The Spirit of the Border and the Last Trail (43 page)

“I don't remember exactly. He didn't live long after the siege. Some say he inhaled the flames while fighting fire inside the stockade.”

“How sad!”

“Yes, it was. It nearly killed Betty. But we border girls do not give up easily; we must not,” replied Mabel, an unquenchable spirit showing through the sadness of her eyes.

Merry voices interrupted them, and they turned to see Betty and Nell entering the gate. With Nell's bright chatter and Betty's wit, the conversation became indeed vivacious, running from gossip to gowns, and then to that old and ever new theme, love. Shortly afterward the colonel entered the gate, with swinging step and genial smile.

“Well, now, if here aren't four handsome lasses,” he said with an admiring glance.

“Eb, I believe if you were single any girl might well suspect you of being a flirt,” said Betty.

“No girl ever did. I tell you I was a lady-killer in my day,” replied Colonel Zane, straightening his fine form. He was indeed handsome, with his stalwart frame, dark, bronzed face, and rugged, manly bearing.

“Bess said you were; but that it didn't last long after you saw her,” cried Betty, mischief gleaming in her dark eye.

“Well, that's so,” replied the colonel, looking a trifle crestfallen; “but you know every dog has his day.” Then advancing to the porch, he looked at Mabel with a more serious gaze as he asked, “How are you today?”

“Thank you, Colonel Zane, I am getting quite strong.”

“Look up the valley. There's a raft coming down the river,” said he softly.

Far up the broad Ohio a square patch showed dark against the green water.

Colonel Zane saw Mabel start, and a dark red flush came over her pale face. For an instant she gazed with an expression of appeal, almost fear. He knew the reason. Alex Bennet was on that raft.

“I came over to ask if I can be of any service?”

“Tell him,” she answered simply.

“I say, Betts,” Colonel Zane cried, “has Helen's cousin cast any more such sheep eyes at you?”

“Oh, Eb, what nonsense!” exclaimed Betty, blushing furiously.

“Well, if he didn't look sweet at you I'm an old fool.”

“You're one any way, and you're horrid,” said Betty, tears of anger glistening in her eyes.

Colonel Zane whistled softly as he walked down the lane. He went into the wheelwright's shop to see about some repairs he was having made on a wagon, and then strolled on down to the river. Two Indians were sitting on the rude log wharf, together with several frontiersmen and rivermen, all waiting for the raft. He conversed with the Indians, who were friendly Chippewas, until the raft was tied up. The first person to leap on shore was a sturdy young fellow with a shock of yellow hair, and a warm, ruddy skin.

“Hello, Alex, did you have a good trip?” asked Colonel Zane of the youth.

“H'are ye, Colonel Zane. Yes, first-rate trip,” replied young Bennet. “Say, I've a word for you. Come aside,” and drawing Colonel Zane out of earshot of the others, he continued, “I heard this by accident, not that I didn't spy a bit when I got interested, for I did; but the way it came about was all chance. Briefly, there's a man, evidently an Englishman, at Fort Pitt, whom I overheard say he was out on the border after a Sheppard girl. I happened to hear from one of Brandt's men, who rode into Pitt just before we left, that you had new friends here by that name. This fellow was a handsome chap, no common sort, but lordly, dissipated, and reckless as the devil. He had a servant traveling with him, a sailor, by his gab, who was about the toughest customer I've met in many a day. He cut a fellow in bad shape at Pitt. These two will be on the next boat, due here in a day or so, according to river and weather conditions, an' I thought, considerin' how unusual the thing was, I'd better tell ye.”

“Well, well,” said Colonel Zane reflectively. He recalled Sheppard's talk about an Englishman. “Alex, you did well to tell me. Was the man drunk when he said he came west after a woman?”

“Sure he was,” replied Alex. “But not when he spoke the name. Ye see I got suspicious, an' asked about him. It's this way: Jake Wentz, the trader, told me the fellow asked for the Sheppards when he got off the wagon train. When I first seen him he was drunk, and I heard Jeff Lynn say as how the border was a bad place to come after a woman. That's what made me prick up my ears. Then the Englishman said: ‘It is eh? By God! I'd go to hell after a woman I wanted. An' Colonel, he looked it, too.”

Colonel Zane remained thoughtful while Alex made up a bundle and forced the haft of an ax under the string; but as the young man started away the colonel suddenly remembered his errand down to the wharf.

“Alex, come back here,” he said, and wondered if the lad had good stuff in him. The boatman's face was plain, but not evil, and a close scrutiny of it rather prepossessed the colonel.

“Alex, I've some bad news for you,” and then bluntly, with his keen gaze fastened on the young man's face, he told of old Lane's murder, of Mabel's abduction, and of her rescue by Wetzel.

Alex began to curse and swear vengeance.

“Stow all that,” said the colonel sharply. “Wetzel followed four Indians who had Mabel and some stolen horses. The redskins quarreled over the girl, and two took the horses, leaving Mabel to the others. Wetzel went after these last, tomahawked them, and brought Mabel home. She was in a bad way, but is now getting over the shock.”

“Say, what'd we do here without Wetzel?” Alex said huskily, unmindful of the tears that streamed from his eyes and ran over his brown cheeks. “Poor old Jake! Poor Mabel! Damn me! It's my fault. If I'd 'a done right an' married her as I should, as I wanted to, she wouldn't have had to suffer. But I'll marry her yet, if she'll have me. It was only because I had no farm, no stock, an' only that little cabin as is full now, that I waited.”

“Alex, you know me,” said Colonel Zane in kindly tones. “Look there, down the clearing half a mile. See that green strip of land along the river, with the big chestnut in the middle and a cabin beyond. There's as fine farming land as can be found on the border, eighty acres, well watered. The day you marry Mabel that farm is yours.”

Alex grew red, stammered, and vainly tried to express his gratitude.

“Come along, the sooner you tell Mabel the better,” said the colonel with glowing face. He was a good matchmaker. He derived more pleasure from a little charity bestowed upon a deserving person, than from a season's crops.

When they arrived at the Sheppard house the girls were still on the porch. Mabel rose when she saw Alex, standing white and still. He, poor fellow, was embarrassed by the others, who regarded him with steady eyes.

Colonel Zane pushed Alex up on the porch, and said in a low voice: “Mabel, I've just arranged something you're to give Alex. It's a nice little farm, and it'll be a wedding present.”

Mabel looked in a bewildered manner from Colonel Zane's happy face to the girls, and then at the red, joyous features of her lover. Only then did she understand, and uttering a strange little cry, put her trembling hands to her bosom as she swayed to and fro.

But she did not fall, for Alex, quick at the last, leaped forward and caught her in his arms.

*   *   *

That evening Helen denied herself to Mr. Brandt and several other callers. She sat on the porch with her father while he smoked his pipe.

“Where's Will?” she asked.

“Gone after snipe, so he said,” replied her father.

“Snipe? How funny! Imagine Will hunting! He's surely catching the wild fever Colonel Zane told us about.”

“He surely is.”

Then came a time of silence. Mr. Sheppard, accustomed to Helen's gladsome spirit and propensity to chatter, noted how quiet she was, and wondered.

“Why are you so still?”

“I'm a little homesick,” Helen replied reluctantly.

“No? Well, I declare! This is a glorious country; but not for such as you, dear, who love music and gaiety. I often fear you'll not be happy here, and then I long for the old home, which reminds me of your mother.”

“Dearest, forget what I said,” cried Helen earnestly. “I'm only a little blue to-day; perhaps not at all homesick.”

“Indeed, you always seemed happy.”

“Father, I am happy. It's only—only a girl's foolish sentiment.”

“I've got something to tell you, Helen, and it has bothered me since Colonel Zane spoke of it to-night. Mordaunt is coming to Fort Henry.”

“Mordaunt? Oh, impossible! Who said so? How did you learn?”

“I fear 'tis true, my dear. Colonel Zane told me he had heard of an Englishman at Fort Pitt who asked after us. Moreover, the fellow answers the description of Mordaunt. I am afraid it is he, and come after you.”

“Suppose he has—who cares? We owe him nothing. He cannot hurt us.”

“But, Helen, he's a desperate man. Aren't you afraid of him?”

“Not I,” cried Helen, laughing in scorn. “He'd better have a care. He can't run things with a high hand out here on the border. I told him I would have none of him, and that ended it.”

“I'm much relieved. I didn't want to tell you; but it seemed necessary. Well, child, good-night, I'll go to bed.”

Long after Mr. Sheppard had retired Helen sat thinking. Memories of the past, and of the unwelcome suitor, Mordaunt, thronged upon her thick and fast. She could see him now with his pale, handsome face, and distinguished bearing. She had liked him, as she had other men, until he involved her father, with himself, in financial ruin, and had made his attentions to her unpleasantly persistent. Then he had followed the fall of fortune with wild dissipation, and became a gambler and a drunkard. But he did not desist in his mad wooing. He became like her shadow, and life grew to be unendurable, until her father planned to emigrate west, when she hailed the news with joy. And now Mordaunt had tracked her to her new home. She was sick with disgust. Then her spirit, always strong, and now freer for this new, wild life of the frontier, rose within her, and she dismissed all thoughts of this man and his passion.

The old life was dead and buried. She was going to be happy here. As for the present, it was enough to think of the little border village, now her home; of her girl friends; of the quiet borderman; and, for the moment, that the twilight was somber and beautiful.

High up on the wooded bluff rising so gloomily over the village, she saw among the trees something silver-bright. She watched it rise slowly from behind the trees, now hidden, now white through rifts in the foliage, until it soared lovely and grand above the black horizon. The ebony shadows of night seemed to lift, as might a sable mantle moved by invisible hands. But dark shadows, safe from the moon-rays, lay under the trees, and a pale, misty vapor hung below the brow of the bluff.

Mysterious as had grown the night before darkness yielded to the moon, this pale, white light flooding the still valley, was even more soft and strange. To one of Helen's temperament no thought was needed; to see was enough. Yet her mind was active. She felt with haunting power the beauty of all before her; in fancy transporting herself far to those silver-tipped clouds, and peopling with dells and shady nooks under the hills with spirits and fairies, maidens and valiant knights. To her the day was as a far-off dream. The great watch stars grew wan before the radiant moon; it reigned alone. The immensity of the world with its glimmering rivers, pensive valleys, and deep, gloomy forests lay revealed under the glory of the clear light.

Absorbed in this contemplation Helen remained a long time gazing with dreamy ecstasy at the moonlit valley until a slight chill disturbed her happy thoughts. She knew she was not alone. Trembling, she stood up to see, easily recognizable in the moonlight, the tall buckskin-garbed figure of Jonathan Zane.

“Well, sir,” she called, sharply, yet with a tremor in her voice.

The borderman came forward and stood in front of her. Somehow he appeared changed. The long, black rifle, the dull, glinting weapons made her shudder. Wilder and more untamable he looked than ever. The very silence of the forest clung to him; the fragrance of the grassy plains came faintly from his buckskin garments.

'‘Evenin', lass,” he said in his slow, cool manner.

“How did you get here?” asked Helen presently, because he made no effort to explain his presence at such a late hour.

“I was able to walk.”

Helen observed, with a vaulting spirit, one ever ready to rise in arms, that Master Zane was disposed to add humor to his penetrating mysteriousness. She flushed hot and then paled. This borderman certainly possessed the power to vex her, and, reluctantly she admitted, to chill her soul and rouse her fear. She strove to keep back sharp words, because she had learned that this singular individual always gave good reason for his odd actions.

“I think in kindness to me,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “you might tell me why you appear so suddenly, as if you had sprung out of the ground.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. Father is in bed; so is Mabel, and Will has not yet come home. Why?”

“Has no one else been here?”

“Mr. Brandt came, as did some others; but wishing to be alone, I did not see them,” replied Helen in perplexity.

“Have you seen Brandt since?”

“Since when?”

“The night I watched by the lilac bush.”

“Yes, several times,” replied Helen. Something in his tone made her ashamed. “I couldn't very well escape when he called. Are you surprised because after he insulted me I'd see him?”

“Yes.”

Helen felt more ashamed.

“You don't love him?” he continued.

Helen was so surprised she could only look into the dark face above her. Then she dropped her gaze, abashed by his searching eyes. But, thinking of his question, she subdued the vague stirrings of pleasure in her breast, and answered coldly: