaded softly down over the wild Ohio valley, bringing keen anxiety to a traveller on the Lonely River Trail. He had expected to reach Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a welcome in to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the wilderness. But the swift oncoming dusk made it imperative to halt. The narrow forest-grid trail difficult to follow in broad daylight apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods. His guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his services were no longer needed. His teamster was new to the frontier, and altogether the situation caused him much uneasiness. I wouldn't so much mind another night in camp if the guide had not left as he said in a low tone to the teamster. He'd worthy shook his shaggy head and growled while he began unhitching the horses. Uncle? said a young man who had clamoured out from the wagon. We must be within a few miles of Fort Henry. How do you know we're nearer the fort, interrupted the teamster, or safe either for that matter? I don't know this country. The guide assured me we could easily make Fort Henry by sundown. That guide, I tell you, Mr. Shepard. Not so loud. Do not alarm my daughter, question the man who had been called Shepard. Did you notice anything queer about that guide? Asked the teamster, lowering his voice. Did you see how uneasy he was last night? Did it strike you he left us in a hurry kind of excited like in spite of his offhand manner? Yes, he acted odd, or so it seemed to me, replied Shepard. How about you, Will? Now to think of it, I believe he was queer. He behaved like a man who expected somebody or feared something might happen. I fancied, however, that it was simply the manner of a woodsman. Well, in my opinion, said the teamster. In a gruff whisper. He was in a hurry to be a-going, and wouldn't take no advice. The fur trader at Fort Pitt didn't give this guide jinx no good send-off. Is anyone well-known around Pitt, except he could handle a knife some? What is your opinion, asked Shepard, as the teamster paused? Well, the valley below Pitt is full of renegades, outlaws, and haws thieves. Redskins ain't so bad as they used to be. But these white fellows were worse than ever. This guy jinx might be in with him. That's all. Maybe I'm wrong, I hope so. The way he left us looks bad. We won't borrow trouble if we have come all this way without seeing either Indian or Outlaw. In fact, without incident I feel certain we can perform the remainder of the journey in safety. Then Mr. Shepard raised his voice. Here, Helen, you lazy girl, come out of that wagon. We want some supper. Well, you gather some firewood and we'll soon give this gloomy little glen a more cheerful aspect. As Mr. Shepard turned toward the canvas-covered wagon, a girl leaped out, lightly down beside him. She was nearly as tall as he. Is this Fort Henry's ask, cheerily beginning to dance around him? Where's the inn? I'm so hungry, how glad I am to get out of that wagon. I'd like to run. Isn't this a lonesome, lovely spot? The campfire soon crackled with hiss and sputter. Fragrant wood smoke filled the air. Steaming kettle and savory steaks of venison cheered the hungry travelers, making them forget for the time the desertion of their guide and the fact that they might be lost. The last glow faded entirely out of the western sky, night enveloped a forest, and the little glade was a bright spot in the gloom. The flickering light showed Mr. Shepard to be a well-preserved old man with gray hair and ruddy, kindly face. The nephew had a boyish frank expression. The girl was a splendid specimen of womanhood. Her large, laughing eyes were as dark as the shadows beneath the trees. Suddenly a quick start on Helen's part interrupted the merry flow of conversation. She sat bolt upright, with half averted face. "'Cousin, what is the matter?' asked Will quickly. Helen remained motionless. "'My dear,' said Mr. Shepard sharply. "'I heard a footstep,' she whispered, pointing with trembling finger to ward the impenetrable blackness beyond the campfire. All could hear a soft patter on the leaves. Then distinct footfalls broke the silence. The tired teams to raise the shaggy head and glance fearfully around the glade. Mr. Shepard and Will glazed doubtfully towards the forage, but Helen did not change her position. The travelers appeared stricken by the silence and solitude of the place. Veint hum of insects and the low moan of the night wind seemed accentuated by the almost painful stillness. A panther most likely suggested Shepard, in a voice which he intended should be reassuring. I saw one today slinking along the trail. "'I'd better get my gun from the wagon,' said Will. "'How dark and wild it is here,' exclaimed Helen nervously. "'I believe I was frightened. Perhaps I fancied it. And there, again, listen, uh-huh.' Two tall figures emerged from the darkness into the circle of light, and with swift supple steps gained the campfire before any of the travelers had time to move. They were Indians, and the brandishing of their tomahawks proclaimed that they were hostile. "'Woo!' went of the taller savage, as he looked down upon the defenseless frightened group. As the menacing figures stood in the glare of the fire, gazing at the party, with shifty eyes, they presented a frightful appearance, fierce lendiments, all the more sole because of bars of paint and hideous-shaven heads adorned with tufts of hair holding a single feather, sinewy copper-colored limbs suggestive of action and endurance. The general aspect of untamed ferocity appalled the travelers and chilled their blood. Grunts and chuckles manifested the satisfaction with which the Indians fell upon the half-finished supper. They caused it to vanish with astonishing celerity, and resembled wolves rather than human beings in their greediness. Helen looked timidly around as if hoping to see those who would aid, and the savages regarded her with ill humor. A movement on the part of any member of the group caused muscular hands to steal towards the tomahawks. Suddenly the larger savage clutched his companion's knee, then lifting his hatchet shook it with a significant gesture in Shepherd's face. At the same time putting a finger to his lips to enjoin silence, both Indians became statuesque in their immobility. They crouched in an attitude of listening with heads bent on one side, nostrils dilated and mouths open. One, two, three moments passed. The silence of the forest appeared to be unbroken, but ears as keen as those of a deer had detected some sound. The larger savage dropped noiselessly to the ground where he lay stretched out with his ear to the ground. The other remained immovable. Only his beady eyes gave signs of life, and these covered every point. Finally the big savage rose silently, pointed down the dark trail and strode out of the circle of light. His companion followed close at his heels. The two disappeared in the black shadows like spectres as silently as they had come. Wow! Retellin! I am immensely relieved, exclaimed Will. What do you make of such strange behavior, Shepherd asked of the Teamster? I suspect they got wind to somebody. Most likely that guy and he'll be back again. Thane! It's because they got switched off by some signs or tokens, geared, perhaps by the scent down for the wind. Early at he ceased speaking, when again the circle of light was invaded by stalking forms. I've thought so. Here come the skulking varmints, whispered the Teamster, but he was wrong. A deep, calm voice spoke the single word. Friends. The two men in the brown garb of Woodsman approached. One approached the travellers, the other remained in the background, leaning upon a long black rifle. Thus exposed to the glare of the flames, the foremost Woodsman presented a singular picturesque figure. His costume was fringed buckskin, of the border. Fully six feet tall this lithe-limbed young giant had something of the wild pre-grace of the Indian his posture. He surveyed the wandering travellers with dark, gray eyes. Did the Reddies do any mischief, he asked? No, they didn't harm us, replied Shepherd. They ate our supper and slipped off into the Woods without so much as touching one of us. But indeed, sir, we are mighty glad to see you. We lackled this sentiment, and Helen's big eyes were fastened upon the stranger in welcome and wonder. We saw your fire-blazing through the twilight and came up just in time to see the engines make off. Might they not hide in the bushes and shoot us, asked Will, who had listened to many a border story at Fort Pitt. It seems safe if we'd make good targets in this light. The gravity of the Woodsman's face relaxed. Will you pursue them? asked Helen. They've melted into the night shadows long ago, he replied. Who was your guide? I hired him at Fort Pitt. He left us suddenly this morning. A big man with black beard and bushy eyebrows. A bit of his ear had been shot or cut out, Shepherd replied. Janks, one of Bing Leggett's border hawks. You have his name right, and who may Bing Leggett be? He's not law. Janks has been trying to lead you into a trap. Likely he expected those engines to show up a day or two ago. Something went wrong with the plan, I reckon. Maybe he's waiting for five Shawnees. And maybe he'll never see three of them again. Something suggestive cold and grim in the last words did not escape the listeners. How far are we from Fort Henry? asked Shepherd. Eighteen miles as the crow flies, longer by trail. Treachery! explained the old man. We were no more than that this morning. It is indeed fortunate that you found us. I take it you are from Fort Henry and will guide us there. I am an old friend of Colonel Zanes. He will appreciate any kindness you may show us, of course. You may know him. I'm Jonathan Zane. Shepherd suddenly realized that he was facing the most celebrated scout on the border. In revolutionary times Zanes' fame had extended even to the far Atlantic colonies. And your companion asked Shepherd with keen interest. He guessed what might be told. Border lore coupled Jonathan Zane with a strange and terrible character, a border nemesis, a mysterious, shadowy, elusive man, whom few pioneers ever saw, but of whom all knew. Wetzel answered Zane. With one accord the Travers gazed curiously at Zane's silent companion. In the dim background of the glow cast by the fire, he stood a gigantic figure, dark, quiet, and yet with something intangible in his shadowy outline. Suddenly he appeared to merge into the gloom as if he really were a phantom. A warning, haste, came from the bushes. With one swift kick Zane scattered the campfire. The Travers waited with baited breath. They could hear nothing save the beating of their own hearts. They could not even see each other. Better go to sleep. Came in Zane's calm voice. What a brave leaf it was. We'll keep watching. At daybreak, guide you to Fort Henry. CHAPTER II Colonel Zane, a rugged stalwart pioneer with a strong dark face, sat listening to his old friend's dramatic story. At its close a genial smile twinkled on his fine dark eyes. Well, well, shepherd, no doubt it was a thrilling adventure to you. He said, it might have been a little more interesting and doubtless would had I not sent Wenzel and Jonathan to look you up. He did? How on earth did you know I was on the border? I counted much on the surprise I should give you. My Indian runners leave Fort Pitt ahead of any Travers and acquaint me with the particulars. I remembered a fleet-looking Indian who seemed to be asking for information about us when we arrived at Fort Pitt. I am sorry I did not take the fur trader's advice in regard to the guide. But I was in such a hurry to come and didn't feel able to bear the expense of a raft or boat that we might come by a river. My nephew brought considerable gold and I all my earthly possessions. All's well that ends well, replied Colonel Zane cheerly. But we must thank Providence that Wenzel and Jonathan came up in the nick of time. Indeed, yes, I'm not likely to forget those fierce savages. How they slipped off into the darkness. I wonder if Wenzel pursued them. He disappeared last night and we did not see him again. In fact, we hardly had a fair look at him. I question if I should recognize him now, unless by his great stature. He was ahead of Jonathan on the trail. That is Wenzel's way. In times of danger he has seldom seen yet is always near. But come, let us go out and look around. I am running up a log cabin which will come in handy for you. They passed out into the shade of pine and maples. A winding path led down a gentle slope. On the hillside under a spreading tree a throng of bearded pioneers clad in faded buckskins and wearing white-ringed coon-skin caps were erecting a log cabin. "'Life here on the border is keen, hard, invigorating,' said Colonel Zane. "'I tell you, George Shepard, in spite of your gray hair and your pretty daughter, you've come out west because you want to live among men who do things.' "'Colonel, I won't gaincy, I've still got hot blood,' replied Shepard. "'But I came to Fort Henry for land. My old home in Williamsburg has fallen into ruin together with the fortunes of my family. I brought my daughter and my nephew because I wanted them to take root in new soil. Well, George, right glad we are to have you here.' "'Where are your sons? I remember them, though it's sixteen long years since I left old Williamsburg.' "'Gone,' the revolution took my sons. Helen is the last of the family.' "'Well, well, indeed that's hard. Independence has crossed you calmest, big price, as border freedom has, as pioneers. Come, old friend, forget the past. A new life begins for you here, and it will be one which gives you much. See, up goes a cabin. That will soon be your home.' Shepard's eye marked the sturdy pioneers in a fast, diminishing pile of white oak logs. "'Oh, heave!' cried a brawny foreman. "'A dozen stout shoulders sagged beneath a well-trimmed log. "'Oh, heave!' yelled the foreman. "'See, up she goes,' cried the Colonel, and to-morrow night she'll shed rain. They walked down a sandy lane bounded on them right by a wide green clearing, and on the left by a line of chestnuts and maples, outposts of the thick forest beyond. "'Yours is a fine sight for a house,' observed Shepard, taking in the clean-trimmed field that extended up the hillside of brook, thick splash, clear and noisy, over stones to tarry in a little grass-bound lake which forced water through half-hollowed logs into a spring-house. "'I think so. This is the fourth time I've put up a cabin on this land,' replied the Colonel. "'How's that?' "'The Redskins are keen to burn things,' Shepard laughed at the pioneers' reply. "'It's not difficult, Colonel Zane, to understand why Fort Henry has stood all these years with you as its leader. Certainly the location of your cabin is the finest in the settlement. What a view!' High upon a bluff overhanging the majestic, slow, winding Ohio, the Colonel's cabin afforded a commanding position from which to view the picturesque valley. Shepard's eye first caught the outline of the huge, old, time-black and fort which frowned protectively over surrounding log-cabins. Then he saw the white-sweeping river, with its verdant islands, golden sandy-bars, and willow-bordered shores, while beyond the rolling pastures of wavy grass, merging into green forests, that swept upward, with slow swell until lost in the dim purple of distant mountains. Sixteen years ago I came out of the thicket upon yonder bluff, and saw this valley. I was deeply impressed by its beauty, but more by its wonderful promise. "'Were you alone?' "'Hadn't been a dog. There had been a few white men before me on the river, but I was the first to see this glorious valley from the bluff. Now, George, I'll let you have a hundred acres of well-cleared land. The soil is so rich you can raise two crops in one season. With some stock and a few good hands, you'll soon be a busy man.' "'I didn't expect so much land. I can't well afford to pay for it.' "'Talk to me of payments when the farm yields an income.' "'Is this young nephew of yours strong and willing?' "'He is. He has gold enough to buy a big farm.' "'Let him keep his money and make a comfortable home for some good lass. We marry our young people early out here.' "'And your daughter, George, is she fitted for this hard border life?' "'Never fear for Helen.' "'The brunt of this pioneer work falls on our women. God bless them. How heroic they've been. The life here is rough for a man, let alone a woman. But it is a man's game. We need girls, girls who will bear strong men. Yet I am always saddened when I see one come out on the border.' "'I think I knew what I was bringing Helen to. And she didn't flinch,' said Shepard, somewhat surprised at the tone in which the Colonel spoke. No one knows until he has lived on the border. "'Well, well, all this is discouraging to you. Here is Miss Helen with my sister.' The Colonel's fine dark face lost its turnness and brightened with a smile. "'I hope you rested well after your long ride. I am seldom tired, and I have been made most comfortable. I thank you and your sister,' replied the girl, giving Colonel Zane her hand, and including both him and his sister, in the grateful glance. The Colonel's sister was a slender, handsome young woman, whose dark beauty showed to most effective advantage by the contrast with her companion's fair skin, golden hair, and blue eyes. Beautiful as was Helen Shepard, it was her eyes that held Colonel Zane irresistibly. They were unusually large of a dark purple-blue that changed, shaded, shadowed with her every thought. "'Gong, let us walk,' Colonel Zane said abruptly, and with Mr. Shepard followed the girls down the path. He escorted them to the fort, showed a long room with little squares cut in the rough pune logs. Many bullet holes, fire-charged timbers, and dark stains terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism which the defence of that rude structure had cost. Under Helen's eager questioning, Colonel Zane yielded to his weakness for storytelling, and recited the history of the last siege of Fort Henry, how the renegade, Gertie, swooped down upon the settlement with hundreds of Indians and British soldiers, how for three days of whistling bullets, flaming arrows, screeching demons, fire, smoke, and attack following attack, the brave defenders stood at their post, there to die before yielding. "'Grand, breathe, Helen,' and her eyes glowed. It was then Betty Zane ran with the powder? Oh, I've heard the story. "'Let my sister tell you of that,' said the Colonel, smiling. "'You, was it you?' And Helen's eyes glowed brighter with the light of youth's glory and great deeds. "'My sister has been wedded and widowed since then,' said Colonel Zane, reading in Helen's earnest scrutiny of his sister's calm, sad face, a wonder if this quiet woman could be the fearless and famed Elizabeth Zane.' Impulsively Helen's hands closed softly over her companions. Out of the girly sympathetic action a warm friendship was born. "'I imagine things do happen here,' said Mr. Shepard, hoping to hear more from Colonel Zane.' The Colonel smiled grimly. "'Every summer, during fifteen years, has been a bloody one on the border. The sieges from Fort Henry and Crawford's defeat, the biggest things we ever knew out here, are matters of history. Of course, you are familiar with them, but the numberless Indian forays and attacks, the women who have been carried into captivity by renegades, the murdered farmers, in fact, ceaseless war never long directed at any point, but carried on in the entire length of the river, are matters known only to the pioneers. Within five miles of Fort Henry I can show you where the Laurel Boyce's growth three feet high over the ashes of two settlements, and many a clearing, where some unfortunate pioneer had staked his claim and thrown up a log cabin, only to die fighting for his wife and children. Here in Fort Pitt there is only one settlement, Yellow Creek, and most of its inhabitants are survivors of villages further up the river. Last summer we had the Morvian Massacre, the blackest, most inhuman deed ever committed. Since then Simon Gurdie and his bloody redskins have lain low. He must have always been a big force, said Shepard. We've managed always to be strong enough, though there never was a large number of men here. During the last siege I had only forty in the fort counting men, women, and boys, but I had pioneers and women who could handle a rifle and the best boardermen on the frontier. Do you make a distinction between pioneer and boardermen? Asked Shepard. Indeed, yes, I'm a pioneer. A boarderman is an Indian hunter or scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam and John McClellick, Bill Metzer, and John and Martin Wetzel, all of whom are dead, not one saved as a scout. Fort Henry is growing. It has pioneers, rivermen, soldiers, but only two boardermen, Wetzel and Jonathan, are the only ones we have left, of these great men. They must be old, mused Helen, with a dreamy glow still in her eyes. Well, Miss Helen, not in years, as you mean. Life here is old in experience. Few pioneers and no boardermen live to a great age. Wetzel, about forty in my brother Jonathan, still a young man, but both are old in boarder lore. Earnestly as a man who loves his subject, Colonel Zane told his listeners of these two most prominent characters of the border. Sixteen years previously, when, but boys and years, they had cast in their lot with his, and journeyed over the Virginian mountains, Wetzel to devote his life to the vengeful calling he had chosen, and Jonathan to give reign to an adventurous spirit and love all the wilds. By some wonderful chance, by cunning woodcraft or daring, both men had lived through the years of border warfare, which had brought to a close the careers of all their contemporaries. For many years Wetzel preferred the solitude to companionship. He roamed the wilderness in pursuit of Indians his lifelong foes, and seldom appeared at the settlement except to bring news of an intended braid of the savages. Jonathan also spent much time alone in the woods, or scouting along the river. But of late years a friendship had ripened between the two boardermen. Mutual interest had brought them together on the trail of a noted renegade. And when, after many long days of patient watching and persistent tracking, the outlaw paid an awful penalty for his bloody deeds. These lone and silent men were friends. Powerful unbilled, fleet as dear, fearless, and tireless. Wetzel's peculiar bloodhound sagacity, ferocity, and impassibility balanced by Jonathan's keen intelligence and judgment caused these boardermen to become the bane of red men and renegades. Their fame increased with each succeeding summer until now the people of the settlement looked upon wonderful deeds of strength and of woodcraft as a matter of course, rejoicing in the power and skill with which these men were endowed. By common consent the pioneers attributed any mysterious deed, from the finding of a fat turkey on a cabin doorstep to the discovery of a savage gout and pulled from his ambush near a settler's spring, to Wetzel and Jonathan, all the more that they feel sure of this conclusion because the boardermen never spoke of their deeds. Sometimes a pioneer living on the outskirts of the settlement would be awakened in the morning by a single rifle shot, and on peering out would see a dead Indian lying almost across his doorstep. While beyond in the dim gray mist a tall figure stealing away, often in the twilight on the summer evening, while fondling his children and enjoying his smoke after a hard day's labor in the fields, this same settler would see the tall, dark figure of Jonathan Zane, step noiselessly out of a thicket, and learn that he must take his family and flee at once to the Fort for safety. When a settler was murdered his children carried into captivity by Indians and the wife given over to the power of some brutal renegade. Tragedies woefully frequent on the border, Wetzel and Jonathan took the trail alone. Many a white woman was returned alive and sometimes unharmed to her relatives. More than one maiden lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, while almost numberless were the bones of brutal red men lying in the deep and gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, silent, ghastly reminders of the stern justice meted out by these two heroes. Such are my two bordermen, Miss Shepherd. The Fort there and all those cabins would only be black ashes save for them. And as for us, our wives and children, God only knows. Haven't they wives and children, too, ask Helen? No, answered Colonel Zane with his genial smile. Such joys are not for bordermen. Why not? Fine men like them deserve happiness, declared Helen. It is necessary we have such, said the Colonel simply. And they cannot be bordermen unless as free as the air blows. Wetzel and Jonathan have never had sweethearts. I believe Wetzel loved the last once, but he was an Indian killer whose hands were red with blood. He silenced his heart and kept his chosen, lonely life. Jonathan does not seem to realize that women exist to charm, to please, to be loved and married. Once we tweeted him about his brothers doing their duty by the border, whereupon he flashed out, my life is the borders. My sweetheart is the North Star. Helen dreamily watched the dancing, dimpling waves that broke on the stones of the river shore. All unconscious of the powerful impression the Colonel's recital had made upon her. She was feeling the greatness of the lives of those bordermen, and the glory it would now be for her to share with others, the pride in their protection. Say, Shepherd, look here, said Colonel Zane. On the return to his cabin, that girl of yours has a pair of eyes. I can't forget the way they flashed. They'll cause more trouble here among my garrison than with a swarm of redskins. No, you don't mean it out here in this wilderness, shepherd, doftly. Will I do? Oh, Lord, what a time I had with that girl. There was one man, especially back home, who made our lives miserable. He was rich and well-born, but Helen would have none of him. He got around me, old fool that I am, practically stole what was left of my estate, and gambled it away when Helen said she'd died before giving herself to him. It was partly on his account that I brought her away. Then there were a lot of moon-eyed beggars after her all the time, and she's young and full of fire. I'd hope I'd marry her to some farmer out here, and in my days in peace. Peace with eyes like those? Never on this green earth, and Colonel Zane laughed as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. Don't worry, old fellow, you can't help her having those changing dark blue eyes any more than you can help being proud of them. They have won me, already, susceptible old back-woodsman. I'll help you with this spirited young lady I've had experience, shepherd, and don't you forget it. First my sister, Zane, all through, which is saying enough, then a sweet and fiery little Indian princess has ever stepped in a beaded moccasin. And since, more than one beautiful impulsive creature, being an in authority, I suppose it's natural that all the work, from keeping the garrison ready against an attack to straightening out love affairs, should fall upon me. I'll take the care off your shoulders. I'll keep those young daredevil's from killing each other over Miss Helen's favors. I certainly—hello, there are strangers at the gate. Something's up. Half a dozen rough-looking men had appeared from round the corner of the cabin, and halted at the gate. Bill Elsing and some of his men from Yellow Creek said Colonel Zane as he went toward the group. Hello, Colonel. Was the greeting of the foremost evidently the leader. We've lost six head of horses over our way, and are out looking them up. The douche you have, say, this horse-stealing business is getting interesting. What did you come in for? Well, we meet Jonathan on the ridge about sun-up, and he sent us back a liggity-cut. Said he had two of the horses corralled, and maybe Wetzel could get the others. That's strange, replying Colonel Zane thoughtfully. Pears to me, Jack and Wetzel have some redskins treed, and don't want us to spiral the fun. Maybe there wasn't scalps enough to go round. Anyway, we come in, and we'll hang up here to-day. Bill, who's doing this horse-stealing? Damn, if I know it's a mighty piece of work! I've a mind at some slick whitefeller with engines back in him. Helen noted when she was once more indoors that Colonel Zane's wife appeared worried. Her usual placid expression was gone. She put off the playful overtures of her two bright boys with unusual indifference, and turned to her husband with anxious questioning as to whether the strangers brought news of Indians. Upon being assured that such was not the case, she looked relieved, and explained to Helen that she had seen our men come so often to consult the Colonel regarding dangerous missions and expeditions that the sight of a stranger caused her unspeakable dread. I am accustomed to danger, yet I can never control my fears for my husband and children, said Mrs. Zane. The older I grow, the more of a coward I am. Oh, this border life is sad for women. Only a little while ago my brother Samuel McCullough was shot and scalped right here on the rear bank. He was going to the spring for a bucket of water. I lost another brother in almost the same way. Every day during the summer a husband and a father fall victim to some murderous Indian. My husband will go in the same way some day. The border claims them all. Bessie, you must not show your fears to our new friend, and Miss Helen, don't believe she's the coward she would make out, said the Colonel's sister smilingly. Petty's right, Bess. Don't frighten her, said Colonel Zane. I'm afraid I talked too much today. But, Miss Helen, you were so interested and are such a good listener, that I couldn't refrain. Once for all let me say that you will, no doubt, see stirring life here, but there is little danger of its affecting you. To be sure I think you'll have troubles, but not with Indians or outlaws. He went to his wife and sister. At first Helen did not understand his selling, but then she'd blushed red all over her fair face. Some time after that, while unpacking her belongings, she heard the clatter of horses hooves on the rocky road. Accompanied by loud voices running to the window, she saw a group of men at the gate. Miss Shepherd, will you come out? called Colonel Zane's sister from the door. My brother, Jonathan, has returned. Helen joined Betty at the door and looked over her shoulder. Well, Jack, you got two on them, anyways, called a voice which she recognized as that of Elsings. A man, life and supple, slipped from the back of one of the horses and, giving the halter to Elsing, with a single word, turned and entered the gate. Colonel Zane met him there. Well, Jonathan, what's up? There's hell to pay was the reply, and the speaker's voice rang clear and sharp. Colonel Zane laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and thus they stood for a moment, singularly alike, and yet the sturdy pioneer was somehow far different from the dark-haired border man. I thought we'd trouble in store from the look on your face, said the Colonel, calmly. I hope you hadn't very bad news on the first day for our old friends from Virginia. Jonathan cried Betty, when he did not answer the Colonel. At her call he half turned and his dark eyes steadily strained like those of the watching deer, sought his sister's face. Betty? Old Jake Lane was murdered by horse thieves yesterday, and Mabel Lane is gone. Oh, guess Betty? But she said nothing more. Colonel Zane cursed inaudibly. You know, Eb, I tried to keep Lane in the settlement for Mabel's sake. But he wanted to work that farm. I believe horse-stealing wasn't as much of an object as the girl. Pretty women are bad for the border, or any other place. I guess Witzel has taken the trail, and I came in because I have serious suspicions. I'll explain to you alone. The border man bowed gravely to Helen with a natural grace, and yet a manner that set awkwardly upon him. The girl slightly fleshed and somewhat confused by this meeting with the man around whom her romantic imagination had already woven a story stood in the doorway after giving him a fleeting glance, the fairest, sweetest picture of girlish beauty ever seen. The men went into the house, but their voices came distinctly through the door. Eb, if being legged or gritty ever see that big eyed lass, they'll have her even if Fort Henry has to be burnt. And in case they do get her, Witzel and I'll have taken our last trail. His guests to a side porch, where they were soon joined by Mrs. Zane and Betty. The hosts 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 our 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. Shepard, 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 bell 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 solenninity 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 girdies. He was a wonderful story, and some day you shall hear about the person and his wife. What's the border fever? asked Mr. Shepherd. 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 Lindsay. They welcomed the newcomers with simple, homely courtesy. Then six young frontiersmen appeared from around a corner of the cabin, advancing hesitantly. 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 the 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 wooded sister was her equal, perhaps her superior in education and breeding, while Nelly Dones was a well-bred and gracious 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 even 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, live 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 acknowledgement of the Borderman's presence, of a presence that worked on all alike with a subtle, strong magnetism. Ah, Jonathan, come out and see the sunset. It's unusually fine tonight, 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. Ellen sat so near she could have touched him. She was conscious of the same strange feeling and the 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 a novel character. She was amused at learning that there 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, tiny 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 and calmness. Helen was wondering if the sad almost turned, tranquillated if 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 towards the Borderman. That smile, brief as a flash, showed his gentle kindness and told that he was not a creature who had sent 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 her 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 uncommonly coy critters, said he, with the 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 shimmering waters merged into a ruddy horizon. Long rays of crimson fire crossed the smooth waters. A few purple clouds above caught the refulgants, until aided by the delicate rose and blue space beyond, they became many huge 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 tents 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 life-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 the table near where she sat, holding it to catch the fast-fading light she stuttered her face seriously. Helen Shepard, I think on the occasion of your arrival in a new country. A little plain talk would 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. Skorn 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 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 explained rependently. I am glad I have another glass. Wouldn't Mr. Jonathan Zane, boarder-man, 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 is stranger. Before Helen lost herself and slumber on that eventful evening, she vowed to ignore the boarder-man, 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 guest 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 running the horse-stealing is located right here in Fort Henry, answered the boarder-man. 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 around Netsers. Piers Toulou and me that this fellow is a slick customer and one who's been here long enough to know our horses and where we keep them. I say, like Miller who fooled us all, even Betty, when he stole our powder and then sold it to Gertie, rejoined Colonel Zane Grimly. Exactly. Only this fellow is slicker and more desperate than Miller. Right sure, Jack, for the man who is trusted and betrayed 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 and is matching his cunning against our own. Tell me what you and Wetzel learned. The boarder-man 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 boarder-man this was significant of some unusual activity directed toward the settlement. Unable to learn anything different from the moccasin traces they hurried up on the trail to find that the Indians had halted. Wetzel and Jonathan saw from their convert 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 boarder-man 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 in a tremor of the ground. The boarder-man 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 any story. One got away, he said reluctantly. I barked him as he was running like a streak through the bushes and judged that he was hard hit. I got the horses and turned back on the trail of the white man. Where did it end? In that hard-packed path near the Black Smith Shop? And a fellow steps as light as a ninja. 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. Someone as knows the lay of the land has 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, and then we'll know. We're just going to find out where the horses are taken. That'll help some. On the way back you found where the white girl had been taken from, murdered father Burn Cabin, the usual devil-tree, exactly. Poor Maybale. Do you think this white thief had anything to do with carrying her away? No, Wetzel says that's being Leggett's work. The Shawnees were members of his gang. Well, Jack, what'll I do? Keep quiet and wait, was the boarderman's answer. Colonel Zane, old pioneer and frontiersman, though he was, shuttered as he went to his room, his brother's dark look, and his deadly calmness, were significant. 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 giving 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 passed since he had returned with his stolen horses. His movements and habits were precisely what would have been expected of an unsuspicious boarderman. 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 watchhounds, 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 night-hawk, had been heard. Vainly the boarderman strained ears to catch some low night signal given by waiting Indians to the white trader within the settlement. By day there was even less to attract the sharp-eyed watcher. The clumsy river-boats, half-wrapped, half-son-lumbered, drifted down the Ohio on their first and last voyage, discharged to cargoes of grain, liquor, or merchandise, and were broken up. Their crews came back on the long overland journey to Fort Pitt, there to man another craft. The garrison at the fort performed their customary duties. The pioneers, till the fields, the blacksmith's scatter-sparks, the wheel-ride worked industriously at his bench, and the housewives attended to their mini-cares. No strangers arrived at Fort Henry. The quiet life of the village was uninterrupted. Near sunset of a long day, Jonathan strolled down the sandy, well-trodden path towards Metzor's Inn. He did not drink and consequently seldom visited the rude, dark, ill-smelling barroom. When occasion demanded his presence there, he was evidently not welcome. The original owner, a sturdy soldier and pioneer, came to Fort Henry when Colonel Zane founded the settlement, and had been killed during Gertie's last attack. His successor, another Metzor, was according to Jonathan's belief as bad as the whiskey dispensed. More than one murder had been committed at the Inn, countless fatal knife and tomahawk fights had stained red the hard clay floor, and more than one desperate character had been harbored there. Once Colonel Zane said what's all there to invite a thief and outlaw to quit the settlement, with the not unexpected result, that it became necessary the robber be carried out. Jonathan thought of the bad name the place bore all over the frontier, and wondered if Metzor could tell anything about the horse thieves. When the boarderman bent his tall frame to enter the low studded door, he fancied he saw a dark figure disappear into room just behind the bar. A roughly clad, heavily bearded man turned hastily at the same moment. "'Hello,' he said gruffly. "'All right, Metzor. I just dropped in to see if I could make a trade for your sorrel mare,' replied Jonathan. Being well aware that the innkeeper would not part with his horse, the boarderman had made this announcement as his reason for entering the bar room. "'Nope. I'll allow you can't,' replied Metzor. As he turned to go, Jonathan's eyes roamed around the bar room. Several strangers, the shiftless aspect, blurted him. They wouldn't steal a pumpkin, muttered Jonathan to himself as he left the inn. Then he added suspiciously. Metzor was talking to someone and appeared uneasy. "'I never like Metzor. He'll bear watching.' The boarderman passed on down the path, thinking of what he had heard against Metzor. The colonel had said that the man was prosperous for an innkeeper who took pelt, screen, or meat in exchange for rum. The village gossips disliked him because he was unmarried, tacky turn, and did not care for their company. Jonathan reflected also on the fact that Indians were frequently coming to the inn, and this made him distrustful of the proprietor. It was true that Colonel Zane had red-skinned visitors, but there was always good reason for their coming, Jonathan had seen during the Revolution, more than one trusted man, proven to be a traitor, and the convictions settled upon him that some quiet scouting would show up the innkeeper as aiding the horse-thieves, if not actually in league with them. Good evening, Jonathan Zane. This greeting and a woman's clear voice brought Jonathan out from his reveries. He glanced up to see Helen Shepard, standing in the doorway of her father's cabin. "'Evening, Miss?' he said with a bow and would have passed on. Wait!' she cried and stepped out of the door. He waited by the gate which the manner that showed that such a summons was novel to him. Helen peaked at the curt greeting, and asked him to wait without any idea of what she would say. Coming slowly down the path, she felt again a subtle awe of this border man. Regretting her impulsiveness, she lost confidence. Gaining the gate, she looked up intending to speak, but was unable to do so, as she saw how cold and grave was his face, and how piercing were his eyes. She flushed slightly, and then, conscious of an embarrassment new and strange to her, blushed rosy red, making as it seemed to her a stupid remark about the sunset. When he took her words literally, and said the sunset was fine, she felt guilty of deceitfulness. Whatever Helen's faults, and they were many, she was honest, and because of not having looked at the sunset, but only wanting him to see her as did other men, the innocent ruse suddenly appeared mean and trifling. Then, with the woman's quick intuition, she understood that co-cutteries were lost on this border man, and with a smile got the better of her embarrassment and humiliation by telling the truth. I wanted to ask a favour of you, and I'm a little afraid. She spoke with girly shyness, which increased as he stared at her. Why, why do you look at me so? There's a lake over yonder which the Shaunis say is haunted by a woman they killed. He replied quietly, You do for her spirit, so white and beautiful in the silver moonlight. So my white dress makes me look ghostly. She answered lightly, though deeply conscious of surprise and pleasure at such an unexpected reply from him. This border man might be full of surprises. Such a time as I had bring my dresses out here. I don't know when I can wear them. This is the simplest one. And it's mighty new and bewildering for the border, he replied with a smile in his eyes. When these are gone I'll get no more except Lindsay-ones, she said rightly, yet her eyes shone with a wistful uncertainty of the future. We be happy here? I am happy. I have always wanted to be of some use in the world. I assure you, Master Zane, I am not the butterfly I seem. I have worked hard all day—that is, until your sister Betty came over. All the girls have helped me fix up the cabin until it's more comfortable than I ever dreamed one could be on the frontier. Father's well content here, and that makes me happy. I haven't had time for forebordings. The young men of Fort Henry have been, well, attentive. In fact, they've been here all the time. She laughed a little at this last remark and looked demurely at him. It's a frontier custom, he said. Oh, indeed! Do all the young men call often and stay late? They do. You didn't, she retorted. You're the only one who hasn't been to see me. I do not wait on the girls, he replied with a grave smile. We don't. Do you expect them to wait on you? She asked, feeling now she had made this silent man talk once more at her ease. I'm a boarderman, replied Jonathan. There was a certain dignity or sadness in his answer, which reminded Helen of Colonel Zane's portrayal of a boarderman's life. It struck her keenly. Here was this young giant, standing erect and handsome before her, as rugged as one of the ash trees of his beloved forest. Who could tell when his strong life might be ended by an Indian's hatchet? For you, then, is there no such thing as friendship, she asked? On the border, men are serious. This recalled his sister's conversation regarding the attentions of the young men, that they would follow her, fight for her, and give her absolutely no peace until one of them had carried her to his cabin, a bride. She could not carry on the usual conventional conversation with this boarderman, but remained silent for a time. She realized more keenly than ever before how different he was from other men, and watched closely as he stood gazing out over the river. Perhaps something she had said caused him to think of the many pleasures and joys he missed. But she could not be certain what was in his mind. She was not accustomed to impassive faces and cold eyes with unlit fires in their dark depths. More likely he was thinking of matters nearer to his wild, free life, of his companion Wetzel somewhere out beyond those frowning hills. Then she remembered that the Colonel had told her of his brother's love for nature in all its forms, how he watched the shades of evening fall lost himself in contemplation of the last copper glow, flushing the western sky, or became absorbed in the bright stars. Possibly he had forgotten her presence. Darkness was rapidly stealing down upon them. The evening tranquil and gray crept over them with all its mystery. He was a part of it. She could not hope to understand him, but saw clearly that his was no common personality. She wanted to speak, to voice a sympathy strong within her. But she did not know what to say to this boarderman. If what your sister tells me of the border is true, I may soon need a friend, she said, after weighing well her words. She faced him modestly, yet bravely, and looked him straight in the eyes, because he did not reply. She spoke again. I mean, such a friend as you, or Wetzel. You may count on both, he replied. Thank you, she said softly, giving him her hand. I shall not forget. One more thing. Will you break a boarderman's custom for my sake? How? Come to see me when you're in the settlement? Helen said this in a low voice, with just a sob in her breath. But she met his gaze fairly. Her big eyes were all aglow, a light with girly shpeel, and yet proud with the woman's honest demand for fair exchange. Promise was there, too, could he but read it, of wonderful possibilities? No, he answered gently. Helen was not prepared for such a rebuff. She was interested in him, and not ashamed to show it. She feared only that he might misunderstand her, but refuse her preferred friendship. That was indeed unexpected. Rude, she thought it was, while from brow to curving throat her fair skin crimsoned. Then her face-group pale as the moonlight. Hard on her resentment had surged the swell of some new emotions, strong and sweet. He refused her friendship because he did not dare accept it, because his life was not his own, because he was a boarderman. While he stood thus, Jonathan looked perplexed and troubled, feeling he had hurt her, but knowing not what to say, and Helen with a warm softness in her eyes, the stalwart figure of a man loomed out of the gathering darkness. Ah, Miss Helen, good evening, he said. Is it you, Mr. Brant, asked Helen? Of course you know Mr. Zane. Brant acknowledged Jonathan's bow with an awkwardness which had certainly been absent in his greeting it to Helen. He started slightly when she spoke the boarderman's name. A brief pause ensued. Good night, said Jonathan, and left him. He had noticed Brant's gesture of surprise, like though it was, and was thinking about it as he walked away. Brant may have been astonished at finding a boarderman talking to a girl, and certainly, as far as Jonathan was concerned, the incident was without precedent. But, on the other hand, Brant may have had another reason and Jonathan tried to study out what it might be. He gave but little thought to Helen, that she might like him exceedingly well, did not come into his mind. He remembered his sister Betty's gossip regarding Helen, and her admirers, and particularly Roger Brant. But felt no great concern, he had no curiosity to know more of her. He admired Helen because she was beautiful, yet the feeling was much the same he might have experienced for a graceful deer, a full foliage tree, or a dark mossy stone bend in a murmuring brook. The girl's face and figure, perfect and alluring as they were, had not awakened him from his indifference. On arriving at his brother's home, he found the Colonel and Betty sitting on the porch. Who is this Brant, he asked. Roger Brant? He's a French Canadian, came down here from Detroit a year ago. What do you ask? I want to know more about him. Colonel Zane reflected a moment, first as to this unusual request from Jonathan, and secondly in regard to what little he really did know of Roger Brant. Well, Jack, can't tell you much, nothing of him before he showed up here. He says he has been a pioneer hunter, scout, soldier, trader, everything. When he came to the fort we needed men. It was just after a gritty siege, and all the cabins had been burned. Brant seemed honest, and was a good fellow. Besides, he had gold. He started the river barges which came from Fort Pitt. He surely has done the settlement good service, and has prospered. I never talked a dozen times to him, and even then not for long. He appears to like the young people, which is only natural. That's all I know. Betty might tell you more, for he tried to be attentive to her. Did he, Betty? Jonathan asked. He followed me until I showed him I didn't care for company, answered Betty. What kind of man is he? Jack, I know nothing against him, although I never fancied him. He's better educated than the majority of frontiersmen. He's good natured and agreeable, and the people like him. Why, don't you? Betty looks surprised at his blunt question, and then said with the laugh, I never tried to reason why, but since you have spoken, I believe my dislike was instinctive. After Betty had retired to her room, the brothers remained on the porch smoking. Betty's pretty keen, Jack. I never knew her to misjudge a man. Why, this sudden interest in Roger Brandt? The boarderman puffed his pipe in silence. Hey, Jack, Colonel Zane said suddenly. Do you connect Brandt in any way with this horse-dealing? No more than some, and less than others, replied Jonathan Curtley. Nothing more was said for a time. To the brothers this hour of early dusk brought the same fullness of peace. From gray twilight to gloomy dusk, quiet rained. The insects of night chirped in chorus with low, incessant home, from out of the darkness came the peeping of frogs. Suddenly the boarderman straightened up, and removing the pipe from his mouth turned his ear to the faint breeze, while at the same time one hand closed on a Colonel's knee with a warning clutch. Colonel Zane knew what that clutch signified. Some faint noise, too low for ordinary ears, had roused the boarderman. The Colonel listened, but heard nothing say the familiar evening sounds. Jack, what did you hear? he whispered. Something back at the barn, replied Jonathan, slipping noisesly off the steps, lying at full length with his ear close to the ground. Where's a dog? he asked. Chief must have gone with Zane, and Old Negro sometimes goes at this hour to see his daughter. Jonathan lay on the grass several moments, then suddenly he rose much as a bent sapling springs to place. I hear footsteps get the rifles. He said in a fierce whisper. Damn! There is someone in the barn. No, they're outside. Hurry but softly. Colonel Zane had but just risen to his feet when Mrs. Zane came to the door and called him by name. Instantly from somewhere in the darkness overhanging the road came a low warning whistle. A signal, exclaimed Colonel Zane. Quick, heb, look towards Metzger's light. One, two, three shadows, engines. By the Lord Harry, not a gone, but I couldn't mistake those round heads and bristling feathers. Johnny's, said the boarder man, and his teeth shut hard like steel on flint. Jack, they were after the horses and someone was on the lookout, my God, right under our noses. Hurry, cried Jonathan, pulling his brother out the porch. Colonel Zane followed the boarder man out of the yard into the road and across the grassy square. We might find the one who gave that signal, said to Colonel. He was near at hand and couldn't have passed the house. Colonel Zane was correct, for whoever had whistled would be forced to take one of two ways to escape, either down the straight road ahead or over the high-stockade fence of the fort. There he goes, whispered Jonathan, where I can't see a blame thing. Go across the square, run around the fort, and head him off on the road. Don't try to stop him, for he'll have weapons. Just find out who he is. I see him now, replied Colonel Zane as he hurried off into the darkness. During a few moments Jonathan kept in view the shadow he had seen first come out of the gloom by the stockade, and then passed swiftly down the road. He followed swiftly, silently, presently a light beyond through a glare across the road. He thought he was approaching a yard where there was a fire, and the flames proved to be from a pine cones burning in the yard of Helen Shepherd. He remembered then that she was entertaining some of the young people. The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jonathan made certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and he knew his eyesight too well not to trust its absolutely. Advancing nearer the yard he heard the murmur of voices and gay conversation, and soon saw figures moving about under the trees. No doubt was in his mind, but that the man who gave the signal to warn the Indians was one of Helen Shepherd's guests. Jonathan had walked across the street, then down the path, before he saw the Colonel coming from the opposite direction, halting under a maple he waited for his brother to approach. I didn't meet anyone. Did you lose him? Waspard Colonel Zane breathlessly. No, he's in there. That's Shepherd's place. Do you mean he's hiding there? No. Colonel Zane swore, as was his habit when exasperated, kind and generous man that he was, had went hard with him to believe in the guilt of any of the young men he had trusted. But Jonathan had said there was a traitor among them, and Colonel Zane did not question this assertion. He knew the borderman. During years full of strife and war and blood had lived beside this silent man, who said little, but that little was the truth, before Colonel Zane gave way to anger. Well, I'm not so damn surprised. What's to be done? Find out what men are there? That's easy. I'll go see George and soon have the truth. Won't do, said the borderman decisively. Go back to the barn. Look after the horses. When Colonel Zane had obeyed, Jonathan dropped to his hands and knees swiftly, with the agile movements of an Indian, gained a corner of the Shepherd Yard. He crouched in the shade of a big plum tree. Then, at a favorable opportunity, vaulted the fence and disappeared under a clump of lilac bushes. The evening wore away no more tediously to the borderman than to those young frontiersmen who were, whispering tender or playful words to their partners. Time and patience were the same to Jonathan Zane. He lay hidden under the fragrant loggs. His eyes accustomed to the dark from long practice, losing no movement of the guests. Finally it became evident that the party was at an end. One couple took the initiative and said good night to their hostess. Tom Bennett, I hope it's not you, whispered the borderman to himself, as he recognized the young fellow. A general movement followed, until the merry party were assembled about Helen near the front gate. Jim Morrison, I'll bet it's not you, was Jonathan's comment. That soldier Williams is doubtful. Art and Johnson being strangers are unknown quantities around here. And then comes Brant. All departed except Brant, who remained talking to Helen in low earnest tones. Jonathan lay very quietly, trying to decide what should be his next move in the unraveling of the mystery. He paid little attention to the young couple, but could not help overhearing their conversation. Indeed, Mr. Brant, you frontiersmen are not backward, Helen was saying in her clear voice. I am surprised to learn that you love me upon such short acquaintance. And I'm sorry, too, for I hardly know whether I even so much as like you. I love you. We men on the border do things rapidly, he replied earnestly. So it seems, she said with a soft laugh. Won't you care for me? he pleaded. Nothing is sureer than that I never know what I am going to do, Helen replied lightly. All these fellows are in love with you. They can't help it any more than I. You are the most glorious creature. Please give me hope. Mr. Brant let go of my hand. I'm afraid I don't like such impulsive men. Please let me hold your hand. Certainly not. But I will hold it. And if you look at me like that again, I'll do more, he said. What bold, sir frontiersmen! She returned lightly still, but in a voice which rang with a deeper note. I'll kiss you, he cried desperately. You wouldn't dare. Wouldn't I, though? You don't know us border fellows yet. You come here with that wonderful beauty and smile at us with that light in your eyes, which makes men mad. Oh, you'll pay for it. The borderman listened to all this love-making half disgusted, until he began to grow interested. Brant's back was turned to him, and Helen stood so that the light and the pine cone shone on her face. Her eyes were brilliant, otherwise she seemed a woman perfectly self-possessed. Brant held her hand despite the repeated efforts she made to free it. But she did not struggle violently or make an outcry. Suddenly Brant grasped her other hand, pulling her toward him. These other fellows will kiss you. And I'm going to be the first, he declared passionately. Helen drew back, now thoroughly alarmed by the man's fierce energy. She had been warned against his very boldness in frontiersmen. But it felt secure in her own pride and dignity. Her blood boiled at the thought that she must exert strength through escape insult. She struggled violently. When Brant bent his head, almost sick with fear, she had determined to call for help when a violent wrench almost toppled her over. At the same instant, her wrists were freed. She heard a fierce cry, a resounding blow, and then a sudden thud of a heavy body, falling. Recovering her balance, she saw a tall figure beside her, and a man in the act of rising from the ground. You, whispered Helen, recognizing the tall figure as Jonathan's. The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping his hand inside his hunting frock. Brant sprang nimbrily to his feet, and with a face which, even in the dim light, could be seen distorted with fury, bent forward to look at the stranger. He, too, had his hand within his coat, as if grasping a weapon. But he did not draw it. Saying a lighter blow would have been easier to forget, he cried his voice clear and cutting. Then he turned to the girl. Miss Helen, I got what I deserved. I crave your forgiveness and ask you to understand a man who was once a gentleman. If I am one no longer, the frontier is to blame. I was mad to treat you as I did. Thus speaking, he bowed low with the grace of a man sometimes used to the society of ladies, and then went out of the gate. Where did you come from? asked Helen, looking up at Jonathan. He pointed under the lilac bushes. Were you there? she asked, wonderingly. Did you hear all? Couldn't help her, and it was fortunate for me, but why were you there? Helen came a step nearer and regarded him curiously with her great eyes now black with the excitement. The border man was silent. Helen's softened mood changed instantly. There was nothing in his cold face which might have betrayed him a sentiment similar to that of her admirers. Did you spy on me? she asked quickly. After a moment's thought. No, replied Jonathan Connolly. Helen gazed in perplexity at this strange man. She did not know how to explain it. She was irritated. But did her best to conceal it. He had no interest in her, yet had hidden under the lilacs in her yard. She was grateful because he had saved her from annoyance. It could not fathom his reason for being so near. Did you come here to see me, she asked, for getting your vexation? No. What for, then? I reckon I won't say was the quiet, deliberate refusal. Helen stamped her foot in exasperation. Be careful that I did not put a wrong construction on your strange action, she said coldly. If you have reasons, you might trust me. If you are only shh! He breathed, grasping a wrist and holding it firmly in his powerful hand. The whole attitude of the man altered swiftly, subtly. The listlessness was gone, his life-body became rigid as he leaned forward, his head toward the ground, and turned slightly, in a manner that beatoka and intent listening. Helen trembled as she felt his powerful frame quiver. Whatever had thus changed him gave her another glimpse of his complex personality. It seemed to her incredible that, with one whispered exclamation, this man could change from cold indifference to a fire and force so strong as to dominate her. Statue-like, she remained listening, but hearing no sound, and thrillingly conscious of the hand on her arm. Far up on the hillside, an owl hooted dismally, in an insulator faint and far away came an answer so low as to be almost indistinct. The borderman raised himself erect as he released her. It's only an owl, she said, in relief. Her eyes gleamed like stars. It's what's all and it means engines. Then he was gone, into the darkness. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of The Last Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Mike Vendetti, MikeVendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 5 In the misty morning twilight, Colonel Zane, fully armed, paced to and fro before his cabin, on guard. All night he had maintained a watch. He had not considered it necessary to send his family into the fort, to which they had often been compelled to flee. On the previous night Jonathan had come swiftly back to the cabin, and speaking but two words, seized his weapons and vanished into the black night. The words were engines, Wetzel. And there were none others, with more power to affect hearers on the border. The Colonel believed that Wetzel had signaled to Jonathan. On the west a deep gully with precipitous sides separated the settlement from a high wooded bluff. Wetzel often returned from his journeying by this difficult route. He had no doubt seen Indian signs and had communicated the intelligence to Jonathan, by their system of nightbird calls. The nearness of the mighty hunter reassured Colonel Zane. When the Colonel returned from his chase of the previous night, he went directly into the stable. There to find that the Indians had made off with a thoroughbred and Betty's pony. Colonel Zane was furious, not on the count of the value of the horses, but because Bess was his favorite bay, and Betty loved nothing more than her pony Madcap. To have such a march stolen on him after he had seen and heard the thieves, was indeed hard. High time it was that these horse thieves be run to earth. No Indian had planned these marauding expeditions. An intelligent white man was at the bottom of the thieving, and he should pay for his treachery. The Colonel's temper, however, soon cooled. He realized after thinking over the matter, that he was fortunate it passed off without bloodshed. Very likely the intent had been to get all his horses, perhaps his neighbors as well, and it had been partly frustrated by Jonathan's keen sagacity. These Shawnees, white leader or not, would never again run such risks. It's like a sulking Shawnee, muttered Colonel Zane, to slip down here under cover of early dusk when no one but an Indian hunter could detect him. I didn't look for trouble, especially so soon after the lesson we gave Gertie, and his damned English and Redskins. It's lucky Jonathan was here. I'll go back to the old plan of stationing scouts at the outposts until snow flies. While Colonel Zane talked to himself and paced the path he had selected to patrol, the white mist cleared, and a rosy hue followed the brightening in the east. The birds ceased twittering to break into gay songs in the cock in the barnyard, gave one final clarion-voiced salute to the dawn. The rose in the east deepened into rich red, and then the sun peeped over the eastern hill-tops to drench the valley with glad golden light. A blue smoke curling lazily from the stone chimney of his cabin showed that Sam had made the kitchen fire, and a little later a rich savory odor gave pleasing evidence that his wife was cooking breakfast. Any sign of Jack? A voice called from the open door and Betty appeared. Nary sign. Of the Indians then? Well, Betts, they left you a token of the regard. And Colonel Zane smiled as he took a broken halter from the fence. Madcap! cried Betty. Yes, they taken Madcap and Bess. All the villains poor Pony exclaimed Betty indignantly. Yep, I'll coax Wetzel to fetch the Pony home if he has to kill every Shawnee in the valley. Now you're talking, Betts. Colonel Zane replied. If you could get Lou to do that much, you'd be blessed from one end of the border to the other. He walked up the road then back, keeping a sharp look out on all sides, and bestowing a particularly keen glance at the hillside across the ravine, but could see no sign of the bordermen. As it was now broad daylight he felt convinced that further watch was unnecessary, and went to breakfast. When he came out again the villagers were a stirrer. The sharp strokes of axes rang out on the clear morning air, and a mellow anvil clang pealed up from the blacksmith's shop. Colonel Zane found his brother Silas and Jim Downs near the gate. Morning, boys, said cheerly. Any glimpse of Jack or Lou, asked Silas? No, but I'm expecting one of them any moment. How about the Indians, asked Duns. Silas roused me out last night, but didn't stay long enough to say more than Indians. I don't know much more than Silas. I saw several of the red devils who stole the horses. But how many, where they've gone, or what word to expect, I can't say. We've got to wait for Jack or Lou. Silas, keep the garrison in readiness at the fort, and don't allow a man, soldier, or farmer to leave the clearing until further orders. Perhaps there were only three of those Shawnees, and then again the woods might have been full of them. I take it something's amiss, or Jack and Lou would be in by now. Here comes Shepard and his girl, said Silas, pointing down the lane. Appears George as some excited. Colonel Zane had much the same idea as he saw Shepard and his daughter. The old man appeared in a hurry, which was sufficient reason to believe him anxious or alarmed, and Helen looked pale. Hey, but what's this I hear about Indians? Shepard asked excitedly. What was Helen's story about the fort being besieged, and this brother of yours routing honest people from their beds? I haven't had a wink of sleep. What's up? Where are the redskins? Now, George, be easy, said Colonel Zane calmly. And you, Helen, mustn't be frightened. There's no danger. We did have a visit from Indians last night, but they hurt no one, and, God, only two horses. Oh, I'm so relieved that it's not worse, said Helen. It's bad enough, Helen. Betty cried her black eyes flashing. My pony madcap is gone. Colonel Zane, come here quick, cried Downes, who stood near the gate. With one leap Colonel Zane was at the gate. And following with his eyes the direction indicated by Downes' trembling finger, he saw two tall brown figures striding down the lane. One carried two rifles, and the other a long bundle wrapped in a blanket. It's Jack and Wetzel, whispered Colonel Zane to Jim. They've got the girl. And by God, from the way that bundle hangs, I think she's dead. Here, he added, speaking loudly, you women get into the house. Mrs. Zane, Betty, and Helen started. Go into the house, he cried authoritatively. Without a protest the three women obeyed. At that moment Nellie Downes came across the lane, Sam shuffled out from the backyard, and Shepard arose from his seat on the steps. They joined Colonel Zane, Silas, and Jim at the gate. I wondered what kept you so late, Colonel Zane said to Jonathan, as he and his companion came up. You've fetched Mabel, and jeez. The good man could say no more. If he should live on a hundred years on the border amid savage murderers, he would still be tender-hearted. Just now he believed the giant boarderman by the side of Jonathan held a dead girl, one whom he had danced when a child upon his knee. Mabel, and just alive, replied Jonathan. By God, I'm glad, exclaimed Colonel Zane. Here, Lou, give her to me. Wetzel relinquished his burden to the Colonel. Lou, any bad engine sign, asked Colonel Zane as he turned to go into the house? The boarderman shook his head. Wait for me, added the Colonel. He carried the girl into that apartment in the cabin, which served the purpose of a sitting room, and laid her on the couch. He gently removed the folds of the blanket, disclosing to view a white-faced fragile girl. Best hurry, hurry! He screamed to his wife, and as she came running in, followed no less hurriedly by Betty, Helen, and Nelly. He continued, Here's Mabel Lane, alive, poor child, but in sore need of help. First see whether she has any bodily injury. If a bullet must be cut out or a knife wound sewed up, it's better she remained unconscious. Betty, run for Best's Instruments and bring Brandy and Water, lively now. Then he gave vent to an oath and left the room. Helen, her heart throbbing wildly, went to the side of Mrs. Zane, who was kneeling by the couch. She saw a delicate girl, not over eighteen years old with the face that would have been beautiful, but for the set lips, the closed eyelids, and an expression of intense pain. Oh, breathe, Helen. Now hand me the scissors, said Mr. Zane, and help me take off this dress. Why, it's wet, but thank goodness to is not with blood. I know that slippery touch too well. There, that's right. Betty, give me a spoonful of Brandy, now heat a blanket, and get one of your Lindsey Gowns for this poor child. Helen watched Mrs. Zane as if fascinated. The Colonel's wife continued to talk while with deaf fingers she forced a few drops of Brandy between the girl's closed teeth. Then, with the adroitness of a skilled surgeon, she made the examination. Helen had heard of this pioneer woman's skill in setting broken bones and treating injuries, and when she looked from the calm face to the steady fingers she had no doubt as to the truth of what had been told. Neither bullet wound, cut, bruised, nor broken bone, said Mrs. Zane. It's fear, starvation, and the terrible shock. She rubbed Mabel's hands while gazing at her pale face. Then she forced more Brandy between the tightly closed lips. She was rewarded, by ever so faint a color, tinging the wand's cheeks, to be followed by a fluttering of the eyelids. Then the eyes opened wide, they were large, soft, dark, and humid, with agony. Helen could not bear their gaze. She saw the shadow of death, and of worse than death. She looked away, while in her heart was a storm of passionate fury at the brutes who had made this tender girl a wreck. The room was full of women now, sober-faced matrons and gravide girls, yet all wore the same expression, not alone of anger, nor fear, nor pity, but of all combined. Helen instinctively felt that this was one of the trials of border endurance, and she knew from the sterner faces of the mature women that such a trial was familiar. Despite all she had been told, the shock and pain were too great, and she went out of the room sobbing. She almost fell over the broad back of Jonathan Zane, who was sitting on the steps near him, stood Colonel Zane, talking with a tall man, clad in faded buckskin. "'Lass, you shouldn't have stayed,' said Colonel Zane kindly. "'It's hurt me here,' said Helen, placing her hand over her heart. "'Yes, I know, I know. Of course it has.' He replied, taking her hand. But be brave. Helen, bear up, bear up. Oh, this border is a stern place. Do not think of that poor girl. Come, let me introduce Jonathan's friend, Wetzel.' Helen looked up and held out her hand. She saw a very tall man with extremely broad shoulders, a mass of raven black hair, and a white face. He stepped forward and took her hand in his huge horny palm, pressing it. He stepped back without speaking. Colonel Zane talked to her in a soothing voice, but she failed to hear what he said. This Wetzel, this Indian hunter whom she had heard called Death Wind, of the border, this companion-guide teacher of Jonathan Zane, this border man of wonderful deeds, stood before her. Helen saw a cold face, deathly, in its pallor. Lighted by eyes, slow black, but like glinting steel, striking as were those features they failed to fascinate as did the strange tracing, which apparently showed through the white-drawn skin. This first repelled, then drew her with wonderful force. Suffering of fire and frost and iron was written there, and stronger than all, so potent as to cause fear could be read the terrible purpose of this man's tragic life. You avenged her. Oh, I know you did, cried Helen, her whole heart leaping with a blaze to her eyes. She was answered by a smile, but such a smile. Kindly it broke over the stern face, giving a glimpse of a heart still warm beneath that steely cold. Behind it, too. There was something fateful, something deadly. Helen knew, though the border man spoke not, that somewhere among the grasses of the broad plains, or on the moss of the wooded hills, lay dead the perpetrators of this outrage, their stillfaces bearing the ghastly stamp of deathwind.