Zane Grey (2 page)

"And your companion?" asked Sheppard with keen interest. He guessed
what might be told. Border lore coupled Jonathan Zane with a strange
and terrible character, a border Nemesis, a mysterious, shadowy,
elusive man, whom few pioneers ever saw, but of whom all knew.

"Wetzel," answered Zane.

With one accord the travelers gazed curiously at Zane's silent
companion. In the dim background of the glow cast by the fire, he
stood a gigantic figure, dark, quiet, and yet with something
intangible in his shadowy outline.

Suddenly he appeared to merge into the gloom as if he really were a
phantom. A warning, "Hist!" came from the bushes.

With one swift kick Zane scattered the camp-fire.

The travelers waited with bated breaths. They could hear nothing save
the beating of their own hearts; they could not even see each other.

"Better go to sleep," came in Zane's calm voice. What a relief it was!
"We'll keep watch, an' at daybreak guide you to Fort Henry."

Colonel Zane, a rugged, stalwart pioneer, with a strong, dark face,
sat listening to his old friend's dramatic story. At its close a
genial smile twinkled in his fine dark eyes.

"Well, well, Sheppard, no doubt it was a thrilling adventure to you,"
he said. "It might have been a little more interesting, and doubtless
would, had I not sent Wetzel and Jonathan to look you up."

"You did? How on earth did you know I was on the border? I counted
much on the surprise I should give you."

"My Indian runners leave Fort Pitt ahead of any travelers, and
acquaint me with particulars."

"I remembered a fleet-looking Indian who seemed to be asking for
information about us, when we arrived at Fort Pitt. I am sorry I did
not take the fur-trader's advice in regard to the guide. But I was in
such a hurry to come, and didn't feel able to bear the expense of a
raft or boat that we might come by river. My nephew brought
considerable gold, and I all my earthly possessions."

"All's well that ends well," replied Colonel Zane cheerily. "But we
must thank Providence that Wetzel and Jonathan came up in the nick
of time."

"Indeed, yes. I'm not likely to forget those fierce savages. How they
slipped off into the darkness! I wonder if Wetzel pursued them? He
disappeared last night, and we did not see him again. In fact we
hardly had a fair look at him. I question if I should recognize him
now, unless by his great stature."

"He was ahead of Jonathan on the trail. That is Wetzel's way. In times
of danger he is seldom seen, yet is always near. But come, let us go
out and look around. I am running up a log cabin which will come in
handy for you."

They passed out into the shade of pine and maples. A winding path led
down a gentle slope. On the hillside under a spreading tree a throng
of bearded pioneers, clad in faded buckskins and wearing white-ringed
coonskin caps, were erecting a log cabin.

"Life here on the border is keen, hard, invigorating," said Colonel
Zane. "I tell you, George Sheppard, in spite of your gray hair and
your pretty daughter, you have come out West because you want to live
among men who do things."

"Colonel, I won't gainsay I've still got hot blood," replied Sheppard;
"but I came to Fort Henry for land. My old home in Williamsburg has
fallen into ruin together with the fortunes of my family. I brought my
daughter and my nephew because I wanted them to take root in
new soil."

"Well, George, right glad we are to have you. Where are your sons? I
remember them, though 'tis sixteen long years since I left old
Williamsburg."

"Gone. The Revolution took my sons. Helen is the last of the family."

"Well, well, indeed that's hard. Independence has cost you colonists
as big a price as border-freedom has us pioneers. Come, old friend,
forget the past. A new life begins for you here, and it will be one
which gives you much. See, up goes a cabin; that will soon be
your home."

Sheppard's eye marked the sturdy pioneers and a fast diminishing pile
of white-oak logs.

"Ho-heave!" cried a brawny foreman.

A dozen stout shoulders sagged beneath a well-trimmed log.

"Ho-heave!" yelled the foreman.

"See, up she goes," cried the colonel, "and to-morrow night she'll
shed rain."

They walked down a sandy lane bounded on the right by a wide, green
clearing, and on the left by a line of chestnuts and maples, outposts
of the thick forests beyond.

"Yours is a fine site for a house," observed Sheppard, taking in the
clean-trimmed field that extended up the hillside, a brook that
splashed clear and noisy over the stones to tarry in a little
grass-bound lake which forced water through half-hollowed logs into a
spring house.

"I think so; this is the fourth time I've put up a' cabin on this
land," replied the colonel.

"How's that?"

"The redskins are keen to burn things."

Sheppard laughed at the pioneer's reply. "It's not difficult, Colonel
Zane, to understand why Fort Henry has stood all these years, with you
as its leader. Certainly the location for your cabin is the finest in
the settlement. What a view!"

High upon a bluff overhanging the majestic, slow-winding Ohio, the
colonel's cabin afforded a commanding position from which to view the
picturesque valley. Sheppard's eye first caught the outline of the
huge, bold, time-blackened fort which frowned protectingly over
surrounding log-cabins; then he saw the wide-sweeping river with its
verdant islands, golden, sandy bars, and willow-bordered shores, while
beyond, rolling pastures of wavy grass merging into green forests that
swept upward with slow swell until lost in the dim purple of distant
mountains.

"Sixteen years ago I came out of the thicket upon yonder bluff, and
saw this valley. I was deeply impressed by its beauty, but more by its
wonderful promise."

"Were you alone?"

"I and my dog. There had been a few white men before me on the river;
but I was the first to see this glorious valley from the bluff. Now,
George, I'll let you have a hundred acres of well-cleared land. The
soil is so rich you can raise two crops in one season. With some
stock, and a few good hands, you'll soon be a busy man."

"I didn't expect so much land; I can't well afford to pay for it."

"Talk to me of payment when the farm yields an income. Is this young
nephew of yours strong and willing?"

"He is, and has gold enough to buy a big farm."

"Let him keep his money, and make a comfortable home for some good
lass. We marry our young people early out here. And your daughter,
George, is she fitted for this hard border life?"

"Never fear for Helen."

"The brunt of this pioneer work falls on our women. God bless them,
how heroic they've been! The life here is rough for a man, let alone a
woman. But it is a man's game. We need girls, girls who will bear
strong men. Yet I am always saddened when I see one come out on
the border."

"I think I knew what I was bringing Helen to, and she didn't flinch,"
said Sheppard, somewhat surprised at the tone in which the
colonel spoke.

"No one knows until he has lived on the border. Well, well, all this
is discouraging to you. Ah! here is Miss Helen with my sister."

The colonel's fine, dark face lost its sternness, and brightened with
a smile.

"I hope you rested well after your long ride."

"I am seldom tired, and I have been made most comfortable. I thank you
and your sister," replied the girl, giving Colonel Zane her hand, and
including both him and his sister in her grateful glance.

The colonel's sister was a slender, handsome young woman, whose dark
beauty showed to most effective advantage by the contrast with her
companion's fair skin, golden hair, and blue eyes.

Beautiful as was Helen Sheppard, it was her eyes that held Colonel
Zane irresistibly. They were unusually large, of a dark purple-blue
that changed, shaded, shadowed with her every thought.

"Come, let us walk," Colonel Zane said abruptly, and, with Mr.
Sheppard, followed the girls down the path. He escorted them to the
fort, showed a long room with little squares cut in the rough-hewn
logs, many bullet holes, fire-charred timbers, and dark stains,
terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism which the defense of that
rude structure had cost.

Under Helen's eager questioning Colonel Zane yielded to his weakness
for story-telling, and recited the history of the last siege of Fort
Henry; how the renegade Girty swooped down upon the settlement with
hundreds of Indians and British soldiers; how for three days of
whistling bullets, flaming arrows, screeching demons, fire, smoke, and
attack following attack, the brave defenders stood at their posts,
there to die before yielding.

"Grand!" breathed Helen, and her eyes glowed. "It was then Betty Zane
ran with the powder? Oh! I've heard the story."

"Let my sister tell you of that," said the colonel, smiling.

"You! Was it you?" And Helen's eyes glowed brighter with the light of
youth's glory in great deeds.

"My sister has been wedded and widowed since then," said Colonel Zane,
reading in Helen's earnest scrutiny of his sister's calm, sad face a
wonder if this quiet woman could be the fearless and famed
Elizabeth Zane.

Impulsively Helen's hand closed softly over her companion's. Out of
the girlish sympathetic action a warm friendship was born.

"I imagine things do happen here," said Mr. Sheppard, hoping to hear
more from Colonel Zane.

The colonel smiled grimly.

"Every summer during fifteen years has been a bloody one on the
border. The sieges of Fort Henry, and Crawford's defeat, the biggest
things we ever knew out here, are matters of history; of course you
are familiar with them. But the numberless Indian forays and attacks,
the women who have been carried into captivity by renegades, the
murdered farmers, in fact, ceaseless war never long directed at any
point, but carried on the entire length of the river, are matters
known only to the pioneers. Within five miles of Fort Henry I can show
you where the laurel bushes grow three feet high over the ashes of two
settlements, and many a clearing where some unfortunate pioneer had
staked his claim and thrown up a log cabin, only to die fighting for
his wife and children. Between here and Fort Pitt there is only one
settlement, Yellow Creek, and most of its inhabitants are survivors of
abandoned villages farther up the river. Last summer we had the
Moravian Massacre, the blackest, most inhuman deed ever committed.
Since then Simon Girty and his bloody redskins have lain low."

"You must always have had a big force," said Sheppard.

"We've managed always to be strong enough, though there never were a
large number of men here. During the last siege I had only forty in
the fort, counting men, women and boys. But I had pioneers and women
who could handle a rifle, and the best bordermen on the frontier."

"Do you make a distinction between pioneers and bordermen?" asked
Sheppard.

"Indeed, yes. I am a pioneer; a borderman is an Indian hunter, or
scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam and John McCollock,
Bill Metzar, and John and Martin Wetzel, all of whom are dead. Not one
saved his scalp. Fort Henry is growing; it has pioneers, rivermen,
soldiers, but only two bordermen. Wetzel and Jonathan are the only
ones we have left of those great men."

"They must be old," mused Helen, with a dreamy glow still in her eyes.

"Well, Miss Helen, not in years, as you mean. Life here is old in
experience; few pioneers, and no bordermen, live to a great age.
Wetzel is about forty, and my brother Jonathan still a young man; but
both are old in border lore."

Earnestly, as a man who loves his subject, Colonel Zane told his
listeners of these two most prominent characters of the border.
Sixteen years previously, when but boys in years, they had cast in
their lot with his, and journeyed over the Virginian Mountains, Wetzel
to devote his life to the vengeful calling he had chosen, and Jonathan
to give rein to an adventurous spirit and love of the wilds. By some
wonderful chance, by cunning, woodcraft, or daring, both men had lived
through the years of border warfare which had brought to a close the
careers of all their contemporaries.

For many years Wetzel preferred solitude to companionship; he roamed
the wilderness in pursuit of Indians, his life-long foes, and seldom
appeared at the settlement except to bring news of an intended raid of
the savages. Jonathan also spent much time alone in the woods, or
scouting along the river. But of late years a friendship had ripened
between the two bordermen. Mutual interest had brought them together
on the trail of a noted renegade, and when, after many long days of
patient watching and persistent tracking, the outlaw paid an awful
penalty for his bloody deeds, these lone and silent men were friends.

Powerful in build, fleet as deer, fearless and tireless, Wetzel's
peculiar bloodhound sagacity, ferocity, and implacability, balanced by
Jonathan's keen intelligence and judgment caused these bordermen to
become the bane of redmen and renegades. Their fame increased with
each succeeding summer, until now the people of the settlement looked
upon wonderful deeds of strength and of woodcraft as a matter of
course, rejoicing in the power and skill with which these men
were endowed.

By common consent the pioneers attributed any mysterious deed, from
the finding of a fat turkey on a cabin doorstep, to the discovery of a
savage scalped and pulled from his ambush near a settler's spring, to
Wetzel and Jonathan. All the more did they feel sure of this
conclusion because the bordermen never spoke of their deeds. Sometimes
a pioneer living on the outskirts of the settlement would be awakened
in the morning by a single rifle shot, and on peering out would see a
dead Indian lying almost across his doorstep, while beyond, in the
dim, gray mist, a tall figure stealing away. Often in the twilight on
a summer evening, while fondling his children and enjoying his smoke
after a hard day's labor in the fields, this same settler would see
the tall, dark figure of Jonathan Zane step noiselessly out of a
thicket, and learn that he must take his family and flee at once to
the fort for safety. When a settler was murdered, his children carried
into captivity by Indians, and the wife given over to the power of
some brutal renegade, tragedies wofully frequent on the border, Wetzel
and Jonathan took the trail alone. Many a white woman was returned
alive and, sometimes, unharmed to her relatives; more than one maiden
lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, while almost
numberless were the bones of brutal redmen lying in the deep and
gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, silent, ghastly reminders of
the stern justice meted out by these two heroes.