Zane Grey (12 page)

"It's hard to say. Not that Englishman, surely. She hates him.
Jonathan might. You should see her eyes when he is mentioned."

"Say, Betts, you don't mean it?" eagerly asked her brother.

"Yes, I do," returned Betty, nodding her head positively. "I'm not
easily deceived about those things. Helen's completely fascinated with
Jack. She might be only a sixteen-year-old girl for the way she
betrays herself to me."

"Betty, I have a beautiful plan."

"No doubt; you're full of them."

"We can do it, Betty, we can, you and I," he said, as he squeezed her
arm.

"My dear old matchmaking brother," returned Betty, laughing, "it takes
two to make a bargain. Jack must be considered."

"Bosh!" exclaimed the colonel, snapping his fingers. "You needn't tell
me any young man—any man, could resist that glorious girl."

"Perhaps not; I couldn't if I were a man. But Jack's not like other
people. He'd never realize that she cared for him. Besides, he's a
borderman."

"I know, and that's the only serious obstacle. But he could scout
around the fort, even if he was married. These long, lonely, terrible
journeys taken by him and Wetzel are mostly unnecessary. A sweet wife
could soon make him see that. The border will be civilized in a few
years, and because of that he'd better give over hunting for Indians.
I'd like to see him married and settled down, like all the rest of us,
even Isaac. You know Jack's the last of the Zanes, that is, the old
Zanes. The difficulty arising from his extreme modesty and bashfulness
can easily be overcome."

"How, most wonderful brother?"

"Easy as pie. Tell Jack that Helen is dying of love for him, and tell
her that Jack loves—"

"But, dear Eb, that latter part is not true," interposed Betty.

"True, of course it's true, or would be in any man who wasn't as blind
as a bat. We'll tell her Jack cares for her; but he is a borderman
with stern ideas of duty, and so slow and backward he'd never tell his
love even if he had overcome his tricks of ranging. That would settle
it with any girl worth her salt, and this one will fetch Jack in ten
days, or less."

"Eb, you're a devil," said Betty gaily, and then she added in a more
sober vein, "I understand, Eb. Your idea is prompted by love of Jack,
and it's all right. I never see him go out of the clearing but I think
it may be for the last time, even as on that day so long ago when
brother Andrew waved his cap to us, and never came back. Jack is the
best man in the world, and I, too, want to see him happy, with a wife,
and babies, and a settled occupation in life. I think we might weave a
pretty little romance. Shall we try?"

"Try? We'll do it! Now, Betts, you explain it to both. You can do it
smoother than I, and telling them is really the finest point of our
little plot. I'll help the good work along afterwards. He'll be out
presently. Nail him at once."

Jonathan, all unconscious of the deep-laid scheme to make him happy,
soon came out on the porch, and stretched his long arms as he breathed
freely of the morning air.

"Hello, Jack, where are you bound?" asked Betty, clasping one of his
powerful, buckskin-clad knees with her arm.

"I reckon I'll go over to the spring," he replied, patting her dark,
glossy head.

"Do you know I want to tell you something, Jack, and it's quite
serious," she said, blushing a little at her guilt; but resolute to
carry out her part of the plot.

"Well, dear?" he asked as she hesitated.

"Do you like Helen?"

"That is a question," Jonathan replied after a moment.

"Never mind; tell me," she persisted.

He made no answer.

"Well, Jack, she's—she's wildly in love with you."

The borderman stood very still for several moments. Then, with one
step he gained the lawn, and turned to confront her.

"What's that you say?"

Betty trembled a little. He spoke so sharply, his eyes were bent on
her so keenly, and he looked so strong, so forceful that she was
almost afraid. But remembering that she had said only what, to her
mind, was absolutely true, she raised her eyes and repeated the words:

"Helen is wildly'in love with you."

"Betty, you wouldn't joke about such a thing; you wouldn't lie to me,
I know you wouldn't."

"No, Jack dear."

She saw his powerful frame tremble, even as she had seen more than one
man tremble, during the siege, under the impact of a bullet.

Without speaking, he walked rapidly down the path toward the spring.

Colonel Zane came out of his hiding-place behind the porch and, with a
face positively electrifying in its glowing pleasure, beamed upon
his sister.

"Gee! Didn't he stalk off like an Indian chief!" he said, chuckling
with satisfaction. "By George! Betts, you must have got in a great
piece of work. I never in my life saw Jack look like that."

Colonel Zane sat down by Betty's side and laughed softly but heartily.

"We'll fix him all right, the lonely hill-climber! Why, he hasn't a
ghost of a chance. Wait until she sees him after hearing your story! I
tell you, Betty—why—damme! you're crying!"

He had turned to find her head lowered, while she shaded her face with
her hand.

"Now, Betty, just a little innocent deceit like that—what harm?" he
said, taking her hand. He was as tender as a woman.

"Oh, Eb, it wasn't that. I didn't mind telling him. Only the flash in
his eyes reminded me of—of Alfred."

"Surely it did. Why not? Almost everything brings up a tender memory
for some one we've loved and lost. But don't cry, Betty."

She laughed a little, and raised a face with its dark cheeks flushed
and tear-stained.

"I'm silly, I suppose; but I can't help it. I cry at least once every
day."

"Brace up. Here come Helen and Will. Don't let them see you grieved.
My! Helen in pure white, too! This is a conspiracy to ruin the peace
of the masculine portion of Fort Henry."

Betty went forward to meet her friends while Colonel Zane continued
talking, but now to himself. "What a fatal beauty she has!" His eyes
swept over Helen with the pleasure of an artist. The fair richness of
her skin, the perfect lips, the wavy, shiny hair, the wondrous
dark-blue, changing eyes, the tall figure, slender, but strong and
swelling with gracious womanhood, made a picture he delighted in and
loved to have near him. The girl did not possess for him any of that
magnetism, so commonly felt by most of her admirers; but he did feel
how subtly full she was of something, which for want of a better term
he described in Wetzel's characteristic expression, as "chain-lightning."

He reflected that as he was so much older, that she, although always
winsome and earnest, showed nothing of the tormenting, bewildering
coquetry of her nature. Colonel Zane prided himself on his
discernment, and he had already observed that Helen had different
sides of character for different persons. To Betty, Mabel, Nell, and
the children, she was frank, girlish, full of fun and always lovable;
to her elders quiet and earnestly solicitous to please; to the young
men cold; but with a penetrating, mocking promise haunting that
coldness, and sometimes sweetly agreeable, often wilful, and
changeable as April winds. At last the colonel concluded that she
needed, as did all other spirited young women, the taming influence of
a man whom she loved, a home to care for, and children to soften and
temper her spirit.

"Well, young friends, I see you count on keeping the Sabbath," he said
cheerily. "For my part, Will, I don't see how Jim Douns can preach
this morning, before this laurel blossom and that damask rose."

"How poetical! Which is which?" asked Betty.

"Flatterer!" laughed Helen, shaking her finger.

"And a married man, too!" continued Betty.

"Well, being married has not affected my poetical sentiment, nor
impaired my eyesight."

"But it has seriously inconvenienced your old propensity of making
love to the girls. Not that you wouldn't if you dared," replied Betty
with mischief in her eye.

"Now, Will, what do you think of that? Isn't it real sisterly regard?
Come, we'll go and look at my thoroughbreds," said Colonel Zane.

"Where is Jonathan?" Helen asked presently. "Something happened at
Metzar's yesterday. Papa wouldn't tell me, and I want to ask
Jonathan."

"Jack is down by the spring. He spends a great deal of his time there.
It's shady and cool, and the water babbles over the stones."

"How much alone he is," said Helen.

Betty took her former position on the steps, but did not raise her
eyes while she continued speaking. "Yes, he's more alone than ever
lately, and quieter, too. He hardly ever speaks now. There must be
something on his mind more serious than horse-thieves."

"What?" Helen asked quickly.

"I'd better not tell—you."

A long moment passed before Helen spoke.

"Please tell me!"

"Well, Helen, we think, Eb and I, that Jack is in love for the first
time in his life, and with you, you adorable creature. But Jack's a
borderman; he is stern in his principles, thinks he is wedded to his
border life, and he knows that he has both red and white blood on his
hands. He'd die before he'd speak of his love, because he cannot
understand that would do any good, even if you loved him, which is, of
course, preposterous."

"Loves me!" breathed Helen softly.

She sat down rather beside Betty, and turned her face away. She still
held the young woman's hand which she squeezed so tightly as to make
its owner wince. Betty stole a look at her, and saw the rich red blood
mantling her cheeks, and her full bosom heave.

Helen turned presently, with no trace of emotion except a singular
brilliance of the eyes. She was so slow to speak again that Colonel
Zane and Will returned from the corral before she found her voice.

"Colonel Zane, please tell me about last night. When papa came home to
supper he was pale and very nervous. I knew something had happened.
But he would not explain, which made me all the more anxious. Won't
you please tell me?"

Colonel Zane glanced again at her, and knew what had happened. Despite
her self-possession those tell-tale eyes told her secret.
Ever-changing and shadowing with a bounding, rapturous light, they
were indeed the windows of her soul. All the emotion of a woman's
heart shone there, fear, beauty, wondering appeal, trembling joy, and
timid hope.

"Tell you? Indeed I will," replied Colonel Zane, softened and a little
remorseful under those wonderful eyes.

No one liked to tell a story better than Colonel Zane. Briefly and
graphically he related the circumstances of the affair leading to the
attack on Helen's father, and, as the tale progressed, he became quite
excited, speaking with animated face and forceful gestures.

"Just as the knife-point touched your father, a swiftly-flying object
knocked the weapon to the floor. It was Jonathan's tomahawk. What
followed was so sudden I hardly saw it. Like lightning, and flexible
as steel, Jonathan jumped over the table, smashed Case against the
wall, pulled him up and threw him over the bank. I tell you, Helen, it
was a beautiful piece of action; but not, of course, for a woman's
eyes. Now that's all. Your father was not even hurt."

"He saved papa's life," murmured Helen, standing like a statue.

She wheeled suddenly with that swift bird-like motion habitual to her,
and went quickly down the path leading to the spring.

Jonathan Zane, solitary dreamer of dreams as he was, had never been in
as strange and beautiful a reverie as that which possessed him on this
Sabbath morning.

Deep into his heart had sunk Betty's words. The wonder of it, the
sweetness, that alone was all he felt. The glory of this girl had
begun, days past, to spread its glamour round him. Swept irresistibly
away now, he soared aloft in a dream-castle of fancy with its painted
windows and golden walls.

For the first time in his life on the border he had entered the little
glade and had no eye for the crystal water flowing over the pebbles
and mossy stones, or the plot of grassy ground inclosed by tall, dark
trees and shaded by a canopy of fresh green and azure blue. Nor did he
hear the music of the soft rushing water, the warbling birds, or the
gentle sighing breeze moving the leaves.

Gone, vanished, lost to-day was that sweet companionship of nature.
That indefinable and unutterable spirit which flowed so peacefully to
him from his beloved woods; that something more than merely affecting
his senses, which existed for him in the stony cliffs, and breathed
with life through the lonely aisles of the forest, had fled before the
fateful power of a woman's love and beauty.

A long time that seemed only a moment passed while he leaned against a
stone. A light step sounded on the path.

A vision in pure white entered the glade; two little hands pressed
his, and two dark-blue eyes of misty beauty shed their light on him.

"Jonathan, I am come to thank you."

Sweet and tremulous, the voice sounded far away.

"Thank me? For what?"

"You saved papa's life. Oh! how can I thank you?"

No voice answered for him.

"I have nothing to give but this."

A flower-like face was held up to him; hands light as thistledown
touched his shoulders; dark-blue eyes glowed upon him with all
tenderness.

"May I thank you—so?"

Soft lips met his full and lingeringly.

Then came a rush as of wind, a flash of white, and the patter of
flying feet. He was alone in the glade.

June passed; July opened with unusually warm weather, and Fort Henry
had no visits from Indians or horse-thieves, nor any inconvenience
except the hot sun. It was the warmest weather for many years, and
seriously dwarfed the settlers' growing corn. Nearly all the springs
were dry, and a drouth menaced the farmers.