 Chapter 12 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Chapter 12. The Groves Were God's First Temples From dawn until noon on Sunday, bands of Indians arrived at the village of Peace. Hundreds of canoes glided down the swift stream and bumped their prowls into the pebbly beach. Groups of mounted warriors rode out of the forests into the clearing. Squas with papooses, maidens carrying wicker baskets, and children playing with rude toys came trooping along the bridal paths. Gifts were presented during the morning, after which the visitors were feasted. In the afternoon all assembled in the grove to hear the preaching. The maple grove wherein the service was to be conducted might have been intended by nature for just such a purpose as it now fulfilled. These trees were large, spreading, and situated far apart. Mossy stones and the thick carpet of grass afforded seats for the congregation. Heckwelder, a tall, spare, and kindly appearing man, directed the arranging of the congregation. He placed the converted Indians just behind the knoll upon which the presiding minister was to stand. In a half-circle facing the knoll, he seated the chieftains and important personages of the various tribes. He then made a short address in the Indian language, speaking of the work of the mission. What wonders it had accomplished, what more good work it hoped to do, and concluded by introducing the young missionary. While Heckwelder spoke, Jim, who stood just behind, employed the few moments in running his eye over the multitude, the sight which met his gaze was one he thought he would never forget. An involuntary word escaped him. Magnificent, he exclaimed. The shady glen had been transformed into a theater, from which gazed a thousand dark, still faces, a thousand eagle plumes waved, and ten thousand bright-hued feathers quivered in the soft breeze. The fantastically dressed scalps presented a contrast to the smooth, unadorned heads of the converted red men. These proud plumes and defiant feathers told the difference between savage and Christian. In front of the knoll sat fifty chiefs, attentive and dignified. Representatives of every tribe as far west as the Sciota River were numbered in that circle. There were chiefs renowned for war, for cunning, for valor, for wisdom. Their stately presence gave the meeting tenfold importance. Could these chiefs be interested, moved, the whole western world of Indians might be civilized. Hepote, a mommy chief of whom it was said he had never listened to words of the paleface, had the central position in this circle. On his right and left, respectively, sat Scioto and Pipe, implacable foes of all white men. The latter's aspect did not belie his reputation. His copper-colored repulsive visage compelled fear. It breathed vindictiveness and malignity. A singular action of his was that he always, in what must have been his arrogant vanity, turned his profile to those who watched him. And it was a remarkable one. It sloped in an oblique line from the top of his forehead to his protruding chin, resembling somewhat the carved bowl of his pipe with was of flint, and a famed inheritance from his ancestors. From it he took his name. One solitary eagle-plume, its tip stained vermilion, stuck from his scalp-lock. It slanted backward on a line with his profile. Among all these chiefs, striking as they were, the figure of Winganund, the Delaware, stood out alone. His position was at the extreme left of the circle, where he leaned against a maple. A long black mantle, trimmed with spotless white, enveloped him. One bronze-darm, circled by a heavy bracelet of gold, held the mantle close about his lofty form. His headdress, which trailed to the ground, was exceedingly beautiful. The eagle-plumes were of uniform length and pure white, except the black-pointed tips. At his feet sat his daughter, whispering winds. Her maidens were gathered around her. She raised her soft black eyes, shining with the wondrous light of surprise and expectation to the young missionary's face. Beyond the circle the Indians were masked together, even beyond the limits of the glade. Under the trees on every side sat warriors astride their steeds. Some lounged on the green turf. Many reclined in the branches of low-spreading maples. As Jim looked out over the sea of faces, he started in surprise. The sudden glance of fiery eyes had impelled his gaze. He recognized Silver Tip, the Shawnee chief. The Indians sat motionless on a powerful black horse. Jim started again, for the horse was Joe's thoroughbred lats. But Jim had no further time to think of Joe's enemy, for heck-wellers stepped back. Jim took the vacated seat, and with a far-reaching, resonant voice began his discourse to the Indians. Chieftains, warriors, maidens, children of the forest, listen, and your ears shall hear no lie. I am come from where the sun rises to tell you of the great spirit of the white man. Many, many moons ago, as many as blades of grass grow on yonder plain, the great spirit of whom I shall speak created the world. He made the sparkling lakes and swift rivers, the boundless plains and tangled forests over which he caused the sun to shine and the rain to fall. He gave life to the kingly elk, the graceful deer, the rolling bison, the bear, the fox, all the beasts and birds and fishes. But he was not content, for nothing he made was perfect in his sight. He created the white man in his own image, and from this first man's rib he created his mate, a woman. He turned them free in a beautiful forest. Life was fair in the beautiful forest, the sun shone always, the birds sang, the waters flowed with music, the flowers cast sweet fragrance on the air. In this forest where fruit bloomed always was one tree, the tree of life, the apple of which they must not eat. In all this beautiful forest of abundance, this apple alone was forbidden then. Now evil was born with woman. A serpent tempted her to eat of the apple of life, and she tempted the man to eat. For their sin the great spirit commanded the serpent to crawl forever on his belly, and he drove them from the beautiful forest. The punishment for their sin was to be visted on their children's children always until the end of time. The two went afar into the dark forest to learn to live as best they might. From them all tribes descended. The world is wide. A warrior might run all his days and not reach the setting sun where tribes of yellow skins live. He might travel half his days toward the south wind where tribes of black skins abound. People of all colors inhabited the world. They lived in hatred toward one another. They shed each other's blood. They stole each other's land, gold, and women. They sinned. Many moons ago the great spirit sorrowed to see his chosen tribe, the pale faces living in ignorance and sin. He sent his only son to redeem them, and said if they would listen and believe and teach the other tribes, he would forgive their sin and welcome them to the beautiful forest. That was moons and moons ago, when the pale faced killed his brother for gold and lands and beat his women slaves to make them plant his corn. The son of the great spirit lifted the cloud from the pale faces' eyes and they saw and learned. So pleased was the great spirit that he made the pale faces wiser and wiser and master of the world. He bid them go afar to teach the ignorant tribes. To teach you is why the young pale faced journeyed from the rising sun. He wants no lands or power. He has given all that he had. He walks among you without gun or knife. He can gain nothing but the happiness of opening the red men's eyes. The great spirit of whom I teach, and the great manitou, your idol, are the same. The happy hunting ground of the Indian and the beautiful forest of the pale face are the same. The pale face and the red men are the same. There is but one great spirit that is God, but one eternal home that is heaven, but one human being that is man. The Indian knows the habits of the beaver. He can follow the paths of the forest. He can guide his canoe through the foaming rapids. He is honest. He is brave. He is great. But he is not wise. His wisdom is clouded with the original sin. He lives in idleness. He paints his face. He makes his squaw labor for him instead of laboring for her. He kills his brothers. He worships the trees and rocks. If he were wise, he would not make gods of the swift arrow and bounding canoe, of the flowering ash and the flaming flint, for these things have not life. In his dreams he sees his arrow speed to the reeling deer. In his dreams he sees his canoe shoot over the crest of shining waves. And in his mind he gives them life. When his eyes are opened he will see they have no spirit. The spirit is in his own heart. It guides the arrow to the running deer and steers the canoe over the swirling current. The spirit makes him find the untrodden paths and do brave deeds and love his children and his honor. It makes him meet his foe face to face. And if he is to die it gives him strength to die, a man. The spirit is what makes him different from the arrow, the canoe, the mountain and all the birds and beasts. For it is born of the great spirit, the creator of all. Him you must worship. Redmen, this worship is understanding your spirit and teaching it to do good deeds. It is called Christianity. Christianity is love. If you will love the great spirit you will love your wives, your children, your brothers, your friends, your foes. You will love the pale faces. No more will you idle in winter and wage wars in summer. You will wear your knife and tomahawk only when you hunt for meat. You will be kind, gentle, loving, virtuous. You will have grown wise. When your days are done you will meet all your loved ones in the beautiful forest. There where the flowers bloom the fruits ripen always where the pleasant water glides and the summer winds whisper sweetly their peace will dwell forever. Comrades, be wise. Think earnestly. Forget the wicked pale face for there are many wicked pale faces. They sell the serpent fire water. They lie and steal and kill. These pale faces' eyes are still clouded. If they do not open they will never see the beautiful forest. You have much to forgive but those who forgive please the great spirit. You must give yourselves to love but those who love are loved. You must work but those who work are happy. Behold a village apiece. Once it contained few now there are many where once the dark forest shaded the land see the cabins, the farms, the horses, the cattle field on field of waving gold and grain shine there under your eyes. The earth has blossomed abundance. Idling and fighting made not these rich harvests. Belief made love. Love made wise eyes. Wise eyes saw and lo, there came plenty. The proof of love is happiness. These Christian Indians are happy. They are at peace with the red man and the pale face. They kill the fields and work in the shops. In days to come cabins and farms and fields of corn will be theirs. They will bring up their children not to hide in the forest to slay but to walk hand in hand with the pale faces as equals. Oh, open your ears. God speaks to you. Peace awaits you. Cast the bitterness from your hearts. It is the serpent poison. While you hate God shuts his eyes. You are great on the trail in the council in war. Now be great in forgiveness. Forgive the pale faces who have robbed you of your lands. Then will come peace. If you do not forgive the war will go on. You will lose lands and homes to find unmarked graves under the forest leaves. Revenge is sweet but it is not wise. The price of revenge is blood and life. Root it out of your hearts. Love these Christian Indians. Love the missionaries as they love you. Love all living creatures. Your days are but few. Therefore cease the strife. Let us say brothers, that is God's word. His law. That is love. That is Christianity. If you will say from your heart, brother, you are a Christian. Brothers the pale face teacher beseeches you. Think not of this long bloody war of your dishonored dead, of your silenced wigwams, of your nameless graves, of your homeless children. Think of the future. One word from you will make peace over all this broad land. The pale face will honor a Christian. He can steal no Christian's land. All the pale faces as many as the stars of the great white path dare not invade the village of peace. For God smiles here. Listen to his words. Come unto me all that are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest The altitude brooded an impressive solemn silence. Then an aged Delaware chief rose with a mean a profound thought and slowly paced before the circle of chiefs. Presently he stopped, turned to the waiting Indians and spoke. Not a white weas is almost persuaded to be a Christian. He resumed his seat. Another interval of penetrating quiet ensued. At length the venerable looking chieftain got up. White dyes hears the rumbling thunder in his ears. The smoke blows from his eyes. White dyes is the oldest chief of the Lenny Lenape. His days are many. They are full. They draw near the evening of his life. He rejoices that wisdom is come before his son is set. White dyes believes the young white father. The ways of the great spirit are many as the fluttering leaves. They are strange and secret as the flight of a loom. White dyes believes the red man's happy hunting grounds need not be forgotten to love the pale faces God. As a young brave pants and puzzles over his first trail so the grown warrior feels in his understanding of his God he crops blindly through dark caravans. White dyes speaks few words today. For he is learning wisdom. He bids his people harken to the voice of the white father. War is wrong. Peace is best. Love is the way to peace. The pale face advances one step nearer his God. He labors for his home. He keeps the peace. He asks but little he frees his women. That is well. White dyes has spoken. The old chief slowly advanced toward the Christian Indians. He laid aside his knife and tomahawk and then his eco plumes and warp on it. Bear headed. He seated himself among the converted red men. They began chanting in low murmuring tones. Amid the breathless silence that followed this act of such great significance wing and und advanced toward the knoll with slows quickly stepped. His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn. His glance alone revealed the passion that swayed him. Wing and und's ears are keen. They have heard a feather fall in the storm. Now they hear a soft voice thresh. Wing and und tenders to his people, to his friends, to the chiefs of other tribes. Do not bury the hatchet. A young white father's tongue runs smooth like the gliding brook. It sings as the thresh calls its mate. Listen. But wait. Wait. Yet time prove his beautiful tale. Let the moons go by over the village of peace. Wing and und does not flot his wisdom. He has grown old among the warriors. He loves them. He fears for them. The dream of the pear faces beautiful forest glimmers as the rainbow glows over the laughing falls of the river. The dream of the pear face is too beautiful to come true. In the days of long ago when Wing and und's forefathers heard not the pear faces acts they lived in love and happiness such as the young white father dreams to come again. They waged no wars. A white dove sat in every wig warm. The lands were theirs and they were rich. The pear face came with his lead and death, his burning fire water, his ringing axe and the glory of the Redmond faded forever. Wing and und seeks not to inflame his braves to anger. He is sick of blood spilling, for Wing and und can not feel fear. But he asks his people to wait. Remember the gifts of the pear face ever contained a poisoned arrow. Wing and und's heart is sore. The day of the red man is gone. His son is setting. Wing and und feels already the gray shades of evening. He stopped one long moment as if to gather breath for his final charge to his listeners. Then with a magnificent gesture he thundered, is the Delaware a fool when Wing and und can cross unarmed to the big water. He shall change his mind when death when ceases to blow his bloody trail over the fallen leaves. Wing and und will believe. End of Chapter 12 The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Chapter 13 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray by Leonard Wilson Chapter 13 Chapter 13 As the summer waned each succeeding day with its melancholy calm, its changing lights and shades, damp evening winds growing more and more suggestive of autumn, the little colony of white people in the village of peace led busy, eventful lives. Upwards of fifty Indians, several of them important chiefs had become converted since the young missionary began preaching. Heckwilder declared that this was a wonderful showing, and if it could be kept up would result in gaining a hold on the Indian tribes which might not be shaken. Heckwilder had succeeded in interesting the savages west of the village of peace to the extent of permitting him to establish missionary posts in two other localities, one near gosh Hawking, a Delaware town, and one on the Muskingong, the principal river running through central Ohio. He had with his helpers, young and Edwards, journeyed from time to time to these points, preaching, making gifts, and soliciting help from chiefs. The most interesting feature, perhaps of the varied life of the missionary party, was a rivalry between young and Edwards for the elder Miss Wells. Usually, Nells attractiveness appealed more to men than Cates. However, in this instance, although the sober teachers of the gospel admired Nells whence in duty, they fell in love with Cate. The missionaries were both under 40 and good, honest men devoted to the work which had encroached them for years. Although they were ardent lovers, certainly they were not picturesque. Too homelier men could hardly have been found. Moreover, the sacrifice of their lives to missionary work had taken them far from the companionship of women of their own race, so that they lacked the ease of manner which women liked to see in men. Young and Edwards were awkward, almost uncouth. Embarrassment would not have done justice to their state of feeling while basking in the shine of Cates' quiet smile. They were happy, foolish, and speechless. If Cate shared in the merriment of the others, Beckwalder could not conceal his and Nell did not try very hard to hide hers. She never allowed a suspicion of it to escape. She kept the easy, even tenor of her life, always kind and gracious in her quaint way and precisely the same to both her lovers. No doubt she well knew that each possessed, under all his rub exterior, a heart of gold. One day the genial Hackwalder lost or pretended to lose his patience. Say you worthy gentlemen are becoming ornamental instead of useful. All this changing of coats, tashes, and eloquence sighing doesn't seem to have affected the young lady. I have a notion to send you both to Maumee Town, one hundred miles away. This young lady is charming, I admit, but if she is to keep on seriously hindering the work of the Moravian mission, I must object. As for that matter I might try conclusions myself. I'm as young as either of you and I flatter myself, much harsher. You'll have a dangerous rival presently. Settle it. You can't both have her. Settle it. This outburst from their usually kind leader placed the earnest but awkward gentleman in a terrible plight. On the afternoon following the crisis Hackwalder took Mr. Wells to one of the Indian shops and Jim and Elle went canoeing. Young and Edwards, after conferring for one long, trying hour, determined on settling the question. Young was a pale, slight man, very homely except when he smiled. His smile not only broke up the plainness of his face, but seemed to chase away a serious shadow, allowing his kindly gentle spirit to shine through. He was nervous and had a timid manner. Edwards was his opposite, being a man of robust frame with a heavy face and a manner that would have suggested confidence in another man. They were true and tried friends. Dave, I couldn't ask her, said young, trembling at the very thought. Besides, there's no hope for me. I know it. That's why I'm afraid why I don't want to ask her. What is such a glorious creature see in a poor, puny little thing like me? But George, you're not overhatsom, admitted Dave, shaking his head. But you can never tell about women. Sometimes they like even little and significant fellows. Don't be too scared about asking her. Besides, it will make it easier for me. You might tell her about me, you know, sort of feel her out, so I'd... Dave's voice failed him here, but he had said enough. And that was most discouraging to poor George. Dave was so busy screwing up his courage that he forgot all about his friend. No, I couldn't gasp George falling into a chair. He was ghastly pale. I couldn't ask her to accept me, let alone do another man's wooing. She thinks more of you. She'll accept you. You really think so, whispered Dave nervously. I know she will. You're such a fine, big figure of a man. She'll take you. And I'll be glad. This fever and fretting has about finished me. When she's yours, I'll not be so bad. I'll be happy in your happiness. But Dave, you'll let me see her occasionally, won't you? Go, hurry, get it over. Yes, we must have it over, replied Dave, getting up with a brave effort. Truly, if he carried that determined fret to his lady love, he would look like a masterful lover. But when he got to the door, he did not at all resemble a conqueror. You're sure she cares for me as Dave for the hundredth time? As always, his friend was faithful and convincing. I know she does. Go, hurry, I tell you I can't stand this any longer, cried George, pushing Dave out of the door. You won't go first, whispered Dave, clinging to the door. I won't go at all. I couldn't ask her. I don't want her. Go, get out. Dave started reluctantly toward the adjoining cabin from the open window of which came the young woman who was responsible for all this trouble. George flung himself on his bed. What a relief to feel it was all over. He lay there with eyes shut for hours, as it seemed. After a time, Dave came in. George leaped to his feet and saw his friends stumbling over a chair. Somehow Dave did not look as usual. He seemed changed or shrunken and his face wore a discomforted, miserable expression. Well, cried George sharply. Even to his highly excited imagination, this did not seem the proper condition for a victorious lover. She refused refused me, faltered Dave. She was very sweet and shy and said something about being my sister. I don't remember just what, but she wouldn't have me. Well, what did you say to her, whispered George, a paralyzing hope almost rendering him speechless? I told her everything I could think of, replied Dave despondently, even what you said. What I said, Dave, what did you tell her I said? Why, you know about she cared for me that you were sure of it and that you didn't want her. Jackass! Lord George, rising out of his meekness like a lion roused from slumber. Oh, didn't you say so, inquired Dave weakly? No, no, no, idiot! As one possessed, George rushed out of the cabin and a moment later stood disheveled and frantic before Kate. Did that fool say I didn't love you, he demanded. Kate looked up startled, but as an understanding of George's wild aspect and wilder words stoned upon her, she resumed her usual calm demeanor. Looking again to see if this passionate young man was indeed George, her face, as she said. If you mean Mr. Edwards, yes, I believe he did say as much. Indeed, from his manner, he seemed to have monopolized all the love near the village apiece. But it's not true, I do love you. I love you to distraction. I have loved you ever since I first saw you. I told Dave that. Heckwilder knows it, even the Indians know it, cried George, protesting vehemently against the disparaging illusion to his affections. He did not realize he was making a most impassioned declaration of love. When he was quite on a breath he sat down and wiped his voiced brow. A pink bloom tinged Kate's cheeks and her eyes glued with a happy light. But George never saw these womanly evidences of pleasure. Of course I know you don't care for me. Did Mr. Edwards tell you so? Ask Kate, glancing up quickly. Well, yes, he's often said he thought that. Indeed, he always seemed to regard himself as the fortunate object of your affections. I always believed he was. But it wasn't true. What? It's not true. What's not true? Oh, about my not caring. Kate, cried George, quite overcome with rapture. He fell over two chairs getting to her. But he succeeded and fell on his knees to kiss her hand. Foolish boy, it has been you all the time, whispered Kate, with her quiet smile. Look here, Downes, come to the door. See there, said Heckwilder to Jim. Somewhat surprised at Heckwilder's grave tone Jim got up from the supper table and looked out of the door. He saw two tall Indians pacing to and fro under the maples. It was still early twilight and light enough to see clearly. One Indian was almost naked, the lithe, graceful symmetry of his dark figure standing out in sharp contrast to the gaunt, godly, accustomed form of the other. Silver tip, Gertie, exclaimed Jim in a low voice. Gertie, I know, of course, but I was not sure the other was the Shawnee who captured you and your brother, replied Heckwilder, drawing Jim into another room. What did they mean by loitering around the village? It wired Jim apprehensively. Whenever he heard Gertie's name mentioned or even thought of him, he remembered with a shudder the renegade's allusion to the buzzards. Jim never saw one of these carrion birds soaring overhead, but his thoughts instantly reverted to the frontier Ruffian and his horrible craving. I don't know, answered Heckwilder. Gertie has been here several times of late. I saw him conferring with Pipe at goshhawking. I hope there's no devil to your foot. Pipe is a relentless enemy of all Christians, and Gertie is a fiend, a hyena. I think perhaps it will be well for you and the girls to stay indoors while Gertie and Silver Tip are in the village. That evening the entire missionary party were gathered in Mr. Well's room. The older told stories of Indian life, Mel sang several songs, and Cates told many amusing things, said and done by the little Indian boys in her class at the school. Thus the evening passed pleasantly for all. So next Wednesday I am to perform the great ceremony, remarked Heckwilder, laying his hand kindly on Young's knee. We'll celebrate the first white wedding in the village of peace. He looked shyly down at his boots. Edwards crossed one leg over the other and coughed loudly to hide his embarrassment. Kate wore, as usual, her pensive smile. Mel's eyes twinkled and she was about to speak, when Heckwilder's quizzical glance in her direction made her lips mute. I hope I'll have another wedding on my hand soon, he said, pleasantly. This ordinary remark had an extraordinary effect. The girl turned with burning cheeks and looked out of the window. Jum frowned fiercely and bit his lips. Edwards began to laugh and even Mr. Wells' serious face laughed into a smile. I mean, I've picked out a nice little Delaware squaw for Dave, said Heckwilder, seeing his badenage had somehow gone amiss. Oh, suddenly quiet in hell and shuddering tones. They all gazed at her in amazement. Every vestige of color had receded from her face, leaving it marble-like. Her eyes were fixed in startled horror. Suddenly she relaxed her grasp on the window sill and fell back limp and senseless. Heckwilder ran to the door to look out, while the others bent over the unconscious girl endeavouring to revive her. Presently a fluttering breath and a quivering of her dark lashes noted a return of suspended life. Her beautiful eyes opened wide to gaze with wonder and fear into the grave faces bent so anxiously over her. Nell, dearest, you're safe! What was it? What frightened you so? said Kate tenderly. Oh, it was fearful gasp Nell sitting up. She clung to her sister with one hand while the other grasped Jim's sleeve. I was looking out into the dark when suddenly I beheld a face, a terrible face cried Nell. Those who watched her marvelled at the shrinking awful fear in her eyes. It was right by the window I could have touched it. Such a greedy wolfish face with a long hooked nose. The eyes! Oh, the eyes! I'll never forget them. They made me sick. They paralyzed me. It wasn't an Indian's face. That white man, that awful white man I never saw him before but I knew him. Gertie, said Heckwaller who had come in with his quiet step. He looked in at the window. Calm yourself, Nellie. The renegade has gone. The incident worried them all at the time and made Nell nervous for several days but as Gertie had disappeared and nothing more was heard of him gradually they forgot. Kate's wedding day dawned with all the little party well and happy. Early in the afternoon Gem and Nell, accompanied by Kate and her lover, started out into the woods just beyond the clearing for the purpose of gathering wild flowers to decorate the cabin. We are both thinking of him, Gem said, after he and Nell had walked some little distance in silence. Yes, answered Nell simply. I hope I pray Joe comes back but if he doesn't, Nell won't you care a little for me? He received no answer but Nell turned her face away. We both loved him if he's gone forever our very love for him should bring us together. I know he would have wished that. Gem, don't speak of love to me now, she whispered. Then she turned to the others. Come quickly, here are great clusters of wild glibatus and goldenrod. How lovely! Let us gather a quantity. The young men had almost buried the girls under huge masses of the beautiful flowers when the soft tread of moccasin feet caused them all to turn in surprise. Six savages stood waist deep in the bushes where they had lain concealed. Fierce painted visages fouled from behind leveled rifles. Don't yell, cried a horse voice in English. Following the voice came a snapping of twigs and then two other figures came into view. They were Gertie and Silver Tip. Don't yell or I'll leave you laying here for the buzzards, said the renegade. He stepped forward and grasped young at the same time speaking in the Indian language and pointing to a nearby tree. Strange to relate, he apparently wanted no bloodshed. While one of the savages began to tie young to the tree, Gertie turned his gaze on the girls. His little yellow eyes glinted. He stroked his chin with a bony hand and his dark, repulsive face was reathed in a terrible, meaning smile. I've been laying for you, he croaked, eye knell. You're the prettiest lass that may be Betzane I ever seen on the border. She did out in her, but I've got you. Harder I feed your engine, preacher to the buzzards. Baby, you learn to love me. Nell gazed one instant into the monster's face. Her terror-stricken eyes were piteous to behold. She tried to speak, but her voice failed. Then, like a stricken bird, she fell on the grass. End of chapter 13 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Chapter 14 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. This leap of ox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Chapter 14 Not many miles from the village of Peace rose an irrigator chain of hills, the first faint indications of the Grand Appalachian Mountain System. These ridges were thickly wooded with white oak, poplar, and hickory, among which a sentinel pine reared here and there its evergreen head. There were clefts in the hills, passes lined by gravestoned cliffs, below which ran clear brooks, tumbling over rocks in a hurry to meet their majestic father, the Ohio. One of these valleys, so narrow that the sun seldom brightened the merry brook, made a deep cut in the rocks. The head of this valley tapered until the walls nearly met. It seemed to lose itself in the shade of fern-faced cliffs, shadowed as they were by fir trees leaning over the brink, as though to search for secrets of the ravine. So deep and dark and cool was a sequestered milk that here late summer had not dislodged early spring. Everywhere was a soft, fresh, bright green. The old gray cliffs were festooned with ferns, lichens, and moss. Under a great shelving rock, damp and stained by the copper-coloured water dripping down its side, was a dewy dell into which the sunshine had never peeped. Here the swift brook tarried lovingly, making a wide turn under the cliff, as though loathed to leave this quiet nook, and then leaped once more to enthusiasm in its murmuring flight. Life abounded in this wild, beautiful, almost inaccessible spot. Little brown and yellow birds flitted among the trees. Threshes ran along the leaf-strewn ground. Orioles sang their melancholy notes. Robins and flickers darted beneath the spreading branches. Squirrels scurried over the leaves like little whirlwinds, and leaped daringly from the swinging branches, or barked noisily from woody perches. Rabbits hopped inquisitively here and there, while nibbling at the tender shoots of sassafras and laurel. Along this flower-skirted stream, a tall young man tearing a rifle, cautiously stepped, peering into the branches overhead. A gray flash shot along a limb of white oak, then the bushy tail of a squirrel flitted into a well-protected notch, from wence, no doubt, the keen little eye watched the hunters every movement. The rifle was raised, then lowered. The hunter walked around the tree. Presently up in the treetop, snug under a knotty limb, he spied a little ball of gray fur. Grasping a branch of underbrush, he shook it vigorously. The thrashing sound worried the gray squirrel, for he slipped from his retreat and stuck his nose over the limb. With a scratching and tearing of bark, the squirrel loosened his hole and then fell, alighting with the thump. As the hunter picked up his quarry, a streak of sunshine glinting through the treetop, brightened his face. The hunter was Joe. He was satisfied now, for after stowing the squirrel in the pocket of his hunting-coat, he shouldered his rifle and went back up the ravine. Presently a dull roar sounded above the babble of the brook. It grew louder as he threaded his way carefully over the stones. Spots of white foam flecked the brook. Passing under the gray-stained cliff, Joe turned around a rocky corner and came to an abrupt end of the ravine. A waterfall marked the spot where the brook entered. The water was brown as it took the leap, light green when it thinned out as it dashed on the stones, it became a beautiful, sheeny white. Upon a flat rock, so near the cascade that spray flew over him, sat another hunter. The roaring falls drowned all other sounds, yet the man roused from his dreamy contemplation of the waterfall when Joe rounded the corner. I heard four shots, he said, as Joe came up. Yes, I got a squirrel with every shot. Wetzel led the way along a narrow foot trail which gradually wound toward the top of the ravine. This path emerged presently some distance above the falls on the brink of a bluff. It ran along the edge of the precipice a few yards, then took a course back into densely wooded thickets. Just before stepping out on the open cliff, Wetzel paused and peered keenly on all sides. There was no living thing to be seen. The silence was the deep unbroken calm of the wilderness. Wetzel stepped to the bluff and looked over. The stony wall opposite was only 30 feet away and somewhat lower. From Wetzel's action, it appeared as if he intended to leap the fissure. In truth, many a band of Indians pursuing the hunter into this rocky fastness had come out on the bluff and marveling at what they thought Wetzel's prowess believed he had made a wonderful leap, thus eluding them. But he had never attempted that leap. First, because he knew it was well not impossible. And secondly, there had never been any necessity for such risk. Anyone leaning over this cliff would have observed, perhaps 10 feet below, a narrow ledge projecting from the face of the rock. He would have imagined if he were to drop on that ledge there would be no way to get off and he would be in a worse predicament. Without a moment's hesitation Wetzel swung himself over the ledge. Joe followed suit. At one end of this lower ledge grew a hearty shrub of the ironwood species and above it a scrubbed pine leaned horizontally out over the ravine. Laying his rifle down Wetzel grasped a strong root and cautiously slid over the side. When all of his body had disappeared with the exception of his sinewy fingers they loosened their hold on the root grasped the rifle and dragged it down out of sight. Quietly with similar caution Joe took hold of the same root let himself down and went at full length swung himself in under the ledge. His feet found a pocket in the cliff letting go of the root he took his rifle and in another second was safe. Of all Wetzel's retreats for he had many he considered this one the safest. The cavern under the ledge he had discovered by accident. One day being hotly pursued by Sean Ease he had been headed off on this cliff and had let himself down on the ledge intending to drop from it to the tops of the trees below. Taking advantage of every little aid he hung over by mains of the shrub and was in the act of leaping when he saw that the cliff shelved under the ledge and within reach of his feet was the entrance to a cavern. He found the cave to be small with an opening at the back into a split in the rock. Evidently the place had been entered from the rear by bears who used the hole for winter sleeping quarters. By crawling on his hands and knees Wetzel found the rear opening thus he had established a hiding place where it was almost impossible to locate him. He provisioned his retreat which he always entered by the cliff and left by the rear. An evidence of Wetzel's strange nature and of his love for this wild home manifested itself when he bound to show to secrecy. It was unlikely, even if the young man ever did get safely out of the wilderness, that any stories he might relate would reveal the hunters' favorite rendezvous. But Wetzel seriously demanded this secrecy as earnestly as if the forest were full of Indians and white men all prowling in search of his burrow. Joe was in the seventh heaven of delight and took to the free life as a wild gosling takes to the water. No place had ever appealed to him as did this dark, silent hole far up on the side of a steep cliff. His interest in Wetzel soon passed into a great admiration and from that deepened to love. This afternoon when they were satisfied that all was well within their refuge Joe laid aside his rifle and whistling softly began to prepare supper. The back part of the cave permitted him to stand erect and was large enough for comparative comfort. There was a neat little stone fireplace and several cooking utensils and gourds. From time to time Wetzel had brought these things, a pile of wood and a bundle of pine cones lay in one corner. Haunches of dried beef, bear cow meat, hung from pegs. A bag of parched corn and other of dried apples lay on a rocky shelf. Nearby hung a powder horn filled with salt and pepper. In the cleft back of the cave was a spring of clear cold water. The wants of woodsmen are few and simple. Joe and Wetzel with appetites whetted by their stirring outdoor life relished the frugal fare as they could never have enjoyed a feast. As the shadows of evening entered the cave they lighted their pipes to partake of the hunter's sweetest solace, a quiet smoke. Strange as it may appear the slowly stern Indian hunter and the reckless impulsive boy were admirably suited for companionship. Wetzel had taken a liking to the young man when he led the brothers to Fort Henry. Subsequent events strengthened his liking and now many days after Joe having followed him into the forest a strong attachment had been insensibly forged between them. Wetzel understood Joe's burning desire to roam the forest but he half expected the land would soon grow tired of this roving life but exactly the opposite symptoms were displayed. The hunter had intended to take his comrade on a hunting trip and to return with him after that was over they had now been in the wood for weeks and every day in some way Joe had showed his metal. Wetzel finally admitted him into the secrets of his most cherished hiding place. He did not want to hurt the land's feelings by taking him back to the settlement. He could not send him back. So the days wore on swiftly full of heart satisfying incident and life with man and boy growing closer in an intimacy that was as warm as it was unusual. Two reasons might account for this. First, there is no sane human being who is not better off for companionship. An exile would find something of happiness in one who shared his misery. And secondly, Joe was a most acceptable comrade even for a slayer of Indians. Wedded as Wetzel was to the forest trails to his lonely life to the nemesis pursuit he had followed for 18 long years. He was still a white man kind and gentle in his quiet hours and because of this though he knew it not still capable of affection. He had never known youth his manhood had been one pitiless warfare against his sworn foes but once in all those years had his sore cold heart warmed. And that was toward a woman who was not for him. His life had held only one purpose a bloody one yet the man had a heart and he could not prevent it from responding to another. In his simple ignorance he rebelled against this affection for anything other than his forest homes. Man is weak against hate. What can he avail against love? The dark caverns of Wetzel's great heart opened admitting to their gloomy depths this stranger. So now a new love was born in that cheerless heart where for so long a lonely inmate the ghost of old love had dwelt in chill seclusion. The feeling of comradeship which Wetzel had for Joe was something altogether new in the hunter's life. True he had hunted with Jonathan Zane and accompanied expeditions where he was forced to sleep with another scout. But a companion not to say a friend he had never known. Joe was a boy, wilder than an eagle yet he was a man. He was happy and enthusiastic still his good spirits never jarred in the hunter they were restrained. He never asked questions as would seem the case in any eager lad he waited until he was spoken to he was apt. He never forgot anything he had the eye of a born woodsman and lastly perhaps what went far with Wetzel he was as strong and supple as a young lynx and absolutely fearless. On this evening Wetzel and Joe followed their usual custom they smoked a while before lying down to sleep. Tonight the hunter was even more silent than usual and the lad fired out with his day's trap lay down on a bed of fragrant boughs. Wetzel sat there in the gathering gloom while he pulled slowly on his pipe. The evening was very quiet the birds had ceased their twittering the wind had died away it was too early for the bay of a wolf the whale of a panther or hoot of an owl there was simply perfect silence the lad's deep even breathing caught Wetzel's ear and he found himself meditating as he had often of late on this new something that had crept into his life for Joe loved him he could not fail to see that the lad had preferred to roam with the lonely Indian hunter through the forest to encounter the perils and hardships of a wild life rather than accept the smile of fortune and of love Wetzel knew that Colonel Zane had taken a liking to the boy and had offered him work and a home and also the hunter remembered the warm light he had seen in Nell's hazel eyes musing thus the man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent that it was unfamiliar the Avenger forgot for a moment his brooding plans he felt strangely softened when he laid his head on the rude pillow it was with some sense of gladness that although he had always desired a lonely life and wanted to pass it in the fulfillment of his vow his loneliness was now shared by a lad who loved him Joe was awakened by the merry trip of the chipmunk that every morning ran along the seamy side of the opposite wall of the gorge getting up he went to the back of the cave where he found Wetzel combing out his long hair the lad thrust his hands into a cold pool and bathed his face the water was icy cold and sent an invigorating thrill through him then he laughed as he took a rude comb Wetzel handed to him my scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous is it said he, eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell over the hunter's shoulders it'll grow, answered Wetzel Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair nor did he misunderstand the hunter's simple pride Wetzel was very careful of his rifle he was neat and clean about his person he brushed his buckskin costume he polished his knife and tomahawk but his hair received more attention than all else it required much care when combed out it reached fully to his knees Joe had seen him after he returned from a long hunt only for an hour with his wooden comb and not stop until every little burrow was gone or tangle smoothed out then he would comb it again in the morning this of course when time permitted and twist and tie it up so as to offer small resistance to his slipping through the underbush Joe knew the hunter's simplicity was such that if he cut off his hair it would seem he feared the Indians the streaming black hair the Indians had long coveted and sworn to take it would make any brave a famous chief and was the theme of many a savage war tale after breakfast Wetzel said to Joe you stay here and I'll look around some maybe I'll come back soon and we'll go out and kill a buffalo Engines sometimes follow up a buffalo trail I want to be sure none of the violets are chasing that herb we saw today Wetzel left the cave by the rear it took him 15 minutes to crawl to the head of the tortuous stony passage lifting the stone which closed up the aperture he looked out and listened then rising he replaced the stone and passed down the wooded hillside it was a beautiful morning the dew glistened on the green leaves the sun shone bright and warm the birds warbled in the trees the hunters moccasins pressed so gently on the moss and leaves that they made no more sound than the soft foot of the panther his trained ear was alert to catch any unfamiliar noise his keen eyes sought first the remotor opened glaze and glens then bet their gaze on the mossy bluff beneath his feet fox squirrels dashed from before him into bushy retreats grouse whirred away into the thickets startled deer whistled and loped off with their white flags upraised Wetzel knew from the action of these denizens of the woods that he was the only creature not native to these haunts who had disturbed them this morning otherwise the deer would not have been grazing but lying low in some close thicket fox squirrels seldom or never after twice in one day for after being frightened these little animals wilder and shyer than grey squirrels remained hidden for hours and grouse that had been flushed a little while before always get up unusually quick and fly very far before alighting Wetzel circled back over the hill took a long survey from Iraqi eminence and then reconnoitred the lowland for several miles he located the herd of buffalo and satisfying himself there were no Indians nearer for the bison were grazing quietly he returned to the cave a soft whistle into the back door of the rocky home told Joe that the hunter was waiting ghost clear whispered the lad thrusting his head out of the entrance his grey eyes gleamed brightly showing his eager spirit the hunter nodded and throwing his rifle in the hollow proceeded down the hill Joe followed closely endeavoring as Wetzel had trained him to make each step precisely in the hunter's footprints the lad had soon learned to step nimbly and softly as a cat when halfway down the hill Wetzel paused see anything he whispered Joe glanced on all sides many mistakes had taught him to be cautious he had learned from experience that for every woodland creature he saw there were ten watching his every move just now he could not see even a little red squirrel everywhere were sturdy hickory and oak trees thickets and hazelnuts slender ash saplings and in the open glazed patches of sumac rotting trees lay on the ground while ferns nodded long slender heads over the fallen monarchs Joe could make out nothing but the colors of the woods and shrunks and in the openings through the forest green the dead purple haze of forests farther on he smiled and shaking his head at the hunter by his action admitted failure cry again dead ahead whispered Wetzel Joe bent a direct gaze on the clump of sassafras 100 feet ahead he searched the open places the shadows even the branches then he turned his eyes slowly to the right whatever was discernible to human vision he studied intently suddenly his eye became fixed on a small object protruding from behind a beech tree it was pointed and in color darker than the gray bark of the beech it had been a very easy matter to pass over this little thing but now that the lads saw it he knew to what it belonged that's a bucks ear he replied hardly had he finished speaking but he was also intentionally snapped twig there was a crash and commotion in the thicket branches moved and small saplings waved then out into the open glade bounded a large buck with a whistle of alarm throwing his rifle through a level Joe was trying to cover the bounding deer when the hunter struck up his piece lad don't kill for the sake of killing he said quietly we have plenty of venison we'll go order a buffalo for a good rub steak half an hour later the hunters emerged from the forest into a wide plain of waving grass it was a kind of oval valley encircled by hills and had been at one time perhaps covered with water Joe saw a herd of large animals browsing like cattle in a meadow his heart beat high for until that moment the only buffalo he had seen were the few which stood on the river banks as the raft passed down the Ohio he would surely get a shot at one of these huge fellows what so bad Joe do exactly as he did whereupon he dropped on his hands and knees and began to crawl through the long grass this was easy for the hunter but very hard for the lad to accomplish still he managed to keep his comrade in sight which was a matter for congratulation because the man crawled as fast as he walked at length after what Joe seemed a very long time the hunter paused are we near enough whispered Joe breathlessly nope we'll just circle him the wind's not right and I'm afraid they'll get our scent what so rose carefully and peaked over the top of the grass then dropping on all fours he resumed the advance he paused again presently and waited for Joe to come up see here young fellow remember never hurry unless the business calls for speed and then act like lightning thus admonishing the eager lad Wessel continued to crawl it was easy for him Joe wondered how those wide shoulders got between the weeds and grasses without breaking or at least shaking them but so it was flat now whispered Wessel putting his broad hand on Joe's back and pressing him down and for good practice trail your rifle over your back if you're careful it won't slide off and reach out far with one arm and dig your fingers in deep then pull yourself forward Wessel slipped through the grass like a huge buckskin snake his long lithe body wormed its way among the reeds but for Joe even with the advantage of having the hunters trail to follow it was difficult work the reeds broke under him and the stalks of saw grass shook he worked persistently at it learning all the while and improving with every rod he was surprised to hear a swish followed by a dull blow on the ground raising his head he looked forward he saw the hunter wipe his tomahawk on the grass Snake whispered Wessel Joe saw a huge black snake squirming in the grass he caught glimpses of other snakes gliding away and glossy round moles starting into their holes a gray rabbit started off with a leap near enough whispered Wessel stopping behind the bush he rose and surveyed the plane then motioned Joe to look Joe raised himself on his knees as his gaze reached the level of the grassy plain his heart leaped not 50 yards away was a great buffalo he was the king of the herd but ill at ease for he pawed the grass and shook his huge head near him were several cows and a half grown calf beyond was the main herd extending as far as Joe could see a great sea of black humps the lad breathed hard as he took in the grand sight pick out the little feller the reddish brown man and plug him behind the shoulder close now for if we miss maybe I can't hit one because I'm not used to shooting at such small marks Wessel's rare smile lighted up his dark face probably he could have shot a fly off the horn of the bull if one of the big flies or bees plainly visible as they swirled around the huge head had a lighted there Joe slowly raised his rifle he had covered the calf and was about to pull the trigger far beyond his experience as hunter he whispered to Wessel if I fire they may run toward us nope they'll run away answered Wessel thinking the lad was as keen as an Indian Joe quickly covered the calf again and pulled the trigger bellowing loud the big bull dashed off the herd swung around toward the west and soon were galloping off with a lumbering roar the shaggy hops bobbed up and down like hot angry waves on a storm blackened sea upon going forward Wessel and Joe found the calf lying dead in the grass you might have did better than that remarked the hunter as he saw where the bullet had struck you went a little too firm back but maybe that was caused the calf's step as you shot end of chapter 14 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio chapter 15 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Leonard Wilson chapter 15 so the days passed swiftly dreamily each one bringing Joe a teeny nerdy light in a single month he was as good a woodsman as many pioneers who had passed years on the border for he had the advantage of a teacher whose woodcraft was incomparable besides he was naturally quick and learning and with all his interest centered upon forest lore it was no wonder he assimilated much of Wessel's knowledge he was ever willing to undertake anything whereby he might learn often when they were miles away in the dense forest far from their cave he asked Wessel to let him try to lead the way back to camp and he never failed once though many times he got off a straight course thereby missing the easy traveling Joe did wonderfully well but he lacked as nearly all white men do the subtler, intuitive forest instinct which makes the Indian as much at home in the woods as in his teepee Wessel had this developed to a high degree it was born in him years of training, years of passionate unrelenting search for Indians had given him a knowledge of the woods that was incomprehensible to white men and appalling to his red foes Joe saw how Wessel used this ability with what it really was baffled him he realized that words were not adequate to explain fully this great art this possession required a marvelously keen vision and I perfectly familiar with every creature tree, rock, shrub and thing belonging in the forest and I so quick in flight as to detect instantly the slightest change in nature or anything unnatural to that environment the hearing must be delicate, like that of a deer and the finer it is the keener will be the woodsmen lastly there is the feeling that prompts the old hunter to say no game today it is something in him that speaks when as he sees a night hawk circling low near the ground he says the storm tomorrow it is what makes an Indian at home in any wilderness the clouds may hide the guiding star the northing may be lost there may be no moss on the trees or difference in their bark the ridges may be flat or lost altogether and there may be no water courses yet the Indian brave always goes for his teepee straight as a crow flies it was this voice which rightly bad whistle when he was baffled by an Indian's trail fading among the rocks to cross or circle or advance in the direction taken by his wily foe Joe had practiced trailing deer and other hoofed game until he was true as a hound then he began to perfect himself in the art of following a human being through the forest except a few old Indian trails that had half obliterated he had no tracks to discover saved wetsels and these were as hard to find as the airy course of a grospeak on soft ground or marshy grass which wetsful avoided where he could he left a faint trail but on a hard surface for all the traces he left he might as well not have gone over the ground at all Joe's persistence stood him in good stead he hung on and the more he failed the harder he tried often he would slip out of the cave after wetsel had gone and try to find which way he had taken in brief the lad became a fine marksman, a good hunter and a close persevering student of the wilderness he loved the woods and all they contained he learned the habits of the wild creatures each deer each squirrel each grouse that he killed he was always up with the lark to watch the sun rise red and grand over the eastern hills and chase away the white mist from the valleys even if he was not hunting or roaming the woods if it was necessary for him to lie low in camp awaiting wetsels return he was always content many hours he idled away lying on his back with the west wind blowing softly over him his eye on the distant hills where the cloud shadows swept across with slow majestic movement like huge ships at sea if wetsel and joe were far distant from the cave as was often the case they made camp in the open woods and it was here that joe's contentment was fullest by light shades stealing down over the campfire the cheery glow of red embers the crackling of dry stocks the sweet smell of wood spoke all had for the lad a subtle potent charm the hunter would broil a venison steak or a cartridge on the coals then they would light their pipes and smoke while twilight deepened the oppressive stillness of the early evening hour always brought to the younger man a sensation of awe at first he attributed this to the fact that he was new to this life however as the days passed and the emotion remained they grew stronger he concluded it was imparted by this close communion with nature deep solemn tranquil the gloaming hour brought him no ordinary fullness of joy and clearness of perception do you ever feel this stillness you ask wetsel one evening as they sat near their flickering fire the hunter puffed his pipe and like an indian seemed to let the question take deep root I've scalped redskins every hour in the day except in twilight he replied Joe wondered no longer whether the hunter was too hardened to feel this beautiful tranquility that hour of which wood wetsel from his implacable pursuit was indeed a bewitching one there was never a time when Joe lay alone in camp waiting for wetsel that he did not hope the hunter would return with information of Indians the man never talked about the savages and if he spoke at all it was to tell of some incident of his stay as travel one evening he came back with a large black fox that he had killed what beautiful glossy fur said Joe I never saw a black fox before I've been laying for this fellow some time replied wetsel as he began his first evening task that of combing his hair just back here in a club of cotton woods there's a holler log full of leaves having to see a black snake sneaking around I thought maybe he was up to something so I investigated and found a nest full of young rabbits I killed a snake and out of that took an interest in him every time I passed I looked in at the bunnies and each time I seen signs that some tarnal varment had been prowling round one day I missed the bunny the next day another so on until only one was left a perked white and grey little snake something was steel enough and it made me mad so yesterday and today I watched and finally I plugged this black thief yes he's got a glossy coat but he's a bad one for all his fine looks these black foxes are bigger, stronger and cunnerner than red ones in every litter you'll find a dark one, the black sheep of the family because he grows so much faster and he grows faster because he grows so much faster and steals all the food from the others the mother just takes him by the nape of the neck and checks him out in the world to shift for herself and it's a good thing the next day what Sol Toljo they would go across country to seek new game fields accordingly the two set out and tramped industriously until evening they came upon a country no less beautiful than the one they had left though the picturesque cliffs had given way to a rolling land the lexurience of which was explained by the abundant springs and streams forests and fields were thickly interspersed with bubbling springs narrow and deep streams and here and there a small lake with a running outlet Wetzel had said little concerning this region but that little was enough to rouse all Joe's eagerness for it was to the effect of the country much traversed by Indians especially runners and hunting parties travelling from north to south the hunter explained that through the center of this tract ran a buffalo road that the buffalo always picked out the straightest lowest and driest path from one range to another and the Indians followed these first pathfinders Joe and Wetzel made camp on the back of a stream that night and as the lad watched the hunter build a hidden campfire he peered furtively around half expecting to see dark forms scurrying through the forest Wetzel was extremely cautious he stripped pieces of bark from fallen trees and built a little hut over his firewood he rubbed some powder on a piece of punk and then with flint and steel dropped two or three sparks on the inflammable substance soon he had a blaze he arranged the covering so that not a ray of light escaped when the flames had subsided and the wood had burned down to a glowing bed of red he threw aside the bark and broiled the strips of venison they had brought with them they rested on a bed of bows which they had cut and arranged alongside a huge log for hours Joe lay awake he could not sleep he listened to the breeze rustling the leaves and shivered at the thought of the sighing wind he had once heard moaned through the forest presently he turned over the slight noise instantly awakened Wetzel who lifted his dark face while he listened intently he spoke one word sleep and lay back again on the leaves Joe forced himself to be quiet relaxed all his muscles and soon slumbered on the morrow Wetzel went out to look over the hunting prospects about noon he returned Joe was surprised to find some slight change in the hunter he could not tell what it was I see an engine sign said Wetzel there are no tellin' how soon we may run again the stakes we can't hunt here like it's not there's Hurons and Delaware sculpin' round I think I better take you back to the village it's all on my account you say that said Joe sure Wetzel replied if you were alone what would you do I calculated I'd hunt for some red skin game the supreme moment had come Joe's heart beat hard he could not miss this opportunity he must stay with the hunter he looked closely at Wetzel I won't go back to the village he said the hunter stood in his favorite position leaning on his long rifle and made no response I won't go continued Joe earnestly I'll say with you if at any time I hamper you or cannot keep the pace then leave me to shift for myself but don't make me go until I weaken let me stay fire and fearlessness spoke in Joe's every word and his gray eyes contracted with her peculiar steely flash plain it was that while he might fail to keep pace with Wetzel he did not fear this dangerous country and if it must be he was alone Wetzel extended his broad hand and gave his comrades a vice-like squeeze to allow the lad to remain with him was more than he would have done for any other person in the world far better to keep the lad under his protection while it was possible for Joe was taking the war terriel which had for every hunter somewhere along his bloody course a bullet a knife or a tomahawk Wetzel knew that Joe was conscious of this inevitable conclusion for it showed in his white face and in the resolve of his big gray eyes so there in the shade of a towering oak the Indian killer admitted the boy into his friendship and into a life which would no longer be play but eventful stirring hassaness well lad stay he said with that rare smile bright and stark face like a ray of stray sunshine we'll hang around these diggins a few days first off we'll take in the lay of the land you go downstream a ways the scout rounds on while I go up and then circle down move slow now and don't miss nothing Joe followed the stream a mile or more he kept close in the shade of willows and never walked across an open blade without first digging and watching he listened to all sounds but none were unfamiliar he closely examined the sand along the stream and the moss and leaves under the trees when he had been separated from Wetzel several hours and concluded he would slowly return to camp he ran across a well beaten path winding through the forest this was perhaps one of the bridal trails Wetzel had referred to he bent over the worn grass with a clean scrutiny a loud report of a heavily charged rifle rang out Joe felt the zip of a bullet as it fanned his cheek with an agile leap he gained the shelter of a tree from behind which he peaked to see who had shot at him he was just in time to detect the dark form of an Indian dark behind the foliage a hundred yards down the path Joe expected to see other Indians and to hear more shots but he was mistaken because he was alone for the tree Joe had taken refuge behind was scarcely large enough to screen his body which disadvantaged the other Indians would have been quick to note Joe closely watched the place where his assailant had disappeared and presently saw a dark hand then a naked elbow and finally the ramrod of a rifle the savage was reloading soon a rifle barrel protruded from behind the tree with his heart beating like a trip hammer and the skin tightening on his face Joe screened his body as best he might the tree was small but it served as a partial protection rapidly he revolved in his mind plans to outwit the enemy the Indian was behind a large oak with a low limb over which he could fire without exposing his own person to danger bang! the Indians rifle bellowed the bullet crumbled the bark close to Joe's face the lad yelled loudly staggered to his knees and then fell into the path where he lay quiet the red skin gave an exalted shout seeing that the fallen figure remained quite motionless he stepped forward drawing his knife as he came he was a young brave quick and eager in his movements and came nimbly up the path to gain his coveted trophy the pale faces scalp Joe suddenly sat up raised his rifle quickly as thought and fired point black at the Indian but he missed the red skin stopped aghast when he saw the lad thus seemingly come back to life then realizing that Joe's aim had been futile he bounded forward brandishing his knife and uttering infuriated yells Joe rose to his feet with rifle swung high above his head when the savage was within twenty feet so near that his dark face swollen with fierce passion plainly discerned a peculiar whistling noise sounded over Joe's shoulder it was accompanied rather than followed by a clear ringing rifle shot the Indian stopped as if he had encountered a heavy shock from a tree or stone barring his way clutching at his breast he uttered a weird cry and sank slowly on the grass Joe ran forward to bend over the prostrate figure the Indian, a slender handsome young brave had been shot through the breast he held his hand tightly over the wound while bright red blood trickled between his fingers flowed down his side and stained the grass the brave looked steadily up at Joe shot as he was dying as he knew himself to be there was no yielding in the dark eye only an unquenchable hatred then the eyes glazed the fingers ceased twitching Joe was bending over a dead Indian it flashed into his mind of course that Wessel had come up in time to save his life but he did not dwell in the thought he shrank from this violent death of a human being but it was from the aspect of the dead not from remorse for the deed his heart beat fast his fingers trembled yet he felt only a strange coldness in all his being the savage had tried to kill him perhaps even now had it not been for the hunter's unerring aim would have been gloating over a bloody scalp Joe felt rather than heard the approach of someone and turned to see Wessel coming down the path these alone scrawny runners said the hunter dacing down at the dead Indian he was trying to win his eagle plumes I seen you both from the hillside you did exclaimed Joe then he laughed it was lucky for me I tried the dodge you taught me but in my eagerness I missed well you had no call for hurry you worked the trick clever but you missed him when there was plenty of time I had to shoot over your shoulder or I had to plug him sooner where were you up there by that bit of Schumach said Wessel pointing to an open ridge and 150 yards distant Joe wondered which of the two bullets the death-seeking one fired by the savage or the life-saving missile from Wessel's fatal weapon had passed nearest to him come said the hunter after he had scalped the Indian what's to be done with this savage inquired Joe as Wessel started up the path let him lay they returned to camp without further incident while the hunter visited himself reinforcing their temporary shelter where the clouds looked threatening Joe cut up some buffalo meat and then went down to the brook for a gourd of water he came hurriedly back to where Wessel was working and spoken a voice which he vainly endeavored to the whole steady come quickly I've seen something which may mean a good deal he led the way down to the brook's side look Joe said pointing at the water here the stream was about two feet deep perhaps 20 wide and had just a noticeable current shortly before it had been as clear as a bright summer sky it was now tinged with yellow clouds that slowly floated downstream each one enlarging and becoming fainter as the clear water permeated and stained grains of sand glided along with the current little pieces of bark floated on the surface and minnows started to and fro nibbling at these drifting particles dear wind while the water like that what does it mean as Joe engines and not for a way Wessel returned to the shelter and tore it down then he bent the branch of a beech tree low over the place he pulled on another branch over the remains of the campfire these pre-cautions made the spot less striking Wessel knew that an Indian scout never glances casually glowing eyes survey the forest perhaps quickly but thoroughly an unnatural position a bush or log always leads to an examination this done the hunter grasped Joe's hand and led him up the dole making his way behind a well-screened tree which had been uprooted he selected a position where hidden themselves they could see the creek hardly had Wessel and Monish Joe to lie perfectly still the short distance up the stream came the sound of splashing water but nothing could be seen above the open glade as in that direction Willows lined the creek in dense thickets the noise grew more audible suddenly Joe felt a muscular contraction pass over the powerful frame lying close beside him it was a convulsive thrill such as passes through a tiger when he is about to spring upon his quarry so subtle and strong was its meaning he clearly did it convey to the land what was coming that he felt it himself saved that in his case it was a cold chill shudder breathless suspense followed then into the open space along the creek glided a tall Indian warrior he was knee-deep in the water where he waited with low cautious steps his garish befriiled costume seemed familiar to Joe he carried a rifle at a low trail and passed slowly ahead with evident distrust the lad believed he recognized that head with his tangled black hair and when he saw the swarthy villainous counten it turned full toward him he exclaimed, GERTY BY IT Wetzel's powerful arm forced him so hard against the log that he could not complete the exclamation but he could still see Gertie had not heard the stifled cry for he continued his slow waiting and presently his tall gauntly decorated form passed out of sight another savage appeared in the open space and then another close between them walked a white man with hands bound behind him the prisoner and guards disappeared downstream among the willows the splashing continued grew even louder than before a warrior came into view then another and another they walked close together two more followed they were waiting by the side of a raft made of several logs upon which were two prostrate figures that closely resemble human beings Joe was so intent upon the lithe forms of the Indians that he barely got a glimpse of their floating prize whatever it might have been bringing up the rear with an athletic warrior whose broad shoulders sinewy arms and polished head Joe remembered well it was the Shawnee chief silver tip when he too passed out of sight in the curve of the willows Joe found himself trembling he turned eagerly to Wetzel but instantly recoiled terrible indeed had been the hunter's transformation all calmness of facial expression was gone he was now stern his vision was visible in his white face his eyes seemed reduced to two dark shining points and the emitted so fierce so piercing a flash so deadly a light that Joe could not bear their glittering gaze re-white captors two of them women under the hunter as if weighing in his mind the importance of this fact were those women on the raft questioned Joe a white man and two women six warriors silver tip and that renegade Jim Gertie Wetzel deigned not to answer Joe's passionate outburst but maintained silence and his rigid posture Joe glanced once more at the stern face considering we'd go after Gertie and his redskins if they were alone were pretty likely to go quicker now that they got white women prisoners at and Joe laughed fiercely between his teeth the lads heart expanded while along every nerve tangled an exquisite thrill of excitement he had yearned for wild border life here he was in it with the hunter whose name alone was to the savages a symbol for all that was terrible Wetzel evidently decided quickly on what was to be done for in few words he directed Joe to cut up so much of the buffalo meat as they could stow in their pockets then bidding the lad to follow he turned into the woods, walking rapidly and stopping now and then for a brief instant soon they emerged from the forest into more open country they faced a wide plain skirted on the right by a long winding strip of bright green willows which marked the course of the stream on the edge of this plain Wetzel broke into a run he kept his pace for a distance of a hundred yards then stopped to listen intently as he glanced sharply on all sides after which he was off again halfway across this plain Joe's wind began to fail and his breathing became labored but he kept close to the hunter's heels once he looked back to see a great wide expanse of waving grass they had covered perhaps four miles at a rapid pace and were nearing the other side of the plain the lad felt as if his head was about to burst a sharp pain seized upon his side a blood-bred film obscured his sight he kept doggedly on and when utterly exhausted fell to the ground when a few minutes later having covered his breath he got up they had crossed the plain and were in a grove of beaches directly in front of him ran a swift stream which was divided at the rocky head of what appeared to be a wooded island there was only a slight ripple and fall of the water and after a second glance it was evident that the point of land was not an island but a portion of the mainland which divided the stream the branches took almost opposite courses Joe wondered if they had headed off the Indians certainly they had run fast enough he was wet with perspiration he glanced at Wetzel who was standing nearer the man's broad breasts rose and fell a little faster that was the only evidence of exertion he had a painful feeling that he could never keep pace with the hunter if this five mile run was a sample of the speed he would be forced to maintain they've got ahead of us but which quick did they take queried Wetzel as though debating the question with himself how do you know they passed we circled and answered Wetzel as he shook his head and pointed into the bushes Joe stepped over and looked into the thicket he found a quantity of dead leaves sticks and litter thrown aside exposing to light a long hallowed place on the ground it was what would be seen after rolling over a log that had lain for a long time little furrows in the ground holes, mounds and curious winding passages showed where grebs and crickets had made their homes the frightened insects were now running around wildly what was here a log a twenty foot canoe was hid under that stuff the engines has taken one of these streams how can we tell which one maybe we can't but we'll try grab up a few of them bugs go below that rocky point and crawl close to the bank so you can just peep over be careful not to show the tip of your head and don't knock nothing off the bank into the water watch for trout look everywhere and drop in a bug now and then I'll do the same for the other stream then we'll come back here and talk over what the fish has to say about the engines Joe walked downstream a few paces and dropping on his knees crawled carefully to the edge of the bank he slightly parted the grass so he could peep through and found himself directly over a pool with a narrow shoal running out from the opposite bank the water was so clear he could see the pebbly bottom in all parts except a dark hole near a bend in the shore close by he did not see a living thing in the water not a crawfish turtle or even a frog he peered round closely then flipped in one of the bugs he had brought along a shiny yellow fish flared up from the depths of the deep hole and disappeared with a cricket but it was a bass or a pike not a trout Wetzel had said there were a few trout living near the cool springs of these streams the lad tried again to coax one to the surface this time the more fortunate crickets swam and hopped across the stream to safety when Joe's eyes were thoroughly accustomed to the clear water with its deceiving lights and shades he saw a fish lying snug under the side of a stone the lad thought he recognized the snug nose the hooked wolfish jaw but he could not get sufficient of a view to classify him he crawled to a more advantageous position farther downstream then he peered again through the woods yes, sure enough he had aspired a trout he well knew those spotted silver sides that broad square tail such a monster in his admiration for the fellow and his wish for a hook and lime to try conclusions with him Joe momentarily forgot his object remembering he tossed out a big fat cricket and delighted on the water just above the fish the trout never moved nor even blinked the lad tried again with no better success the fish would not rise thereupon Joe returned to the point where he had left Wetzel I didn't see nothing over there said the hunter who was waiting did you see any one and a big fellow did he see you no, did he rise to a bug no, he didn't, but then maybe he wasn't hungry, answered Joe who could not understand what Wetzel was driving at tell me exactly what he did that's just the trouble he didn't do anything, replied Joe thoughtfully he just lay low stiff like under a stone he never batted an eye but his side fins quivered like an aspen leaf them side fins tell us the story Gertie and his redskins have took this branch said Wetzel positively the other leads to the Iran towns Gertie's got a place near the Delaware camp somewheres I've tried to find it a good many times he's took born one white last there and nobody ever seen her again fiend to think of a white woman maybe a girl like Nell Wells at the mercy of those red devils the young fella don't go wrong I'll allow engines is bad enough but I never heard tell of one abused a white woman as may have you mean engines marry white women sometimes kill and scalp them often but that's all it's men of our own color renegades like this Gertie as do worse and murder here was the amazing circumstance of Louis Wetzel the acknowledged insatiable foe of all red men speaking a good word for his enemies Joe was so astonished he did not attempt to answer here's where they got in the canoe one more look and then we're off said Wetzel he strode up and down the sandy beach examined the willows and scrutinized the sand suddenly he bent over and picked up an object from the water his sharp eyes and caught the glint of something white which upon being examined proved to be a small ivory or bone buckle with the piece broken out he showed it to Joe by heavens Wetzel that's the buckle off Nell Wells shoe I've seen it too many times to mistake it I was feared Gertie had your friends the sisters and maybe your brother too Jack Zane said the renegade was hanging round the village and that couldn't be for no good come on let's kill the fiend cried Joe white to the lips I calculate there about a mile downstream making camp for the night I know the place there's a fine spring and look do you see them crows flying around that big oak with the bleach top hear them calling you might think they were chasing a hawk or kingbirds were harboring but that fuss they're making is because they see engines well asked Joe impatiently it'll be moonlight a while order midnight we'll lay low and wait and then the sharp click of his teeth like the snap of a steel trap completed the sentence Joe said no more but followed the hunter into the woods stopping near a fallen tree Wetzel raked up a bundle of leaves and spread them on the ground then he cut a few spreading branches from a beach and leaned them against the log bidding the lad call in before he took one last look around and then made his sway under the shelter it was yet daylight which seemed a strange time to creep into this little nook but Joe thought it was not to sleep only to wait, wait, wait for the long hours to pass he was amazed once more because by the time twilight had given place to darkness Wetzel was asleep the lad said then to himself that he would never again be surprised at the hunter he assumed once and for all that Wetzel was capable of anything yet how could he lose himself in slumber feeling as he must over the capture of the girls eager to draw a bead on the black-hearted renegade hating Indians with all his soul and strength and lying there but a few hours before what he knew would be a bloody battle Wetzel calmly went to sleep knowing the hunter to be as bloodthirsty as a tiger Joe had expected he would rush to a combat with his foes but now this man with his keen sagacity knew when to creep upon his enemy he bided that time and while he waited slept Joe could not close his eyes in slumber through the interstices and the branches he saw the stars come out one by one the darkness deepened and the dim outline of tall trees over the dark hill came out sharply the moment stragged each one an hour he heard a quipper will call lonely and dismal then an owl hoot monotonously the animal ran along the log sniffed at the bows and then scurried away over the dry leaves by and by the dead silence of night fell over all still Joe lay there wide awake listening his heart on fire he was about to rescue now to kill that hawk-nosed renegade to fight silver tip to the death the hours passed but not Joe's passionate eagerness at last he saw the crescent moon gleam silver white over the black hill top he knew the time was nigh and over him ran thrill on thrill End of Chapter 15 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Chapter 16 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray This Libber Vox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Chapter 16 When the waning moon rose high enough to shed a pale light over forest and field two dark figures moving silently from the shade of the trees crossed the moonlit patches of ground out to the open plain where low on the grass hung silver mists a timber-wolf gray and gaunt came loping along with lowered nose the new scent brought the animal to a standstill his nose went up his fiery eyes scanned the plain two men had invaded his domain and with a short dismal mark he dashed away like specters gliding swiftly with noiseless tread the two vanished the long grass had swaddled them deserted once again seemed the plain it became unutterably lonely no stirrer no sound, no life nothing but a wide expanse bathed in sad gray light the moon shone steadily the silver radiance mellowed the stars paled before this brighter glory slowly the night hours wore away on the other side of the plain near where the adjoining forest loomed darkling the tall grass parted to disclose a black form only a deceiving shade cast by a leafy branch only a shadow slowly it sank and was lost once more the gray unwavering line of silver-crested grass tufts was unbroken only the night breeze wandering caressingly over the grass might have told of two dark forms gliding, gliding, gliding so softly so surely so surely toward the forest only the moon and the pale stars had eyes to see these creeping figures like avengers they moved on a mission to slay and to save on over the dark line where plain merged into forest they crawled no whispering, no hesitating but a silent slow certain progress showed their purpose in single file they slipped over the moss the leader clearing the path inch by inch they advanced tedious was this slow movement difficult and painful this journey which must end in lightning-like speed they rustled no leaf nor snapped a twig nor shook a fern but passed onwards slowly like the approach of death the seconds passed as minutes minutes as hours an entire hour was spent in advancing twenty feet atop of the knoll was reached the avenger placed his hand on his follower's shoulder the strong pressure was meant to remind to warn, to reassure then like a huge snake the first glided away he who was left behind raised his head to look into the open place called the glade of the beautiful spring an oval space lay before him exceedingly lovely in the moonlight a spring as if a pearl gemmed the center an Indian guard stood statue-like against a stone other savages lay in a row their polished heads shining one slumbering form was bedecked with feathers and frills near him lay an Indian blacket from the border of which appeared two faces gleaming white and sad in the pitying moonlight the watcher quivered at the side with all faces but he must wait while long moments passed he must wait for the avenger to creep up silently kill the guard and release the personers without awakening the savages if that plan failed he was to rush into the glade and in the excitement to make off with one of the captives he lay there waiting, listening wrought up to the intense pitch of fierce passion and every muscle strained ready for the leap only the faint rustling of leaves the low swish of swaying branches the soft murmur of falling water and overall the sigh of the night wind proved to him that this picture was not an evil dream his gaze sought the quiet figures lingered hopefully on the captives menacingly on the sleeping savages and glowered over the godly arrayed form his glass sought the upright guard as he stood a dark blot against the grey stone he saw the Indians plume a single feather waving silver-white then it became riveted on the bubbling, refulgent spring the pool was round perhaps five feet across and shone like a burnished shield it mirrored the moon the twinkling stars the spectre trees an unaccountable horror stepped over the watching man his hair stood straight up a sensation as if cold stole chillingly over him whether it was the climax of this long night's excitement or anticipation of the bloody struggle soon to come, he knew not did this boiling spring shimmering in the silver moon rays hold in its murky depths a secret did these lonesome shadowing trees with their sad drooping branches harbor a mystery if a future tragedy was to be enacted here in this quiet clade could the murmuring water or leaves whisper its portent no, they were only silent only unintelligible with nature's mystery the waiting man cursed himself for a craven-cowered he fought back the benumbing sense he steeled his heart was this his vaunted willingness to share the avenger's danger his strong spirit rose up in arms once more he was brave and fierce he fastened a piercing gaze on the plumed guard the Indians lounging posture against the rock was the same as it had been before yet now it seemed to have a kind of strained attention the savages head was poised like that of a listening deer the wary Indian scented danger a faint moan breathed low above the sound of gently splashing water somewhere beyond the clade ooh the guard's finger stiffened and became rigidly erect his blanket slowly slid to his feet ooh sighed the soft breeze in the tree tops louder than with a deep wail a moan arose out of the dark gray shadows swelling thrillingly on the still air and died away mournfully ooh the centralist's form melted into the shade he was gone like a phantom another Indian rose quickly and glanced furtively around the glade he bent over a comrade and shook him instantly the second Indian was on his feet scarcely had he gained a standing posture when an object bounding like a dark ball shot out of the thicket and hurled both warriors to the earth a moon beam glinted upon something bright it flashed again on a swift sweeping circle a short choking yell aroused the other savages up they sprang alarmed, confused the shadow form darted among them it moved with inconceivable rapidity it became a monster terrible was the convulsive conflict dull blows the click of steel angry shouts, agonized yells and thrashing, wrestling sounds mingled together and half-ground by an awful roar like that of a mad bull the strife ceased as suddenly as it had begun warriors lay still on the grass others rise in agony for an instant a fleeting shadow crossed the open lane leading out of the glade then it vanished three savages had sprung toward their rifles a blinding flash a loud report burst from the thicket overhead the foremost savage sank lifelessly the others were intercepted by a giant shadow with brandished rifle the watcher on the knoll had entered the glade he stood before the stacked rifles and swung his heavy gun, crash an Indian went down before that sweep but rose again the savages backed away from this threatening figure and circled around it the noise of the other conflict ceased more savages joined the three who glided to and fro before their desperate foe they closed in upon him only to be beaten back one savage threw a glittering knife another hurled a stone a third flung his tomahawk which struck fire from the swinging rifle he held them at bay while they had no firearms he was master of the situation with every sweep of his arms he brought the long rifle down and knocked a flint from the firelock of an enemy's weapon soon the Indian's guns were useless slowly then he began to edge away from the stone toward the opening where he had seen the fleeting form vanish his intention was to make a dash for life for he had heard a noise behind the rock and remembered the guard he saw the savages glance behind him and anticipated danger from that direction but he must not turn a second there might be fatal he backed defiantly along the rock until he gained its outer edge but too late the Indians glided before him now behind him, he was surrounded he turned around and around with the ever circling rifle whirling in the faces of the baffled foe once opposite the lane leading from the glade he changed his tactics and plunged with fiercest impetuousity into the midst of the painted throng then began a fearful conflict the Indians fell before the sweep of his powerful arms but grappled with him from the ground he literally plowed his way to the rolling mass warding off a hundred vicious blows savage after savage he flung off until at last he had a clear path before him freedom lay beyond that shiny path into it he bounded as he left the glade the plumed guard stepped from behind a tree near the entrance of the path and cast his tomahawk a white glittering flash it flew after the fleeing runner its aim was true suddenly the moonlight path darkened in the runner's sight he saw a million flashing stars a terrible pain assailed him he sank slowly slowly down then all was darkness end of chapter 16 of the spirit of the border by Zane Gray recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio