Zane Grey (4 page)

"Yer brother's goin' to preach out here, ain't he? Preachin' is all
right, I'll allow; but I'm kinder doubtful about preachin' to
redskins. Howsumever, I've knowed Injuns who are good fellows, and
there's no tellin'. What are ye goin' in fer—farmin'?"

"No, I wouldn't make a good farmer."

"Jest cum out kinder wild like, eh?" rejoined Jeff, knowingly.

"I wanted to come West because I was tired of tame life. I love the
forest; I want to fish and hunt; and I think I'd like to—to see
Indians."

"I kinder thought so," said the old frontiersman, nodding his head
as though he perfectly understood Joe's case. "Well, lad, where
you're goin' seein' Injuns ain't a matter of choice. You has to see
'em, and fight 'em, too. We've had bad times for years out here on
the border, and I'm thinkin' wuss is comin'. Did ye ever hear the
name Girty?"

"Yes; he's a renegade."

"He's a traitor, and Jim and George Girty, his brothers, are p'isin
rattlesnake Injuns. Simon Girty's bad enough; but Jim's the wust.
He's now wusser'n a full-blooded Delaware. He's all the time on the
lookout to capture white wimen to take to his Injun teepee. Simon
Girty and his pals, McKee and Elliott, deserted from that thar fort
right afore yer eyes. They're now livin' among the redskins down
Fort Henry way, raisin' as much hell fer the settlers as they kin."

"Is Fort Henry near the Indian towns?" asked Joe.

"There's Delawares, Shawnees and Hurons all along the Ohio below
Fort Henry."

"Where is the Moravian Mission located?"

"Why, lad, the Village of Peace, as the Injuns call it, is right in
the midst of that Injun country. I 'spect it's a matter of a hundred
miles below and cross-country a little from Fort Henry."

"The fort must be an important point, is it not?"

"Wal, I guess so. It's the last place on the river," answered Lynn,
with a grim smile. "There's only a stockade there, an' a handful of
men. The Injuns hev swarmed down on it time and ag'in, but they hev
never burned it. Only such men as Colonel Zane, his brother Jack,
and Wetzel could hev kept that fort standin' all these bloody years.
Eb Zane's got but a few men, yet he kin handle 'em some, an' with
such scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he allus knows what's goin' on
among the Injuns."

"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 an' guide. I knowed him well a few years
back. He's a quiet, mild chap; but a streak of chain-lightnin' when
he's riled. Wetzel is an Injun-killer. Some people say as how he's
crazy over scalp-huntin'; but I reckon that's not so. I've seen him
a few times. He don't hang round the settlement 'cept when the
Injuns are up, an' nobody sees him much. At home he sets round
silent-like, an' then mebbe next mornin' he'll be gone, an' won't
show up fer days or weeks. But all the frontier knows of his deeds.
Fer instance, I've hearn of settlers gettin' up in the mornin' an'
findin' a couple of dead and scalped Injuns right in front of their
cabins. No one knowed who killed 'em, but everybody says 'Wetzel.'
He's allus warnin' 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 nothin' but ashes. There couldn't be any
farmin' done out there but fer Wetzel."

"What does he look like?" questioned Joe, much interested.

"Wetzel stands straight as the oak over thar. He'd hev' to go
sideways to git his shoulders in that door, but he's as light of
foot an' fast as a deer. An' his eyes—why, lad, ye kin hardly look
into 'em. If you ever see Wetzel you'll know him to onct."

"I want to see him," Joe spoke quickly, his eyes lighting with an
eager flash. "He must be a great fighter."

"Is he? Lew Wetzel is the heftiest of 'em all, an' we hev some as
kin fight out here. I was down the river a few years ago and joined
a party to go out an' hunt up some redskins as had been reported.
Wetzel was with us. We soon struck Injun sign, and then come on to a
lot of the pesky varmints. We was all fer goin' home, because we had
a small force. When we started to go we finds Wetzel sittin'
calm-like on a log. We said: 'Ain't ye goin' home?' and he replied,
'I cum out to find redskins, an' now as we've found 'em, I'm not
goin' to run away.' An' we left him settin' thar. Oh, 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.

"Mebbe ye'll git to; and sure ye'll see redskins, an' not tame ones,
nuther."

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 some one groan, and then a deep, guttural
voice:

"Paleface—big steal—ugh! Injun mad—heap mad—kill paleface."

After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holding
Loorey with one hand, while he poked him on the ribs with the other.
The captive'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.

"Silvertip scalp paleface. Ugh!" growled the savage, giving Loorey
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's 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,
bare 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 Loorey instantly.

"I stole the shirt—fun—joke," said Joe. "Scalp 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 paleface heap fun—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. "An
Indian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded your
joke. Silvertip 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 Silvertip 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 like Silver. He's a crafty redskin, an' not to be
trusted," replied Jeff.

"He has turned round 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 ye don't hear from that redskin ag'in Jeff Lynn don't know
nothin'," calmly said the old frontiersman.

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, wooded bluffs, rolled
on and on into the wilderness.

Beautiful as was the ever-changing scenery, rugged gray-faced 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 wild life along the banks of the river,
this strange intruder on their peace was regarded with attention.
The birds and beasts evinced little fear of the floating rafts. The
sandhill 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, cawing in not
unfriendly excitement. Smaller birds alighted on the raised poles,
and several—a robin, a catbird 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. Occasionally a
buffalo appeared on a level stretch of bank, 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 over all 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 gray
twilight stole down over the hill-tops, the crescent moon peeped
above the wooded fringe of the western bluffs.

"Hard an' fast she is," sang out Jeff Lynn, as he fastened the rope
to a tree at the head of a small island. "All off now, and' we'll
hev' supper. Thar's a fine spring under yon curly birch, an' I
fetched along a leg of deer-meat. Hungry, little 'un?"

He had worked hard all day steering 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 am famished," she replied, with her bright smile. "I am 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 Joe:

"I'll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by bad
cuttin' and cookin'. You're slicin' it too thick. See—thar! Now
salt good, an' keep outen the flame; on the red coals is 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:

"Seein' as how we won't be in redskin territory fer awhile yit, we
kin hev a fire. I'll allow ye'll all be chilly and damp from
river-mist afore long, so toast yerselves good."

"How far have we come to-day?" inquired Mr. Wells, his mind always
intent on reaching the scene of his cherished undertaking.

"'Bout thirty-odd mile, I reckon. Not much on a trip, thet's sartin,
but we'll pick up termorrer. We've some quicker water, an' the rafts
hev to go separate."

"How quiet!" exclaimed Kate, suddenly breaking the silence that
followed the frontiersman's answer.

"Beautiful!" impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joe. A quick flash
from his gray 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," broke in 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—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 round the fire.

"So, little 'un, ye want a story?" queried Jeff, taking up a live
coal and placing it in the bowl of his pipe. He took off his
coon-skin cap and carefully laid it aside. His weather-beaten face
beamed in answer to the girl's request. He drew a long and audible
pull at his black pipe, and send 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
emitted a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the grizzled
head. From out that white cloud came his drawling voice.