 Introduction to The Spirit of the Border. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leonard Wilson. The Spirit of the Border. A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley. By Zane Gray. 1906. To my brother, with many fond recollections of days spent in the solitude of the forests, where only can be satisfied that wild fever of freedom of which this book tells. Where to hear the whir of a wild duck in his rapid flight is joy, where the quiet of an autumn afternoon swells the heart, and where one may watch the fragrant wood-spoke curl from the campfire, and see the stars peep over dark wooded hills as twilight deepens, and know a happiness that dwells in the wilderness alone. Introduction. The author does not intend to apologize for what many readers may call the brutality of the story, but rather to explain that its wild spirit is true to the life of the Western border, as it was known only a little more than 100 years ago. The writer is the fortunate possessor of historical material of undoubted truth and interest. It is the long-lost journal of Colonel Ebenezer Zane, one of the most prominent of the hunter pioneers who labored in the settlement of the Western country. The story of that tragic period deserves a higher place in historical literature than it has thus far been given, and this unquestionably because of a lack of authentic data regarding the conquering of the wilderness. Considering how many years the pioneers struggled on the border of this country, the history of their efforts is meager and obscure. If the years at the close of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century were full of stirring adventure on the part of the colonists along the Atlantic coast, how crowded must they have been for the almost forgotten pioneers who daringly invaded the trackless wilds. None there was to chronicle the fight of these sturdy travelers toward the setting sun. The story of their stormy lives, of their heroism, and of their sacrifice for the benefit of future generations is too little known. It is to a better understanding of those days that the author has labored to draw from his ancestors' notes a new and striking portrayal of the frontier, one which shall paint the fever of freedom that powerful impulse which lured so many to unmarked graves, one which shall show his work, his love, the effect of the causes which rendered his life so hard, and surely one which does not forget the wronged Indian. The frontier in 1777 produced white men so savage as to be men in name only. These outcasts and renegades lived among the savages, and during thirty years harassed the border perpetrating all manner of fiendish cruelties upon the settlers. They were no less cruel to the red men whom they ruled, and at the height of their bloody careers made futile the Moravian missionaries' long labors and destroyed the beautiful hamlet of the Christian Indians called Ganatanhutan, or village apiece. And while the border produced such outlaws, so did it produce hunters, Ikbun, the Zanes, the Makaliks, and Wetzel, that strange silent man whose deeds are still whispered in the country where he once roamed in his insatiate pursuit of savages and renegades, and who was purely a product of the times. Civilization could not have brought forth a man like Wetzel. Great revolutions, great crises, great moments come, and produce the men to deal with them. The border needed Wetzel. The settlers would have needed many more years in which to make permanent homes had it not been for him. He was never a pioneer but always a hunter after Indians. When not on the track of the savage foe, he was in the settlement with his keen eye and ear ever alert for signs of the enemy. To the superstitious Indians he was a shadow, a spirit of the border which breathed menace from the dark forests. To the settlers he was the right arm of defense, a fitting leader for those few implacable and honoring frontiersmen who made the settlement of the West a possibility. And if this story of one of his relentless pursuits shows the man as he truly was, loved by pioneers, respected and feared by red men and hated by renegades, if it softens a little the ruthless name history accords him, the writer will have been well repaid. End of Introduction to the Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray, recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Chapter 1 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Chapter 1 Nell, I'm going powerful fond of you. So you must be, Master Joe, if often telling makes it true. The girl spoke simply and with an absence of that roguishness which was characteristic of her. Playful words, arched smiles, and a touch of coquetry had seemed natural to Nell, but now her grave tone and her almost wistful glance disconcerted Joe. During all the long journey over the mountains she had been gay and bright, while now, when they were about to part, perhaps never to meet again, she showed him the deeper and more earnest side of her character. It checked his boldness as nothing else had done. Suddenly there came to him the real meaning of a woman's love when she bestows it without reservation. Silenced by the thought that he had not understood her at all, and the knowledge that he had been half in sport, he gazed out over the wild country before them. The scene impressed its quietness upon the young couple, and brought more forcibly to their minds the fact that they were at the gateway of the unknown west, that somewhere beyond this rude frontier settlement, out there in those unbroken forests stretching dark and silent before them, was to be their future home. From the high bank where they stood the land sloped and narrowed gradually, until it ended in a sharp point which marked the last bit of land between the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. Here these swift streams merged and formed the broad Ohio. The newborn river, even here at its beginning, proud and swelling as if already certain of its faraway grandeur, swept majestically round a wide curve, and apparently lost itself in the forest foliage. On the narrow point of land, commanding a view of the rivers, stood a long, low structure enclosed by a stockade fence on the four corners of which were little box-shaped houses that bulged out as if trying to see what was going on beneath. The massive timbers used in the construction of this fort, the square compact form, and the small dark holes cut into the walls, gave the structure a threatening, impregnable aspect. Below Nell and Joe, on the back were many log cabins. The yellow clay which filled the chinks between the logs gave these a peculiar striped appearance. There was life and bustle in the vicinity of these dwellings, in sharp contrast with the still grandeur of the neighboring forests. There were canvas-covered wagons around which curly-headed youngsters were playing. Several horses were grazing on the short grass, and six red and white oxen munched at the hay that had been thrown to them. The smoke of many fires curled upward, and near the blaze hovered ruddy-faced women who stirred the contents of steaming kettles. One man swung an axe with a vigorous sweep, and the clean sharp strokes rang on the air. Another hammered stakes into the ground on which to hang a kettle. Before a large cabin, a fur trader was exhibiting his wares to three Indians. A second red-skinned was carrying a pack of pelts from a canoe drawn up on the riverbank. A small group of persons stood near. Some were indifferent, and others gazed curiously at the savages. Two children peeped from behind their mother's skirts, as if half curious, half frightened. From this scene, the significance of which had just dawned on him, Joe turned his eyes again to his companion. It was a sweet face he saw, one that was sedate, but had a promise of innumerable smiles. The blue eyes could not long hide flashes of merriment. The girl turned, and the two young people looked at each other. Her eyes softened with the woman's gentleness, as they rested upon him. Four broad of shoulder, and life and strong as a deerstalker, he was good to look at. Listen, she said, we have known each other only three weeks. Since you joined our wagon train and have been so kind to me, and so helpful to make that long, rough ride and durable, you have won my regard. I cannot say more, even if I would. You told me you ran away from your Virginian home to seek adventure on the frontier, and that you knew no one in all this wild country. You even said you could not, or would not, work at farming. Perhaps my sister and I are as unfitted as you for this life. But we must cling to our uncle, because he is the only relative we have. He has come out here to join the Moravians, and to preach the gospel to these Indians. We shall share his life, and help him all we can. You have been telling me you cared for me, and now that we are about to part, I don't know what to say to you. Unless it is, give up this intention of yours to seek adventure, and come with us. It seems to me you need not hunt for excitement here, yet will come unsought. I wish I were Jim, he said, suddenly. Who is Jim? My brother. Tell me of him. There is nothing much to tell. He and I are all that are left of our people, as are you and Kate of yours. Jim is a preacher, and the best fellow. Oh, I cared a lot for Jim. Then why did you leave him? I was tired of Williamsburg. I quarreled with a fellow and hurt him. Besides, I wanted to see the West. I'd like to hunt deer, and bear, and fight Indians. Oh, I'm not much good. Was Jim the only one you cared for? Asked Nell, smiling. She was surprised to find him grave. Yes, except my horse and dog, and I had to leave them behind. Answered Joe, bowing his head a little. You'd like to be Jim because he's a preacher, and could help Uncle convert the Indians? Yes, partly that, but mostly because, somehow, something you've said or done has made me care for you in a different way. And I'd like to be worthy of you. I don't think I can believe it when you say you are no good, she replied. Nell, he cried, and suddenly grasped her hand. She wrenched herself free and leaped away from him. Her face was bright now, and the promise of smiles was made good. Behave yourself, sir. She tossed her head with the familiar backward motion to throw the chestnut hair from her face, and looked at him with eyes veiled slightly under their lashes. You will go with Kate and me. Before he could answer, a cry from someone on the plane below attracted their attention. They turned and saw another wagon train pulling into the settlement. The children were shouting and running alongside the weary oxen. The men and women went forward expectantly. That must be the train Uncle expected. Let us go down, said Nell. Joe did not ask her, but followed her down the path. When they gained a clump of willows near the cabins, he bent forward and took her hand. She saw the reckless gleam in his eyes. Don't, they'll see, she whispered. If that's the only reason you have, I reckon I don't care, said Joe. What do you mean? I didn't say—I didn't tell—let me go, implored Nell. She tried to release the hand Joe had grasped in his broad palm, but in vain. The more she struggled, the firmer was his hold. The frown wrinkled her brow, and her eyes sparkled with spirit. She saw the fur trader's wife looking out of the window, and remembered laughing and telling the good woman she did not like this young man. It was perhaps because she feared those sharp eyes that she resented his audacity. She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but no words came. Joe had bent his head, and softly closed her lips with his own. For the single instant during which Nell stood transfixed, as if with surprise, and looking up at Joe, she was dumb. Usually the girl was ready with sharp or saucy words and impulsive in her movements. But now the bewilderment of being kissed, particularly within view of the trader's wife, confused her. Then she heard voices, and as Joe turned away with a smile on his face, the unusual warmth in her heart was followed by an angry throbbing. Joe's tall figure stood out distinctly as he leisurely strolled toward the incoming wagon train without looking backward. Flashing after him a glance that boated wordy trouble in the future, she ran into the cabin. As she entered the door it seemed certain the gristled frontiersmen sitting on the bench outside had grinned knowingly at her, and winked as if to say he would keep her secret. Mrs. Wetz, the fur trader's wife, was seated by the open window which faced the fort. She was a large woman, strong of feature, and with that calm placidity of expression common to people who have lived long in sparsely populated districts, Nell glanced vertically at her, and thought she detected the shadow of a smile in the gray eyes. I saw you and your sweetheart making love behind the willow, Mrs. Wetz said in a matter-of-fact voice. I don't see why you need to hide to do it. We folks out here like to see the young people sparking. Your young man is a fine appearing chap. I felt certain you were sweethearts, for all you allowed you'd known him only a few days. Lies Davis said she saw he was sweet on you. I like his face. Jake, my man, says it's how he'll make a good husband for you, and he'll take to the frontier like a duck does to water. I'm sorry you'll not tarry here awhile. We don't see many lasses, especially any as pretty as you, and you'll find it more quiet and lonesome the farther west you get. Jake knows all about Fort Henry, and Jeff Lynn, the hunter outside, he knows Ebb and Jack Zane and Wetzel and all those Fort Henry men. You'll be getting married out there, won't you? You are quite wrong, said Nell, who all the while Mrs. Wenz was speaking grew rosier and rosier. We're not anything... then Nell hesitated and finally ceased speaking. She saw that denials or explanations were futile. The simple woman had seen the kiss and formed her own conclusions. During the few days Nell had spent at Fort Pitt, she had come to understand that the dwellers on the frontier took everything as a matter of course. She had seen them manifest a certain pleasure, but neither surprise, concern, nor any of the quick impulses so common among other people. And this was another lesson Nell took to heart. She realized that she was entering upon the life absolutely different from her former one, and the thought caused her to shrink from the ordeal. Yet all the suggestions regarding her future home, the stories told about Indians, renegades, and of the wild border life fascinated her. These people who had settled in this wild region were simple, honest, and brave. They accepted what came as facts not to be questioned and believed what looked true. Evidently the fur trader's wife and her female neighbors had settled in their minds the relation in which the girl stood to Joe. This latter reflection heightened Nell's resentment toward her lover. She stood with her face turned away from Mrs. Wentz. The little frown deepened, and she nervously tapped her foot on the floor. Where is my sister, she presently asked. She went to see the wagon train come in. Everybody's out there. Nell deliberated a moment and then went into the open air. She saw a number of canvas-covered wagons drawn up in front of the cabins. The vehicles were dusty and the wheels encrusted with yellow mud. The grizzled frontiersmen who had smiled at Nell stood leaning on his gun, talking to three men whose travel-stained and worn homespun clothes suggested a long and toilsome journey. There was the bustle of excitement incident to the arrival of strangers, to the quick exchange of greetings, the unloading of wagons, and unharnessing of horses and oxen. Nell looked here and there for her sister. Finally she saw her standing near her uncle while he conversed with one of the teamsters. The girl did not approach them, but glanced quickly around in search of someone else. At length she saw Joe unloading goods from one of the wagons. His back was turned toward her, but she had once recognized the challenge conveyed by the broad shoulders. She saw no other person, gave heed to nothing, save what was to her righteous indignation. Hearing her footsteps, young man turned, glancing at her admiringly, said, Good evening, miss. Nell had not expected such a matter of fact-breeding from Joe. There was not the slightest trace of repentance in his calm face, and he placidly continued his labor. Aren't you sorry you treated me so, burst out Nell? His coolness was exasperating. Instead of the contrition and apology she had expected, and which was her due, he evidently intended to tease her as he had done so often. The young man dropped a blanket and stared. I don't understand, he said gravely. I never saw you before. This was too much for quick tempered Nell. She had had some vague idea of forgiving him after he had sued sufficiently for pardon, but now, forgetting her good intentions in the belief that he was making sport of her when he should have pleaded for forgiveness, she swiftly raised her hand and slapped him smartly. The red blood flamed to the young man's face, as he staggered backward with his hand to his cheek. She heard a smothered exclamation behind her, and then the quick joyous barking of a dog. When Nell turned, she was amazed to see Joe standing beside the wagon, while a big white dog was leaping upon him. Suddenly she felt faint. Bewildered, she looked from Joe to the man she had just struck, but could not say which was the man who professed to love her. Jam, so you followed me, cried Joe, starting forward and flinging his arms around the other. Yes, Joe, and I am glad I am to find you, answered the young man, while a peculiar expression of pleasure came over his face. It's good to see you again, and here's my old dog, Moes. But how on earth did you know? Where did you strike by trail? What are you going to do out here on the frontier? Tell me all. What happened after I left? Then Joe saw Nell, standing nearby, pale and distressed, and he felt something was amiss. He glanced quickly from her to his brother. She seemed to be dazed, and Jim looked grave. What the deuce? But Nell, this is my brother Jim, the one I told you about. Jim, this is my friend, Miss Wells. I am happy to meet Miss Wells, said Jim, with a smile, even though she did slap my face for nothing. Slap you? What for? Then the truth dawned on Joe, and he laughed until the tears came into his eyes. She took you for me! Ha-ha! Oh, this is great! Nell's face was now rosy red and moisture-glissing in her eyes, but she tried bravely to stand her ground. Humiliation had taken the place of anger. I am sorry, Mr. Downes. I did take you for him. He has insulted me. And she turned and ran into the cabin. End of chapter one of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Chapter two of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Leonard Wilson. Chapter two. Joe and Jim were singularly alike. They were nearly the same size, very tall, but so heavily built as to a pure of medium height. While their gray eyes, and indeed every feature of their clean-cut faces, corresponded so exactly as to proclaim them brothers. Already up to your old tricks, asked Jim with his hand on Joe's shoulder as they both watched Nell's flight. I'm really fond of her, Jim, and I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but tell me about yourself. What made you come west? To teach the Indians, and I was, no doubt, strongly influenced by your being here. You're going to do as you ever have, make some sacrifice. You're always devoting yourself, if not to me, to some other. Now it's your life you're giving up. To try to convert the redskins and influence me for good is, in both cases, impossible. How often have I said there wasn't any good in me? My desire is to kill Indians, not preach to them, Jim. I'm glad to see you, but I wish you hadn't come. This wild frontier is no place for a preacher. I think it is, said Jim, quietly. What of Rose, the girl you were to marry? Joe glanced quickly at his brother. Jim's face paled slightly as he turned away. I'll speak once more of her, and then never again, he answered. You knew Rose better than I did. Once you tried to tell me she was too fond of admiration, and I rebuked you. But now I see that your wider experience of women had taught you things I could not then understand. She was untrue. When you left Williamsburg, apparently, because you had gambled with Jewett, and afterward fought him, I was not misled. You made the Game of Cards a pretense. You sought it simply as an opportunity to reap your vengeance on him for his villainy toward me. Well, it's all over now. Though you cruelly beat and left him disfigured for life, he will live, and you are saved from murder, thank God. When I learned of your departure, I yearned to follow. Then I met a preacher who spoke of having intended to go west with a Mr. Wells of the Moravian Mission. I immediately said I would go in his place. And here I am. I'm fortunate in that I have found both him and you. I'm sorry I didn't kill Jewett. I certainly meant to. Anyway, there's some comfort in knowing I left my mark on him. He was a snicking, cold-blooded fellow with his white hair and pale face, and always fawning round the girls. I hated him and gave it to him good. Joe spoke musingly and complacently, as though it was a trivial thing to compass the telling of a man. Well, Jim, you're here now, and there's no help for it. We'll go along with this Moravian preacher and his nieces. If you haven't any great regrets for the past, why, all may be well yet. I can see that the border is the place for me. But now, Jim, for once in your life take a word of advice from me. We're out on the frontier, where every man looks after himself. Your being a minister won't protect you here, where every man wears a knife and a tomahawk, and where most of them are desperadoes. Cut out that soft voice in most of your gentle ways and be a little more like your brother. Be as kind as you like and preach all you want to. But when some of these buckskin-legged frontiermen try to walk all over you, as they will, take your own part in a way you've never taken it before. I had my lesson the first few days out with the wagon train. It was a case of four fights, but I'm all right now. Joe, I won't run if that's what you mean, answered Jim with a laugh. Yes, I understand that a new life begins here, and I'm content. If I can find my work in it and remain with you, I shall be happy. Ah, old Moes, I'm glad to see you, Joe cried to the big dog who came nosing round him. You've brought this old fellow. Did you bring the horses? Look behind the wagon. With the dog bounding before him, Jim did as he was directed, and there found two horses tethered side by side. Little wonder that his eyes gleamed with delight. One was jet black, the other iron gray, and in every line the clean-leamed animals showed the thoroughbred. The black threw up his slim head and whenied, with affections clearly shining in his soft dark eyes as he recognized his master. Lance, old fellow, how did I ever leave you, murmured Joe, as he threw his arm over the arch-neck. Moes stood by, looking up, when wagging his tail in token of happiness at the reunion of the three old friends. There were tears in Joe's eyes when, with the last affectionate caress, he turned away from his pet. Come, Jim, I'll take you to Mr. Wells. They started across the little square while Moes went back under the wagon, but at a word from Joe he bounded after them trotting patently at their heels. Halfway to the cabins a big, raw-boned teamster singing in a drunken voice came staggering toward them. Evidently he had just left the group of people who had gathered near the Indians. I didn't expect to see drunkenness out here, said Jim in a low tone. There's lots of it. I saw that fellow yesterday when he couldn't walk. Lance told me he was a bad customer. The teamster, his red face bathed in perspiration, and his sleeves rolled up, showing brown, knotty arms, lurched toward them. As they met he aimed a kick at the dog, but Moes leaped nimbly aside, avoiding the heavy boot. He then not growled or show his teeth, but the great white head sank forward a little, and the lithe body crouched for a spring. Don't touch that dog, you'll tear your leg off, Joe cried sharply. Say, part, come and have a drink, replied the teamster, with a friendly lure. I don't drink, answered Joe curtly, and moved on. The teamster growled something, of which only the word parson was intelligible to the brothers. Joe stopped and looked back. His gray eyes seemed to contract. They did not flash, but shaded, and lost their warmth. Jim saw the change, and knowing what it signified, took Joe's arm as he gently urged him away. The teamster's shrill voice could be heard until he entered the fur trader's cabin. An old man with long white hair flowing from beneath his wide-brimmed hat sat near the door, holding one of Mrs. Wentz's children on his knee. His face was deep-lined and serious, but kindness shown from his mild blue eyes. Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has come in place of the man you expected from Williamsburg. The old minister arose and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at the newcomer, meanwhile. Evidently he approved what he saw in his quick strutiny of the other's face, for his lips were wreathed with a smile of welcome. Mr. Downes, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me. I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who was young enough to carry on the work when my days are done. I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in my power, answered Jim earnestly. We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers who claim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fierce savages Christianity, but I know it can be done, and my heart is in my work. I have no fear, yet I would not conceal from you, young man, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must be great. I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the red man. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature, and believe the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war, and I want to help him into other paths. Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs. Wentz. The fur trader's wife was glowing with pleasure. She held in her hand several rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener, a young woman, that the toys were for the children having been brought all away from Williamsburg. Kate wears knell, Joe asked of the girl. She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz. Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow, easy, and consistent with her large, full form. Her brown eyes and hair contrasted sharply with knells. The greatest difference in the sisters lay in that knell's face was sparkling and full of the fire of her eager young life, while Kate's was calm, like the unruffled surface of a deep lake. That's Jim, my brother. We're going with you, said Joe. Are you? I'm glad, answered the girl, looking at the handsome, earnest face of the young minister. Your brother's like you for all the world, whispered Mrs. Wentz. He does look like you, said Kate, with her slow smile. Which means you think or hope that that is all, retorted Joe, laughingly. Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends. Thank God for Jim. He spoke in a sad, bitter tone, which caused both women to look at him, wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises. Never until then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the children, who were playing with the trinkets, while Kate mused over the young man's remark, and began studying his half-averted face. She felt warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he had given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with much of this wild and reckless boy's behavior. To Kate, he had always seemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men. And yet, here was proof that Master Joe loved his brother. The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by a low cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, and then a husky voice, Hold on, my pretty lass! Joe took too long strides when it was on the doorstep. He saw Nell struggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster. I'll just have to kiss this lassy for luck, she said, in a tone of good humor. At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth, a gristled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell, Let me go, cried Nell! Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him, and was bending his red, moist face to hers, two brown, senui hands grasped his neck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth opened, his tongue protruded. His eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flung with a crash against the cabin wall, falling he lay in a heap on the grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple. What's this, cried a man authoritatively? He had come up swiftly, and arrived at the scene where stood the gristled frontiersman. It was pretty handy, whence I could have did better myself, and I was coming for that purpose, said the frontiersman. Lefler was trying to kiss the lass. He's been drunk for two days. That little girl's sweet heart can handle himself some, and now you take my word on it. I'll agree left's bad when he's drinking, answered the fur trader, and to Joe he added, He's liable to look you up when he comes around. Tell him if I'm here when he gets sober I'll kill him, Joe cried in a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster, and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance was cutting as if with the flash of cold grey steel. Nell, I'm sorry I wasn't round sooner, he said, apologetically as if it was owing to his neglect the affair had happened. As they entered the cabin, Nell stole a glance at him. This was the third time he had injured a man because of her. She had on several occasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had always frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were inside the building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly, and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry with him, but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he considered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet and subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her while a sense of fear, because of his strength, was mangled with her pride in it. Any other girl would have been only too glad to have such a champion. She would too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud. Look here, Nell, you haven't spoken to me, Joe cried suddenly, seeming to understand that she had not even heard what he said. So engrossed had she been with her reflections. Are you mad with me, yes, he continued. Why, Nell, I am in—I love you! Evidently Joe thought such fact a sufficient reason for any act on his part. His tender tone conquered Nell, and she turned to him with fleshed cheeks and glad eyes. I wasn't angry at all, she whispered, and then, eluding the arm, he extended. She ran into the other room. End of Chapter 2 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Chapter 3 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson Chapter 3 Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplating two quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One he recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour that morning. The red sun of the woods was wrapped in slumber. He had placed under his head a many-hued home-spun shirt, which the young preacher had given him. But while asleep his head had rolled off this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attracting the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had found lodgement in Joe's fertile brain. The other sleeper was a short stout man whom Joe had seen several times before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced in his mind, and was the butt of the settler's jokes, while the children called him Luri. He, like the Indian, was sleeping off the effects of the previous night's dissipation. During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an expression on his face, which told that he thought in them were great possibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared within the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveying the village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a small basket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simply contained several bits of soft chalky stone, such as the Indians used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the fur trader's wares. He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were busy with their work. He gave the short man a push and chuckled when there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the Indian's gaudy shirt, and lifting Luri, slipped it around him, shoved the latter's arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it in front. He streaked the round face with red and white paint, and then dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the Indian's headdress, stuck it in Luri's thick shock of hair. It was all done in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went down to the river. Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf, where Jeff Lynn, the gristle old frontiersman, busied himself with preparations for the raft journey down the Ohio. Lynn had been employed to guide the missionaries' party to Fort Henry, and as the brothers had acquainted him with their intention of accompanying the travelers, he had constructed a raft for them and their horses. Joe laughed when he saw the dozen two-foot logs fastened together upon which a rude shack had been erected for shelter. This slight protection from sun and storm was all the brothers would have on their long journey. Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with some thought for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hut was raised so that the waves which broke over the logs could not reach it. Taking a peep into the structure, Joe was pleased to see that Nell and Kate would be comfortable, even during a storm. A buffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior a cozy, warm look. He observed that some of the girls' luggage was already on board. When we'd be off, he inquired. Son-up answered Lynn briefly. I'm glad of that. I left beyond the goal in the early morning, said Joe, cheerfully. Most folks from over-east waves ain't in a hurry to tackle the river, replied Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply. It's a beautiful river, and I'd like to sail on it from here to where it ends, and then come back to go again, Joe replied warmly. In a hurry to be a-going? I'll allow you'll see some slim red devils with feathers in their hair slipping among the trees along the bank, and maybe you'll hear the ping which is made when wisdom lead hits. Perhaps you want to be back here by tomorrow's sundown. Not I, said Joe, with his short, cool laugh. The old frontiersman slowly finished his task of calling up a rope of wet cow hide, and then producing a dirty pipe, he took a live ember from the fire and placed it on the bowl. He sucked slowly at the piped stem, and soon puffed out a great clav of smoke. Sitting on the log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long heavy limbs of the young man, with the keen appreciation of their symmetry and strength. Agility, endurance, and courage were more to a border man than all else. A newcomer on the frontier was always sized up with reference to these points, and respected in proportion to the measure in which he possessed them. Old Jeff Lin, river man, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at his pipe while he newsed us to himself. Maybe I'm wrong in taking a liken to this youngster so sudden. Maybe it's because I'm fond of his sunny-haired lass, and again maybe it's because I'm getting old and likes young folks better than I once did. Anyway, I'm kind of thinking if this young fellow gets worked out, save for about 20 pounds less, he'll lick a whole raft load of wildcats. Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put together, and took a pull on the long clumsy steering oar. At length he seated himself beside Lin. He was eager to ask questions, to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, the Indians, everything in connection with this wild life. But already he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means of closing their lips. Ever handled a long rifle, asked Lin after a silence? Yes, answered Joe simply. Ever shoot anything? The frontiersman questioned, when he had taken four or five puffs at his pipe. Squirrels. Good practice shooting squirrels, absurd Jeff, after another silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined. Can you hit one, say, a hundred yards? Yes, but not every time in the head, returned Joe. There was an apologetic tone in his answer. Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowly pursuing his line of thought. After Joe's last remark, he returned his pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco pouch. He tore off a large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then he held out the little buckskin sack to Joe. Have a chaw, he said. To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a borderman's guarantee of friendliness toward that person. Jeff expected to rate it half a dozen times, each time coming a little nearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly this was the borderman's way of oiling up his conversational machinery. At all events, he commenced to talk. Your brother's going to preach out there, ain't he? Preaching is all right, I'll allow, but I'm kind of doubtful about preaching to Redskins. How some ever I have no dinjins who are good fellas and there's no telling. What are you going in for, a farming? No, I wouldn't make a good farmer. Just come out kind of wild like if we joined Jeff knowingly. I wanted to come west because I was tired of tame life. I loved the forest, I went to fish and hunt, and I think I'd like to see Indians. I kind of thought so, said the old frontiersman nodding his head as though he perfectly understood Joe's case. Well lad, where you're going, see an engine's ain't a matter of choice. You hast to see him, and fight him too. We've had bad times for years out here on the border, and I'm thinking, what's his coming? Did you ever hear the name Gertie? Yes, he's a renegade. He's a traitor, and Jim and George Gertie, his brothers, are pious and rattlesnake engines. Simon Gertie's bad enough, but Jim's the worst. He's now wasn't a fool and blooded at Delaware. He's all the time on the lookout to capture white women to take to his engine teepee. Simon Gertie and his pals, McKee and Elliot, deserted from Lothar Fort right before your eyes. They're now living among the Redskins down Fort Henry Way, raising as much hell for the settlers as they can. Is Fort Henry near the Indian towns? Asked Joe. There's Delaware, Shawnees, and Hurons all along the Ohio below Fort Henry. Where is the Moravian mission located? Well lad, the village apiece, as the Indians call it, is right in the midst of that engine country. I suspect it's a matter of a hundred miles below and across country a little from Fort Henry. The fort must be an important point, is it not? Well, I guess so. It's the last place on the river, answered Lynn with a grim smile. There's only a stockade there and a handful of men. The engines have stormed down out at time and again, but they have never burned it. Only such men as Colonel Zane, his brother Jack, and Wetzel could have kept that fort standing all these bloody years. They have Zane's got but a few men, yet he can handle them some. And with such scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he always knows what's going on among the engines. I've heard of Colonel Zane. He was an officer under Lord Dunmore. The hunters here speak often of Jack Zane and Wetzel. What are they? Jack Zane is a hunter and guide. I knowed him well a few years back. He's a quiet, mild chap, but a streak of chain lightning when he's riled. Wetzel is an engine killer. Some people say us how he's crazy over scalp hunting, but I reckon that's not so. I've seen him a few times. He don't hang around the settlement except when the engines are up and nobody sees him much. At home he sits round silent like, and then maybe next morning he'll be gone and won't show up for days or weeks. But all the frontier knows are his deeds. For instance, I've heard of settlers getting up in the morning and finding a couple of dead and scalped engines right in front of their cabins. No one knowed who killed him, but everybody says, Wetzel. He's always worn in the settlers when they need to flee to the fort and sure he's right every time because when these men go back to their cabins they find nothing but ashes. There couldn't be any pharma done out there but for Wetzel. What does he look like, questioned Joe, much interested. The Wetzel stands straight as the oak over the hour. He'd have to go sideways to get his shoulders in that door, but he's as light a foot and fast as a deer. And his eyes, why lad, you can hardly look into him. If you ever see Wetzel, you know him to watch. I want to see him, Joe spoke quickly, his eyes lighting with an eager flash. He must be a great fighter. Is he? Lou Wetzel is the heftiest of them all, and we have some who can fight out here. I was down in the river a few years ago and joined a party to go out and hunt up some redskins as had been reported. Wetzel with whistlets. We soon struck engine sign and then come on to a lot of the pesky varmints. We was all for going home because we had a small force. When we started to go, we find Wetzel sitting calm like on a log. We said, ain't you going home? And he replied, I come out here to find redskins and now as we've found him, I'm not going to run away. And we left him sitting there. The whole Wetzel is a fighter. I hope I shall see him, said Joe once more. The warm light which made him look so boyish, still glowing in his face. Maybe you'll get to and sure you'll see redskins and not tame one another. At this moment the sound of excited voices near the cabins broke in on the conversation. Joe saw several persons run toward the large cabin and disappear behind it. He smiled as he thought perhaps the commotion had been caused by the awakening of the Indian brave. Rising to his feet, Joe went toward the cabin and soon saw the cause of the excitement. A small crowd of men and women, all laughing and talking, surrounded the Indian brave and the little stout fellow. Joe heard someone groan and then a deep guttural voice, pale face, big steel, sir, engine mad, heat mad, kill pale face. After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holding Luri with one hand while he poked him on the ribs with the other. The captain's face was the picture of dismay. Even the streaks of paint did not hide his look of fear and bewilderment. The poor half-witted fellow was so badly frightened that he could only groan. Silver tips, cop, pale face, growls at savage, giving Luri another blow on the side. This time he bent over in pain. The bystanders were divided in feeling. The men laughed while the women murmured sympathetically. This is not a bit funny, muttered Joe, as he pushed his way nearly to the middle of the crowd. Then he stretched out a long arm that bearer and brawny looked as though it might have been a blacksmith's and grasped the Indian's sinewy wrist with a force that made him loosen his hold on Luri instantly. I stole the shirt. Fun, joke, said Joe. Scout me if you want to scalp anyone. The Indian looked quickly at the powerful form before him. With a twist he slipped his arm from Joe's grasp. Big pale face, he spun. All squaw play, he said scornfully. There was a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left the group. I'm afraid you've made an enemy, said Jake Wentz to Joe. And the Indian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded your joke. Silver Tip has been friendly here because he sells us his pelts. He's a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows. By this time, Jim and Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wentz, and the girls had joined the group. They all watched Silver Tip get into his canoe and paddle away. A bad sign, said Wentz, and then turning to Jeff Lynn, who joined the party at that moment, he briefly explained the circumstances. Never did lack Silver. He's a crafty red skin and not to be trusted, replied Jeff. He has turned around and is looking back, Nell said quickly. So he has, observed the fur trader. The Indian was now several hundred yards down the swift river, and for an instant had ceased paddling. The sun shone brightly on his eagle plumes. He remained motionless for a moment, and even at such a distance, the dark, changeless face could be discerned. He lifted his hand and shook it menacingly. If you don't hear from that red skin again, Jeff Lynn don't know nothing, calmly said the old frontiersman. End of Chapter 3 of Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray, recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Chapter 4 of the Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Chapter 4. As the rafts drifted with the current, the voyagers saw the settlers on the landing-place diminish until they had faded from indistinct figures to mere black specks against the green background. Then came the last wave of a white scarf, faintly in the distance, and at length the dark outline of the fort was all that remained to their regretful gaze. Quickly that, too, disappeared behind the green hill, which, with its bold front, forces the river to take a wide turn. The Ohio, winding in its course between high-witted bluffs, rolled on and on into the wilderness. Beautiful as was the ever-changing scenery, rugged gray face cliffs on one side, contrasting with green-clad hills on the other, there hovered over land and water something more striking than beauty. Above all hung a still atmosphere of calmness, of loneliness. And this penetrating solitude marred somewhat the pleasure which might have been found in the picturesque scenery and caused the voyagers to whom this country was new to take less interest in the gaily-feathered birds and stealthy animals that were to be seen on the way. By the forms of wildlife along the banks of the river, this strange intruder on their peace was regarded with attention. The birds and beasts events little fear of the floating rafts, the sand hill crane stalking along the shore, lifted his long neck as the unfamiliar thing came floating by, and then stood still and silent as a statue until the rafts disappeared from view. Blue herons feeding along the bars saw the unusual spectacle and uttering surprised booms, they spread wide wings and lumbered away along the shore. The crows circled above the voyagers, calling and not unfriendly excitement. Smaller birds alighted on the raised poles and several, a robin, a cat-bird and a little brown wren, ventured with hesitating boldness to peck at the crumbs the girls threw to them. Deer waded knee-deep in the shallow water and lifting their heads instantly became motionless and absorbed. Locationally a buffalo appeared on the level stretch of back and tossing his huge head seemed inclined to resent the coming of this stranger into his domain. All day the rafts drifted steadily and swiftly down the river, presenting to the little party ever-varying pictures of densely wooded hills, of jutting broken cliffs with scant evergreen growth, of long reaches of sandy bar that glistened golden in the sunlight, and overall the flight and call of wildfowl, the flitting of woodland songsters, and now and then the whistle and bellow of the horned watchers in the forest. The intense blue of the vault above began to pale and low down in the west a few fleecy clouds, gorgeously golden for a fleeting instant, then crimson crowned for another, shaded and darkened as the setting sun sank behind the hills. Presently the red rays disappeared, a pink glow suffused the heavens, and at last as grey twilight stole down over the hill-tops the crescent moon peaked above the wooded fringe of the Western Bloss. Hard and fast shears sang out, Jeff Lynn, as he fastened the rope to a tree at the head of a small island, all off-dow and will have supper. There was a fine spring under yarn and curly birch, and I fetched along a leg of deer-meat. Hungry Lillan? He had worked hard all day stirring the rafts, yet Nell had seen him smiling at her many times during the journey, and he had found time before the early start to arrange for her a comfortable seat. There was now a solicitude in the frontiersman's voice that touched her. I'm famished, she replied with her bright smile. I'm afraid I could eat a whole deer. They all climbed the sandy slope and found themselves on the summit of an oval island with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded by birches. Bill, the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at once swung his axe upon a log of driftwood. Mr. Wells and Jim walked to and fro under the birches, and Kate and Nell sat on the grass watching with great interest the old helmsman as he came up from the river, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he had given them. Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after laying out the few utensils, he addressed himself to Joel. I'll tell you right here, lad, good venison can be spoiled by bad cutting and cooking. You're slicing it too thick. See? Dar. Now, salt good and keep out in the flame on the red coals his best. With a sharpened stick, Jeff held the thin slices over the fire for a few moments. Then he laid them aside on some clean white oak chips Bill's axe had provided. The simple meal of meat, bread, and afterward a drink of the cold spring water was keenly relished by the hungry voyagers. When it had been eaten, Jeff threw a log on the fire and remarked, seeing as how we won't be in Redskin territory for a while yet, we can have a fire. I'll allow you'll all be chilly and damp from river mist for long, so toast yourselves good. How far have we come today, inquired Mr. Wells, his mind always intent on reaching the scene of his cherished undertaking. Now, thirty odd mile, I reckon, not much on a trip, that's certain, but we'll pick up tomorrow. We've got some quicker water and the drafts have to go separate. How quiet exclaimed Kate, suddenly breaking the silence that followed the frontiersman's answer. Beautiful, impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joel. The quick flash from his grey eyes answered her. He did not speak. Indeed he had said little to her since the start, but his glance showed her how glad he was that she felt the sweetness and content of this wild land. I was never in a wilderness before, broken the earnest voice of the young minister. I feel an almost overpowering sense of loneliness. I want to get near to you all. I feel lost. Yet it is grand, sublime. Here is the promised land of the fruitful life, nature as it was created by God, replied the old minister impressively. Tell us a story, said Nell, to the old frontiersman, as he once more joined the circle around the fire. So little then he won a story, queried Jeff taking up a live coal and placing it in the bowl with his pipe. He took off his coonskin cap and carefully laid it aside. His weather-beaten face beamed an answer to the girl's request. He drew a long and audible pull at his black pipe and sent forth slowly a cloud of white smoke, deliberately poking the fire with a stick. As if stirring into life, dead embers of the past, he sucked again at his pipe and he met at a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the grizzled head. From out that white cloud came its droll and voice. You've seen that big curly birch over there. That and his bends kind of sorrowful like. Well, it used to stand straight and proud. I've known that tree all the years I've navigated this river and it seems natural like to me that it now droops down for it shades the grave of a young and sweet and pretty alas-ass yourself, Miss Nell. Rivermen called this island George's Island, cause Washington was capped here. But of late years the names got changed and the men say something like this. We'll try and make Millie's birch before sundown. Just as Bill and me came together today. Some years ago when I was coming up from Fort Henry and had on board my slow old scow the lass named Millie. We never learned her other name. She came to me at the fort and tells us how her folks had been killed by engines and she wanted to get back to Pitt to meet her sweetheart. I was again her coming all along and first off I said no. But when I seen tears in her blue eyes and she puts her little hand on mine I just wilted and says to Jim Blair she goes. Well, just as mine had been expected and fact is I looked for it we was tackled by redskins. Somehow Jim Gertie got one of us having a lass aboard and he catched up with us just below here. It's a bad place called Shawnee Rock and I'll show it to you tomorrow. The renegade with his red devils attacked the star and we had a time getting away. Millie was shocked. She lived for a while a couple of days and all the time was so patient and sweet and brave with that renegade's bullet in her for he shot her when he seen he couldn't capture her that there wasn't a blame man of us who wouldn't have died to grant her prayer which was that she could live to once more see her lover. There was a long silence during which the old frontiersman sat gazing into the fire with sad eyes. We couldn't do nothing and we buried her there under that birch where she smiled her last sad sweet smile and died. And another flood will take away this sandbar these few birches and Millie's grave. The old frontiersman's story affected all his listeners. The elder minister bowed his head and prayed that no such fate might overtake his nieces. The young minister looked again as he had many times that day at Nell's winsome face. The girls cast grave glances at the drooping birch and their bright tears glistened in the fire glow. What's more, Joe's eyes glented with that steely flash and as he gazed out over the wide darkening expanse of water his face grew cold and rigid. I'll allow I might have told a more cheerful story and I'll do so next time but I wanted you all particularly the lassest to know something of the kind of country you're going into. He's a man of his women but just yet it deals hard with him and Jim Gertie with more of his kind ain't dead yet. Why don't someone kill him was Joe's sharp question. Easier said than done lad. Jim Gertie is a white traitor but he's a cunning and fierce red skin in his ways and life. He knows the woods as a crow does and he keeps out of sight except when he's least expected. Then again he's got Simon Gertie his brother and almost the whole red skin tribe behind him. Engines stick close to a white man that is turned against his own people and Jim Gertie ain't ever been touched. House of Ever I heard last trip that he'd been trying some of his tricks round Fort Henry and that Wetzel is on his trail. Well if it's so that Lou Wetzel is under him he finds chances of a long life. No one spoke and Jeff after knocking the ashes from his pipe went down to the raft returning shortly afterward with his blanket. This he laid down and rolled himself in it. Presently from under his coon skin cap came the words well I've turned in and I advise you all to do the same. Wetzel acted on Jeff's suggestion. For a long time the young couple sat close together on the back gazing at the moonlight on the river. The night was perfect the cool wind fanned the dying embers of the fire and softly stirred the leaves. Earlier in the evening a single frog had voiced his protest against the loneliness but now his dismal croak was no longer heard. A snipe related in his feeding the sandy shore uttering his tweet tweet and his little cry breaking in so softly on the silence seemed only to make more deeply felt the great vast stillness of the night. Joe's arm was around Nell she had demurred at first but he gave no heed to her slight resistance and finally her head rested against his shoulder there was no need of words. Joe had a pleasurable sense and there was a delight in the fragrance of her hair as it waved against his cheek but just then love was not uppermost in his mind all day he had been silent under the force of an emotion which he could not analyze some power some feeling in which the thought of Nell had no share was drawing him with irresistible strength Nell had just begun to surrender to him in the sweetness of her passion and yet even with that knowledge knocking reproachfully at his heart he could not help being absorbed in the shimmering water and the dark reflection of the trees the gloom and shadow of the forest presently he felt her form relax in his arms then her soft regular breathing told him she had fallen asleep and he laughed low to himself how she would pout on the moral when he teased her about it then realizing that she was tired with her long day's journey he reproached himself for keeping her from the needed rest and instantly decided to carry her to the raft yet such was the novelty of the situation that he yielded to its charm and did not go at once the moonlight found bright threads in her wavy hair it shone caressingly on her quiet face and tried to steal under the downcast slashes Joe made a movement to rise with her when she buttered indistinctly as if speaking to someone he remembered then she had once told him that she talked in her sleep and how greatly it annoyed her he might hear something more with which to tease her so he listened yes uncle I will go Kate we must go another interval of silence then more murmurings he distinguished his own name and presently she called clearly as if answering some inward questioner I love him yes I love Joe yes mastered me yet I wish she were like Jim Jim who looked at me so with his deep eyes and I Joe lifted her as if she were a baby and tearing her down to the raft gently laid her by her sleeping sister the innocent words which she should not have heard were like a blow what she would never have acknowledged in her waking hours had been revealed in her dreams he recalled the glance of Jim's eyes as it had rested on Nell many times that day and now these things were most significant he found at the end of the island a great mossy stone on this he climbed and sat where the moonlight streamed upon him gradually that cold bitterness died out from his face as it passed from his heart and once more he became engrossed in the silver sheen on the water the lapping of the waves on the pebbly beach and in that speaking mysterious silence of the woods when the first faint rays of red streaked over the eastern hilltops and the river mist rose from the water in a vapory cloud Jeff Lin rolled out of his blankets stretched his long limbs and gave a hearty call to the morning his cheerful welcome awakened all the voyagers except Joe who had spent the night in watching and the early morning in fishing well I'll be darned ejaculated Jeff as he saw Joe but before me and catched a string of fish what are they? asked Joe holding up several bronze-backed fish bass, black bass and that big fella is a lamb and hefty and how'd you catch him? I fished for them well so it appears growl Jeff once more reluctantly yielding to his admiration for the lead how'd you wake up so early? I stayed up all night I saw three deer swim from the mainland but nothing else came around try your hand at cleaning them for breakfast continued Jeff beginning to busy himself with preparations for that meal well well if he ain't surprising he'll do something out here on the frontier sure as I'm a born sinner he muttered to himself with his head in the disquiet manner breakfast over Jeff transferred the horses to the smaller raft which he had cut loose from his own and giving a few directions to Bill started downstream with Mr. Wells and the girls the rafts remained close together for a while but as the current quickened and was more skillfully taken advantage of by Jeff the larger raft gained considerable headway gradually widening the gap between the two all day they drifted from time to time Joe and Jim waved their hands to the girls but the greater portion of their attention was given to quieting the horses Moes Joe's big white dog retired in disgust to the hut where he watched and dozed by turns he did not fancy this kind of voyaging Bill strained his sturdy arms all day on the steering oar about the middle of the afternoon Joe observed that the hills grew more rugged and precipitous and the river ran faster he kept a constant lookout for the wall of rock which marked the point of danger when the sun had disappeared behind the hills he saw ahead a grey rock protruding from the green foliage it was ponderous, overhanging and seemed to frown down on the river this was Shawnee Rock Joe looked long at the cliff and wondered if there was now an Indian scout hidden behind the pines that skirted the edge prominent on the top of the bluff a large dead tree projected its hoary twisted branches Bill evidently saw the landmark for he stopped in his monotonous walk to and fro across the raft and pushing his oar amid ships he looked ahead for the other raft the figure of the tall frontiersman could be plainly seen as he labored at the helm the raft disappeared round a bend and as it did so Joe saw a white scarf waved by Nell Bill worked the clumsy craft over toward the right shore where the current was more rapid he pushed with all his strength and when the oar had reached its widest sweep he lifted it and ran back across the raft for another push Joe scanned the river ahead he saw no rapids only rougher water purling over some rocks they were where the channel narrowed and ran close to the right hand bank under a willow flanked ledge was a sandbar to Joe there seemed nothing hazardous and drifting through this pass my place ahead said Bill observing Joe's survey of the river it doesn't look so reply Joe a raft in a boat we could pull a boat of water to float logs and the rivers run out to the cinema I'm only feared for the horses if we hit or drag they might plunge around a bit when the raft passed into the head of the bend it struck the rocks several times but finally gained the channel safely and everything seemed propitious for an easy passage but greatly to Bill's surprise the wide craft was caught directly in the channel and swung round so that the steering oar the water roared a foot deep over the logs hold hard on the horses you'll be of something's wrong I never seen a snag there the straining mass of logs insecurely fastened together rolled and then pitched loose again but the short delay had been fatal to the steering apparatus Joe would have found keen enjoyment in the situation had it not been for his horse lats the thoroughbred was difficult to hold as Bill was making strenuous efforts to get in a lucky stroke of the oar he failed to see a long length of grapevine floating like a brown snake of the water below in the excitement they heated not the parking of Moes nor did they see the grapevine straighten and become taut just as they drifted upon it but they felt the raft strike and hold on some submerged object it creaked and groaned and the foamy waters surged gurgling between the logs Jim's mare snorted with terror and rearing high pulled her halter loose and plunged into the river but Jim still held her at risk of being drawn overboard let go, she'll drag you in, yell Joe grasping him with his free hand Lance trembled violently and strained at the rope which his master held with a strong grip crack the stinging report of a rifle rang out above the splashing of the water without a cry as soon as upon the ore loosened he fell over it limply his head striking the almost submerged log a dark red fluid colored the water then his body slipped over the ore and into the river where it sank my God shot cried Jim in horrified tones he saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows then the branches parted revealing the dark forms of several Indian warriors in the foremost savages hand a slight veil of smoke rose with a leap of a panther the red skin sprang from the strip of sand to the raft hold Jim, drop that axe we're caught, cried Joe it's that Indian from the fort, gasped Jim the stalwart warrior was indeed silver tip but how changed stripped of the blanket he had worn at the settlement now standing naked with his perfectly proportioned form disclosed in all its senui beauty and on his worthy evil face an expression of savage scorn he surely looked a warrior and a chief he drew his tomahawk and flashed a dark glance at Joe for a moment he steadily regarded the young man but if he expected to see fear in the latter's face he was mistaken for the look was returned coolly pale face steel shirt he said in his deep voice full pale face play silver tip no forget End of Chapter 4 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Chapter 5 of The Spirit of the Border by Zane Gray is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Chapter 5 silver tip turned to his braves and giving a brief command sprang from the raft the warriors closed and around the brothers two grasping each by the arms and the remaining and the untaking care of the horse the captives were then led ashore where silver tip awaited them when the horse was clear of the raft which task necessitated considerable labor on the part of the Indians the chief seized the grapevine that was now plainly in sight and severed it with one blow of his tomahawk the raft dashed forward with a lurch and drifted downstream in the clear water Joe could see the cunning trap which had caused the death of Bill and ensured the captivity of himself and his brother the crafty savages had trimmed a six-inch sapling and anchored it under the water they waited the heavy end leaving the other pointing upstream to this last had been tied the grapevine when the drifting raft reached the sapling the Indians concealed in the willows pulled hard on the improvised rope the end of the sapling stuck up like a hook and the aft was caught and held the killing of the helmsmen showed the Indians foresight even had the raft drifted on downstream the brothers would have been helpless on a craft they could not manage after all Joe thought he had not been so far wrong when he had fancied that an Indian lay behind Shawnee Rock and he marveled at this clever trick which had so easily effected their capture but he had little time to look around at the scene of action there was a moment only in which to study the river to learn if the unfortunate raftsman's body had appeared it was not to be seen the river ran swiftly and he had all evidence of the tragedy under its smooth surface when the brave who had gone back to the raft for the goods joined his companion the two hurried Joe up the bank after the others once upon level ground Joe saw before him an open forest on the border of this forest and he stopped long enough to bind the prisoners wrists with thongs of deer hide while two of the braves performed this office Silver Tip leaned against a tree and took no notice of the brothers when they were thus securely tied one of their captors addressed the chief who at once led the way westward through the forest the savages followed in single file with Joe and Jim to mount Lance but the thoroughbred would have none of him and after several efforts the savage was compelled to desist Moes trotted reluctantly along behind the horse although the chief preserved a dignified mean his braves were disposed to be gay they were in high glee over their feet of capturing the pale faces and kept up an incessant jabbering one Indian who walked directly behind Joe continually prodded him with a stock of a rifle and whenever Joe turned the brawny red-skinned grin as he quenched Joe observed that this huge savage had a broad face a rather a lighter shade of red than his companions perhaps he intended those rifle prods in friendliness for although they certainly amused him he would allow no one else to touch Joe but it would have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship in a gentle manner this Indian carried Joe's pack much to his own delight especially as his companions evenced an envious curiosity the big fellow would not however allow them to touch it he's a cheerful brute remarked Joe to Jim grunted the big Indian jamming Joe with his rifle stock Joe took heed to the warning and spoke no more he gave all his attention to the course over which he was being taken here was his first opportunity to learn something of Indians and their woodcraft it occurred to him that his captors would not have been so gay and careless had they not believed themselves safe from pursuit and he concluded that they were leisurely conducting him to one of the Indian towns he watched the supple figure before him wondering at the quick step light as the fall of a leaf and tried to walk as softly he found however that where the Indian readily avoided the sticks and brush he was unable to move without snapping twigs now and then he would look up and study the lay of the land ahead and as he came nearer to certain rocks and trees he scrutinized them closely in order to remember their shape and general appearance he believed he was blazing out in his mind so that should fortune favor him and he contrived to escape he would be able to find his way back to the river also he was enjoying the wild scenery the forest would have appeared beautiful even to one indifferent to such charms and Joe was far from that every moment he felt steel stronger over him a subtle influence which he could not define half unconsciously but it baffled him he could no more explain what fascinated him and he could understand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over the glades and hollows he had pictured a real forest so differently from this here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fenced by bright green sassafras there a secluded dale dotted with pale blue blossoms over which the giant cotton woods leaned their heads jealously guarding the delicate flowers from the sun beach trees growing close and clanny groups spread their straight limbs gracefully the white birches gleamed like silver wherever a stray sunbeam stole through the foliage and the oaks monarchs of the forest rose over all dark rugged and kingly Joe soon understood how the party traveled through such open forest the chief seeming hardly to deviate from his direct course kept clear a broken ground matted thickets and tangled windfalls Joe got a glimpse of dark ravines and heard the music of tumbling waters he saw grey cliffs grown over with vines and full of holes and crevices steep ridges covered with dense patches of briar and hazel rising in the way yet the Shawnee always found an easy path the sun went down behind the foliage in the west and shadows appeared low in the glens then the trees faded into an indistinct mass a purple shade settled down over the forest and night brought the party to a halt the Indians selected a sheltered spot under the lee of Annol at the base of which ran a little brook here in this enclosed space where the remains of a campfire evidently the Indians had halted there that same day for the logs still smothered while one brave fanned the embers another took from a neighbouring branch a haunch of deer meat a blaze was soon coaxed from the dull coals more fuel was added and presently a cheerful fire shown on the circle of dusky forms it was a picture which Joe had seen in many a boyish dream now that he was a part of it he did not dwell on the hopelessness of the situation nor of the hostile chief whose enmity he had incurred almost it seemed he was glad of this chance to watch the Indians and listen to them he had been kept apart from Jim and it appeared to Joe that their captors treated his brother with the contempt which they did not show him Silver Tip had no doubt informed them that Jim had been on his way to teach the Indians of the white man's God Jim sat with grouping head his face was sad and evidently he took the most disheartening view of his capture when he had eaten the slice of venison given him he lay down with his back to the fire Silver Tip in these surroundings showed his real character he had appeared friendly in the settlement but now he was the relentless savage a son of the wilds free as an eagle his dignity as a chief kept him aloof from his braves he had taken no notice of the prisoners since the capture he remained silent steadily regarding the fire with his somber eyes at length glancing at the big Indian he motioned toward the prisoners and with a single word stretched himself on the leaves Joe noted the same changelessness of expression in the other dark faces as he had seen in Silver Tips it struck him forcibly when they spoke in their soft guttural tones or burst into a low not unmusical laughter or sat gazing stolidly into the fire their faces seemed always the same inscrutable like the depths of the forest now hidden in night one thing Joe felt rather than saw these savages were fierce and untameable he was sorry for Jim because as he believed it would be as easy to teach the panther gentleness toward his prey as to instill into one of these wild creatures a belief in Christ the braves manifested key and pleasure in anticipation as to what they would get out of the pack which the Indian now opened time and again the big brave placed his broad hand on the shoulder of a comrade Indian and pushed him backward finally the pack was opened it contained a few articles of wearing apparel a pair of boots and a pipe and pouch of tobacco the big Indian kept the latter articles grunting with satisfaction and threw the boots and clothes to the others immediately there was a scramble one brave after a struggle with another got possession of both boots he had once slipped off his moccasins and drew on the white man's foot coverings he spread it around in them a few moments but his proud manner soon changed to disgust cow hide had none of the soft yielding qualities of buckskin and hurt the Indians feet sitting down he pulled one off not without difficulty for the boots were wet but he could not remove the other he hesitated a moment being aware of the subdued merriment of his comrades and then held up his foot to the nearest one this chance to be the big Indian who evidently had a keen sense of humor taking hold of the boot with both hands he dragged the luckless brave entirely around the campfire the fun, however, was not to be all one-sided the big Indian gave a more strenuous pull and the boot came off suddenly unprepared for this he lost his balance and fell down the back almost into the creek he yelled on to the boot, nevertheless and getting up threw it into the fire the braves quieted down after that and soon lapsed into slumber leaving the big fellow to whom the chief had addressed his brief command he was looking as guard observing Joe watching him as he puffed on his new pipe he grinned and spoke in broken English that was intelligible and much of a surprise to the unman pay to face to back deep good then seeing that Joe made no effort to follow his brother's initiative for Jim was fast asleep he pointed to the recumbent figures and spoke again to Joe as he was asleep engine wigwams near setting sun on the following morning Joe was awakened by the pain in his legs which had been bound all night he was glad when the bonds were cut and the party took up its westward march the Indians though somewhat quieter displayed the same carelessness they did not hurry or use particular caution but selected the most open paths through the forest they even halted while one of their number crept up on a herd of browsing deer about noon the leader stopped to drink from a spring his braves followed suit and permitted the white prisoners to quench their thirst when they were about to start again the single note of a bird far away in the woods sounded clearly on the quiet air Joe would not have given heed to it had he been less attentive he instantly associated this peculiar bird note with the sudden stiffening of Silvertip's body and his attitude of intense listening low exclamations came from the braves as they bent to catch the lightest sound presently above the murmur of the gentle fall of water over the stones rose that musical note once more it was made by a bird Joe thought and yet judged by the actions of the Indians how potent with meaning beyond that of the simple melody of the woodland songster he turned half expecting to see somewhere in the treetops the bird which had wrought so sudden a change in his captors as he did so from close at hand came the same call now louder but identical with the one that had deceived him it was an answering signal and had been given by Silvertip it flashed into Joe's mind that other savages were in the forest they had run across the Shawnee's trail and were thus communicating with them soon dark figures could be discerned against the patches of green thicket they came nearer and nearer and now entered the open glade where Silvertip stood with his warriors Joe counted twelve and noted that they differed from his captors he had only time to see that this difference consisted in the headdress and in the color and quantity of paint on their bodies when his gaze was attracted and riveted to the foremost figures the first was that of a very tall and stately chief toward whom Silvertip now advanced with every show of respect in this Indians' commanding stature in his reddish bronze face stern and powerful there were readable the characteristics of a king in his deep-set eyes gleaming from under a ponderous brow in his mastive-like jaw in every feature of his haughty face were visible all the high intelligence the consciousness of past valor and the power and authority that denote a great chieftain the second figure was equally striking for the remarkable contrast it afforded to the chiefs despite the gaudy garments the paint the fringed and beaded buckskin legons all the Indian accoutrements and garments which bedecked this person he would have been known anywhere as a white man his skin was burned to a dark bronze but it had not the red tinge which characterizes the Indian the white man had indeed a strange physiognomy the forehead was narrow and sloped backward from the brow denoting animal instincts the eyes were close together yellowish-brown in color and had a peculiar vibrating movement as though they were hung on a pivot like a compass needle the nose was long and hooked and the mouth set in a thin, cruel line there was in the man's aspect an extraordinary combination of ignorance, vanity cunning and ferocity while the two chiefs held a short consultation this savage appearing white man addressed the brothers where are you and where are you going he asked roughly, confronting Jim my name is Downes I am a preacher and was on my way to the Moravian mission to preach to the Indians you are a white man would you help us if Jim expected the information would please his interrogator he was mistaken so you are one of them yes, I'll do something for you when I get back from this hunt I'll cut your heart out chop it up and feed it to the buzzards he said fiercely concluding his threat by striking Jim a cruel blow on the head Joe pale deathly white at this cowardly action and his eyes as they met the gaze of the Ruffian contracted with their characteristic steely glow as if some powerful force within the depths of his being were at white heat and only this pale flash came to the surface you ain't a preacher question the man meeting something in Joe's glance that had been absent from Jim's Joe made no answer and regarded the questioner steadily ever see me before ever hear of Jim Gertie he asked most fully before you spoke I knew you were Gertie answered Joe quietly how do you know ain't you a feared of what me, me Joe laughed in their inagate's face how do you know me crowd Gertie I'll see that you have cause to remember me after this I figured there was only one so-called white man in these woods who was coward enough to strike a man whose hands are tied boy you're too free with your tongue I'll shut off your wind Gertie's hand was raised but it never reached Joe's neck the big end in had an hour or more previous cut Joe's bonds but he still retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's left wrist this allowed the young man free use of his right arm which badly swollen or not he brought into quick action when the renegade reached toward him Joe knocked up the hand he hooked nose with all the powerful grip of his fingers Gertie uttered a frightful curse derided with pain but could not free himself from the vice-like clutch he drew his tomahawk and with a scream aimed a vicious blow at Joe he missed his aim however for silver tip had intervened and turned the course of the keen hatchet but the weapon struck Joe a glancing blow inflicting a painful though not dangerous wound the nose was skinned and bleeding profusely he was frantic with fury and tried to get at Joe but silver tip remained in front of his captive until some of the braves led Gertie into the forest where the tall chief had already disappeared the nose pulling incident added to the gaiety of the Shawnees who evidently were pleased with Gertie's discomforture they jabbered among themselves and nodded approvingly at Joe and spoke by silver tip produced a sudden change what the words were Joe could not understand but to him they sounded like French he smiled at the absurdity of imagining he had heard a savage speak a foreign language at any rate whatever had been said was trenchant with meaning the Indians changed from gay to grave they picked up their weapons and looked keenly on every side the big Indian at once retired Joe and then all crowded round the chief did you hear what silver tip said and did you notice the effect it had whispered gem taking advantage of the moment it sounded like French but of course it wasn't replied Joe it was French by Joe that's it what does it mean asked Joe the wind of death that's English but I can't apply it here can you no doubt it is some Indian omen a hurried consultation over silver tip tied Joe's horse and dog to the trees and once more led the way this time he avoided the open forest and kept on low ground for a long time he traveled in the bed of the brook waiting when the water was shallow and always stepping where there was the least possibility of leaving a footprint not a word was spoken if either of the brothers made the lightest splash in the water or tumbled a stone into the brook the Indian behind wrapped him on the head with the tomahawk handle at certain places indicated by the care which silver tip exercised and walking the Indian in front of the captives turned and pointed where they were to step and were hiding the trail silver tip hurried them over the stony places went more slowly through the water and picked his way carefully over the soft ground it became necessary to cross at times he stopped remaining motionless many seconds the vigilance continued all the afternoon the sun sank twilight spread its grey mantle and soon black night enveloped the forest the Indians halted but made no fire they sat close together on a stony ridge silent and watchful Joe pondered deeply over this behavior did the Shawnees fear pursuit what had that Indian chief told silver tip to Joe it seemed they acted as if believing foes were on all sides though they hid their tracks it was apparently not the fear of pursuit alone which made them cautious Joe reviewed the afternoon's march and dwelt upon the possible meaning of the cat-like steps the careful brushing aside of branches the roving eyes suspicious and gloomy the eager watchfulness of the advance as well as to the rear and always the strained effort to listen all of which gave him the impression of some grave unseen danger and now as he lay on the hard ground nearly exhausted by the long march and suffering from the throbbing wound his courage lessened somewhat and he shivered with dread the quiet and gloom of the forest these fierce wild creatures free in the heart of their own wilderness yet menaced by a foe and that strange French phrase which kept recurring in his mind all had the effect of conjuring up giant shadows in Joe's fanciful mind during all his life until this moment he had never feared anything now he was afraid of the darkness the spectral trees spread long arms overhead and phantom forms stalked abroad somewhere out in that dense gloom stirred this mysterious foe the wind of death nevertheless he finally slept in the dull grey light of early morning the Indians once more took up the line and marched toward the west they marched all that day and at dark halted to eat and rest silver tip and another Indian stood watch sometime before morning Joe suddenly awoke the night was dark yet it was lighter than when he had fallen asleep a pale crescent moon shone dimly through the murky clouds there was neither movement of the air nor the chirp of an insect absolute silence prevailed Joe saw the Indian guard leaning against a tree asleep silver tip was gone the captive raised his head and looked around for the chief there were only four Indians left three on the ground he saw something shining near him he looked more closely and made out the object to be an eagle plume silver tip had worn in his headdress it lay on the ground near the tree Joe made some slight noise which awakened the guard the Indian never moved a muscle but his eyes roved everywhere he too noticed the absence of the chief at this moment from out of the depths of the woods came a swelling sigh like the moon of the night wind yet rose and died away leaving the silence apparently all the deeper a shudder ran over Joe's frame fascinated he watched the guard the Indian under the low gasp his eyes started and glared wildly he rose very slowly to his full height and stood waiting listening Joe's armahawk trembled so that little glance of moonlight glanced from the bright steel from far back in the forest deeps came that low moaning it rose from a faint murmur and swelled to a deep moan soft but clear and ended in a wail like that of a lost soul the break it made and that dead silence was awful Joe's blood seemed to have curdled and frozen a cold sweat oozed from his skin and it was as if a clammy hand clutched at his heart he tried to persuade himself that the fear displayed by the savage was only superstition and that that moan was but the sigh of the night wind the Indian Sentinel stood as it paralyzed an instant after that weird cry and then swept as a flash and as noiseless he was gone into the gloomy forest and he had fled without awakening his companions once more the moaning cry arose and swelled mournfully on the still night air it was close at hand the wind of death whispered Joe he was shaken and unnerved by the events of the past two days and days from his wound his strength deserted him and he lost consciousness End of Chapter 5 of The Spirit of the Border by Zayn Gray Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio