Zane Grey (5 page)

Near sunset of a long day Jonathan strolled down the sandy,
well-trodden path toward Metzar's inn. He did not drink, and
consequently seldom visited the rude, dark, ill-smelling bar-room.
When occasion demanded his presence there, he was evidently not
welcome. The original owner, a sturdy soldier and pioneer, came to
Fort Henry when Colonel Zane founded the settlement, and had been
killed during Girty's last attack. His successor, another Metzar, was,
according to Jonathan's belief, as bad as the whiskey he dispensed.
More than one murder had been committed at the inn; countless fatal
knife and tomahawk fights had stained red the hard clay floor; and
more than one desperate character had been harbored there. Once
Colonel Zane sent Wetzel there to invite a thief and outlaw to quit
the settlement, with the not unexpected result that it became
necessary the robber be carried out.

Jonathan thought of the bad name the place bore all over the frontier,
and wondered if Metzar could tell anything about the horse-thieves.
When the borderman bent his tall frame to enter the low-studded door
he fancied he saw a dark figure disappear into a room just behind the
bar. A roughly-clad, heavily-bearded man turned hastily at the
same moment.

"Hullo," he said gruffly.

"H' are you, Metzar. I just dropped in to see if I could make a trade
for your sorrel mare," replied Jonathan. Being well aware that the
innkeeper would not part with his horse, the borderman had made this
announcement as his reason for entering the bar-room.

"Nope, I'll allow you can't," replied Metzar.

As he turned to go, Jonathan's eyes roamed around the bar-room.
Several strangers of shiftless aspect bleared at him.

"They wouldn't steal a pumpkin," muttered Jonathan to himself as he
left the inn. Then he added suspiciously, "Metzar was talkin' to some
one, an' 'peared uneasy. I never liked Metzar. He'll bear watchin'."

The borderman passed on down the path thinking of what he had heard
against Metzar. The colonel had said that the man was prosperous for
an innkeeper who took pelts, grain or meat in exchange for rum. The
village gossips disliked him because he was unmarried, taciturn, and
did not care for their company. Jonathan reflected also on the fact
that Indians were frequently coming to the inn, and this made him
distrustful of the proprietor. It was true that Colonel Zane had
red-skinned visitors, but there was always good reason for their
coming. Jonathan had seen, during the Revolution, more than one
trusted man proven to be a traitor, and the conviction settled upon
him that some quiet scouting would show up the innkeeper as aiding the
horse-thieves if not actually in league with them.

"Good evening, Jonathan Zane."

This greeting in a woman's clear voice brought Jonathan out from his
reveries. He glanced up to see Helen Sheppard standing in the doorway
of her father's cabin.

"Evenin', miss," he said with a bow, and would have passed on.

"Wait," she cried, and stepped out of the door.

He waited by the gate with a manner which showed that such a summons
was novel to him.

Helen, piqued at his curt greeting, had asked him to wait without any
idea of what she would say. Coming slowly down the path she felt again
a subtle awe of this borderman. Regretting her impulsiveness, she lost
confidence.

Gaining the gate she looked up intending to speak; but was unable to
do so as she saw how cold and grave was his face, and how piercing
were his eyes. She flushed slightly, and then, conscious of an
embarrassment new and strange to her, blushed rosy red, making, as it
seemed to her, a stupid remark about the sunset. When he took her
words literally, and said the sunset was fine, she felt guilty of
deceitfulness. Whatever Helen's faults, and they were many, she was
honest, and because of not having looked at the sunset, but only
wanting him to see her as did other men, the innocent ruse suddenly
appeared mean and trifling.

Then, with a woman's quick intuition, she understood that coquetries
were lost on this borderman, and, with a smile, got the better of her
embarrassment and humiliation by telling the truth.

"I wanted to ask a favor of you, and I'm a little afraid."

She spoke with girlish shyness, which increased as he stared at her.

"Why—why do you look at me so?"

"There's a lake over yonder which the Shawnees say is haunted by a
woman they killed," he replied quietly. "You'd do for her spirit, so
white an' beautiful in the silver moonlight."

"So my white dress makes me look ghostly," she answered lightly,
though deeply conscious of surprise and pleasure at such an unexpected
reply from him. This borderman might be full of surprises. "Such a
time as I had bringing my dresses out here! I don't know when I can
wear them. This is the simplest one."

"An' it's mighty new an' bewilderin' for the border," he replied with
a smile in his eyes.

"When these are gone I'll get no more except linsey ones," she said
brightly, yet her eyes shone with a wistful uncertainty of the future.

"Will you be happy here?"

"I am happy. I have always wanted to be of some use in the world. I
assure you, Master Zane, I am not the butterfly I seem. I have worked
hard all day, that is, until your sister Betty came over. All the
girls have helped me fix up the cabin until it's more comfortable than
I ever dreamed one could be on the frontier. Father is well content
here, and that makes me happy. I haven't had time for forebodings. The
young men of Fort Henry have been—well, attentive; in fact, they've
been here all the time."

She laughed a little at this last remark, and looked demurely at him.

"It's a frontier custom," he said.

"Oh, indeed? Do all the young men call often and stay late?"

"They do."

"You didn't," she retorted. "You're the only one who hasn't been to
see me."

"I do not wait on the girls," he replied with a grave smile.

"Oh, you don't? Do you expect them to wait on you?" she asked,
feeling, now she had made this silent man talk, once more at her ease.

"I am a borderman," replied Jonathan. There was a certain dignity or
sadness in his answer which reminded Helen of Colonel Zane's portrayal
of a borderman's life. It struck her keenly. Here was this young giant
standing erect and handsome before her, as rugged as one of the ash
trees of his beloved forest. Who could tell when his strong life might
be ended by an Indian's hatchet?

"For you, then, is there no such thing as friendship?" she asked.

"On the border men are serious."

This recalled his sister's conversation regarding the attentions of
the young men, that they would follow her, fight for her, and give her
absolutely no peace until one of them had carried her to his cabin
a bride.

She could not carry on the usual conventional conversation with this
borderman, but remained silent for a time. She realized more keenly
than ever before how different he was from other men, and watched
closely as he stood gazing out over the river. Perhaps something she
had said caused him to think of the many pleasures and joys he missed.
But she could not be certain what was in his mind. She was not
accustomed to impassive faces and cold eyes with unlit fires in their
dark depths. More likely he was thinking of matters nearer to his
wild, free life; of his companion Wetzel somewhere out beyond those
frowning hills. Then she remembered that the colonel had told her of
his brother's love for nature in all its forms; how he watched the
shades of evening fall; lost himself in contemplation of the last
copper glow flushing the western sky, or became absorbed in the bright
stars. Possibly he had forgotten her presence. Darkness was rapidly
stealing down upon them. The evening, tranquil and gray, crept over
them with all its mystery. He was a part of it. She could not hope to
understand him; but saw clearly that his was no common personality.
She wanted to speak, to voice a sympathy strong within her; but she
did not know what to say to this borderman.

"If what your sister tells me of the border is true, I may soon need a
friend," she said, after weighing well her words. She faced him
modestly yet bravely, and looked him straight in the eyes. Because he
did not reply she spoke again.

"I mean such a friend as you or Wetzel."

"You may count on both," he replied.

"Thank you," she said softly, giving him her hand. "I shall not
forget. One more thing. Will you break a borderman's custom, for
my sake?"

"How?"

"Come to see me when you are in the settlement?"

Helen said this in a low voice with just a sob in her breath; but she
met his gaze fairly. Her big eyes were all aglow, alight with girlish
appeal, and yet proud with a woman's honest demand for fair exchange.
Promise was there, too, could he but read it, of wonderful
possibilities.

"No," he answered gently.

Helen was not prepared for such a rebuff. She was interested in him,
and not ashamed to show it. She feared only that he might
misunderstand her; but to refuse her proffered friendship, that was
indeed unexpected. Rude she thought it was, while from brow to curving
throat her fair skin crimsoned. Then her face grew pale as the
moonlight. Hard on her resentment had surged the swell of some new
emotion strong and sweet. He refused her friendship because he did not
dare accept it; because his life was not his own; because he was a
borderman.

While they stood thus, Jonathan looking perplexed and troubled,
feeling he had hurt her, but knowing not what to say, and Helen with a
warm softness in her eyes, the stalwart figure of a man loomed out of
the gathering darkness.

"Ah, Miss Helen! Good evening," he said.

"Is it you, Mr. Brandt?" asked Helen. "Of course you know Mr. Zane."

Brandt acknowledged Jonathan's bow with an awkwardness which had
certainly been absent in his greeting to Helen. He started slightly
when she spoke the borderman's name.

A brief pause ensued.

"Good night," said Jonathan, and left them.

He had noticed Brandt's gesture of surprise, slight though it was, and
was thinking about it as he walked away. Brandt may have been
astonished at finding a borderman talking to a girl, and certainly, as
far as Jonathan was concerned, the incident was without precedent.
But, on the other hand, Brandt may have had another reason, and
Jonathan tried to study out what it might be.

He gave but little thought to Helen. That she might like him
exceedingly well, did not come into his mind. He remembered his sister
Betty's gossip regarding Helen and her admirers, and particularly
Roger Brandt; but felt no great concern; he had no curiosity to know
more of her. He admired Helen because she was beautiful, yet the
feeling was much the same he might have experienced for a graceful
deer, a full-foliaged tree, or a dark mossy-stoned bend in a murmuring
brook. The girl's face and figure, perfect and alluring as they were,
had not awakened him from his indifference.

On arriving at his brother's home, he found the colonel and Betty
sitting on the porch.

"Eb, who is this Brandt?" he asked.

"Roger Brandt? He's a French-Canadian; came here from Detroit a year
ago. Why do you ask?"

"I want to know more about him."

Colonel Zane reflected a moment, first as to this unusual request from
Jonathan, and secondly in regard to what little he really did know of
Roger Brandt.

"Well, Jack, I can't tell you much; nothing of him before he showed up
here. He says he has been a pioneer, hunter, scout, soldier,
trader—everything. When he came to the fort we needed men. It was
just after Girty's siege, and all the cabins had been burned. Brandt
seemed honest, and was a good fellow. Besides, he had gold. He started
the river barges, which came from Fort Pitt. He has surely done the
settlement good service, and has prospered. I never talked a dozen
times to him, and even then, not for long. He appears to like the
young people, which is only natural. That's all I know; Betty might
tell you more, for he tried to be attentive to her."

"Did he, Betty?" Jonathan asked.

"He followed me until I showed him I didn't care for company,"
answered Betty.

"What kind of a man is he?"

"Jack, I know nothing against him, although I never fancied him. He's
better educated than the majority of frontiersmen; he's good-natured
and agreeable, and the people like him."

"Why don't you?"

Betty looked surprised at his blunt question, and then said with a
laugh: "I never tried to reason why; but since you have spoken I
believe my dislike was instinctive."

After Betty had retired to her room the brothers remained on the porch
smoking.

"Betty's pretty keen, Jack. I never knew her to misjudge a man. Why
this sudden interest in Roger Brandt?"

The borderman puffed his pipe in silence.

"Say, Jack," Colonel Zane said suddenly, "do you connect Brandt in any
way with this horse-stealing?"

"No more than some, an' less than others," replied Jonathan curtly.

Nothing more was said for a time. To the brothers this hour of early
dusk brought the same fullness of peace. From gray twilight to gloomy
dusk quiet reigned. The insects of night chirped and chorused with
low, incessant hum. From out the darkness came the peeping of frogs.

Suddenly the borderman straightened up, and, removing the pipe from
his mouth, turned his ear to the faint breeze, while at the same time
one hand closed on the colonel's knee with a warning clutch.

Colonel Zane knew what that clutch signified. Some faint noise, too
low for ordinary ears, had roused the borderman. The colonel listened,
but heard nothing save the familiar evening sounds.

"Jack, what'd you hear?" he whispered.

"Somethin' back of the barn," replied Jonathan, slipping noiselessly
off the steps, lying at full length with his ear close to the ground.
"Where's the dog?" he asked.