The Spirit of the Border and the Last Trail (60 page)

“There is none in these woods, fer him.”

“We didn't plan this gettin' between him an' his camp, but couldn't be better fixed. A mile farther along the ridge, is a campin' place, with a spring in a little dell close under a big stone, an' well wooded. Legget's headin' straight fer it. With a couple of Injuns guardin' thet spot, he'll think he's safe. But I know the place, an' can crawl to thet rock the darkest night thet ever was an' never crack a stick.”

*   *   *

In the gray of the deepening twilight Jonathan Zane sat alone. An howl hooted dismally in the dark woods beyond the thicket where the borderman crouched waiting for Wetzel. His listening ear detected a soft, rustling sound like the play of a mole under the leaves. A branch trembled and swung back; a soft footstep followed and Wetzel came into the retreat.

“Well?” asked Jonathan impatiently, as Wetzel deliberately sat down and laid his rifle across his knees.

“Easy, Jack, easy. We've an hour to wait.”

“The time I've already waited has been long for me.”

“They're thar,” said Wetzel grimly.

“How far from here?”

“A half-hour's slow crawl.”

“Close by?” hissed Jonathan.

“Too near fer you to get excited.”

“Let us go; it's as light now as in the gray of mornin'.”

“Mornin' would be best. Injuns get sleepy along towards day. I've ever found thet time the best. But we'll be lucky if we ketch these redskins asleep.”

“Lew, I can't wait here all night. I won't leave her longer with that renegade. I've got to free or kill her.”

“Most likely it'll be the last,” said Wetzel simply.

“Well, so be it then,” and the borderman hung his head.

“You needn't worry none, 'bout Helen. I jest had a good look at her, not half an hour back. She's tired-out; but full of spunk yet. I seen thet when Brandt went near her. Legget's got his hands full jest now with the redskins. He's hevin' trouble keepin' them on this slow trail. I ain't sayin' they're skeered; but they're mighty restless.”

“Will you take the chance now?”

“I reckon you needn't hev asked thet.”

“Tell me the lay of the land.”

“Wal, if we get to this rock I spoke 'bout, we'll be right over 'em. It's ten feet high, an' we can jump straight amongst 'em. Most likely two or three'll be guardin' the openin' which is a little ways to the right. Ther's a big tree, the only one, low down by the spring. Helen's under it, half-sittin', half-leanin' against the roots. When I first looked, her hands were free; but I saw Brandt bind her feet. An' he had to get an Injun to help him, fer she kicked like a spirited little filly. There's moss under the tree an' there's where the redskins'll lay down to rest.”

“I've got that; now out with your plan.”

“Wal, I calkilate it's this. The moon'll be up in about an hour. We'll crawl as we've never crawled afore, because Helen's life depends as much on our not makin' a noise, as it does on fightin' when the time comes. If they hear us afore we're ready to shoot, the lass'll be tomahawked quicker 'n lightnin'. If they don't suspicion us, when the right moment comes you shoot Brandt, yell louder'n you ever did afore, leap amongst 'em, an' cut down the first Injun thet's near you on your way to Helen. Swing her over your arm, an' dig int the woods.”

“Well?” asked Jonathan when Wetzel finished.

“That's all,” the borderman replied grimly.

“An' leave you all alone to fight Legget an' the rest of 'em?”

“I reckon.”

“Not to be thought of.”

“Ther's no other way.”

“There must be! Let me think; I can't, I'm not myself.”

“No other way,” repeated Wetzel curtly.

Jonathan's broad hand fastened on Wetzel's shoulder and wheeled him around.

“Have I ever left you alone?”

“This's different,” and Wetzel turned away again. His voice was cold and hard.

“How is it different? We've had the same thing to do, almost, more than once.”

“We've never had as bad a bunch to handle as Legget's. They're lookin' fer us, an' will be hard to beat.”

“That's no reason.”

“We never had to save a girl one of us loved.”

Jonathan was silent.

“I said this'd be my last trail,” continued Wetzel. “I felt it, an' I know it'll be yours.”

“Why?”

“If you get away with the girl she'll keep you at home, an' it'll be well. If you don't succeed, you'll die tryin', so it's sure your last trail.”

Wetzel's deep, cold voice rang with truth.

“Lew, I can't run away an' leave you to fight those devils alone, after all these years we've been together, I can't.”

“No other chance to save the lass.”

Jonathan quivered with the force of his emotion. His black eyes glittered; his hands grasped at nothing. Once more he was between love and duty. Again he fought over the old battle, but this time it left him weak.

“You love the big-eyed lass, don't you?” asked Wetzel, turning with softened face and voice.

“I have gone mad!” cried Jonathan, tortured by the simple question of his friend. Those big, dear, wonderful eyes he loved so well, looked at him now from the gloom of the thicket. The old, beautiful, soft glow, the tender light, was there, and more, a beseeching prayer to save her.

Jonathan bowed his head, ashamed to let his friend see the tears that dimmed his eyes.

“Jack, we've follered the trail fer years together. Always you've been true an' staunch. This is our last, but whatever bides we'll break up Legget's band to-night; an' the border'll be cleared, mebbe, for always. At least his race is run. Let thet content you. Our time'd have to come, sooner or later, so why not now? I know how it is, that you want to stick by me; but the lass draws you to her. I understand, an' want you to save her. Mebbe you never dreamed it; but I can tell jest how you feel. All the tremblin', an' softness, an' sweetness, an' delight you've got for thet girl, is no mystery to Lew Wetzel.”

“You loved a lass?”

Wetzel bowed his head, as perhaps he had never before in all his life.

“Betty—always,” he answered softly.

“My sister!” exclaimed Jonathan, and then his hand closed hard on his comrade's, his mind going back to many things, strange in the past, but now explained. Wetzel had revealed his secret.

“An' it's been all my life, since she wasn't higher 'n my knee. There was a time when I might hev been closer to you than I am now. But I was a mad 'an bloody Injun hater, so I never let her know till I seen it was too late. Wal, wal, no more of me. I only told it fer you.”

Jonathan was silent.

“An' now to come back where we left off,” continued Wetzel. “Let's take a more hopeful look at this comin' fight. Sure I said it was my last trail, but mebbe it's not. You can never tell. Feelin' as we do, I imagine they've no odds on us. Never in my life did I say to you, least of all to any one else, what I was goin' to do; but I'll tell it now. If I land uninjured amongst thet bunch, I'll kill them all.”

The giant borderman's low voice hissed, and stung. His eyes glittered with unearthly fire. His face was cold and gray. He spread out his brawny arms and clenched his huge fists, making the muscles of his broad shoulders roll and bulge.

“I hate the thought, Lew, I hate the thought. Ain't there no other way?”

“No other way.”

“I'll do it, Lew, because I'd do the same for you; because I have to, because I love her; but God! it hurts.”

“Thet's right,” answered Wetzel, his deep voice softening until it was singularly low and rich. “I'm glad you've come to it. An' sure it hurts. I want you to feel so at leavin' me to go it alone. If we both get out alive, I'll come many times to see you an' Helen. If you live an' I don't, think of me sometimes; think of the trails we've crossed together. When the fall comes with its soft, cool air, an' smoky mornin's an' starry nights, when the wind's sad among the bare branches, and the leaves drop down, remember they're fallin' on my grave.”

Twilight darkened into gloom; the red tinge in the west changed to opal light; through the trees over a dark ridge a rim of silver glinted and moved.

The moon had risen; the hour was come.

The bordermen tightened their belts, replaced their leggins, tied their hunting coats, loosened their hatchets, looked to the priming of their rifles, and were ready.

Wetzel walked twenty paces and turned. His face was white in the moonlight; his dark eyes softened into a look of love as he gripped his comrade's outstretched hand.

Then he dropped flat on the ground, carefully saw to the position of his rifle, and began to creep. Jonathan kept close at his heels.

Slowly but steadily they crawled, minute after minute. The hazel-nut bushes above them had not yet shed their leaves; the ground was clean and hard, and the course fatefully perfect for their deadly purpose.

A slight rustling of their buckskin garments sounded like the rustling of leaves in a faint breeze.

The moon came out above the trees and still Wetzel advanced softly, steadily, surely.

The owl, lonely sentinel of that wood, hooted dismally. Even his night eyes, which made the darkness seem clear as day, missed those gliding figures. Even he, sure guardian of the wilderness, failed the savages.

Jonathan felt soft moss beneath him; he was now in the woods under the trees. The thicket had been passed.

Wetzel's moccasin pressed softly against Jonathan's head. The first signal!

Jonathan crawled forward, and slightly raised himself.

He was on a rock. The trees were thick and gloomy. Below, the little hollow was almost in the wan moonbeams. Dark figures lay close together. Two savages paced noiselessly to and fro. A slight form rolled in a blanket lay against a tree.

Jonathan felt his arm gently squeezed.

The second signal!

Slowly he thrust forward his rifle, and raised it in unison with Wetzel's. Slowly he rose to his feet as if the same muscles guided them both.

Over his head a twig snapped. In the darkness he had not seen a low branch.

The Indian guards stopped suddenly, and became motionless as stone.

They had heard; but too late.

With the blended roar of the rifles both dropped, lifeless.

Almost under the spouting flame and white cloud of smoke, Jonathan leaped behind Wetzel, over the bank. His yells were mingled with Wetzel's vengeful cry. Like leaping shadows the bordermen were upon their foes.

An Indian sprang up, raised a weapon, and fell beneath Jonathan's savage blow, to rise no more. Over his prostrate body the borderman bounded. A dark, nimble form darted upon the captive. He swung high a blade that shone like silver in the moonlight. His shrill war cry of death rang out with Helen's scream of despair. Even as he swung back her head with one hand in her long hair, his arm descended; but it fell upon the borderman's body. Jonathan and the Indian rolled upon the moss. There was a terrific struggle, a whirling blade, a dull blow which silenced the yell, and the borderman rose alone.

He lifted Helen as if she were a child, leaped the brook, and plunged into the thicket.

The noise of the fearful conflict he left behind, swelled high and hideously on the night air. Above the shrill cries of the Indians, and the furious yells of Legget, rose the mad, booming roar of Wetzel. No rifle cracked; but sodden blows, the clash of steel, the threshing of struggling men, told of the dreadful strife.

Jonathan gained the woods, sped through the moonlit glades, and far on under light and shadow.

The shrill cries ceased; only the hoarse yells and the mad roar could be heard. Gradually these also died away, and the forest was still.

 

CHAPTER XXI

 

Next morning, when the mist was breaking and rolling away under the warm rays of the Indian-summer sun, Jonathan Zane beached his canoe on the steep bank before Fort Henry. A pioneer, attracted by the borderman's halloo, ran to the bluff and sounded the alarm with shrill whoops. Among the hurrying, brown-clad figures that answered this summons, was Colonel Zane.

“It's Jack, kurnel, an' he's got her!” cried one.

The doughty colonel gained the bluff to see his brother climbing the bank with a white-faced girl in his arms.

“Well?” he asked, looking darkly at Jonathan. Nothing kindly or genial was visible in his manner now; rather grim and forbidding he seemed, thus showing he had the same blood in his veins as the borderman.

“Lend a hand,” said Jonathan. “As far as I know she's not hurt.”

They carried Helen toward Colonel Zane's cabin. Many women of the settlement saw them as they passed, and looked gravely at one another, but none spoke. This return of an abducted girl was by no means a strange event.

“Somebody run for Sheppard,” ordered Colonel Zane, as they entered his cabin.

Betty, who was in the sitting-room, sprang up and cried: “Oh! Eb! Eb! Don't say she's—”

“No, no, Betts, she's all right. Where's my wife? Ah! Bess, here, get to work.”

The Colonel left Helen in the tender, skillful hands of his wife and sister, and followed Jonathan into the kitchen.

“I was just ready for breakfast when I heard some one yell,” said he. “Come, Jack, eat something.”

They ate in silence. From the sitting-room came excited whispers, a joyous cry from Betty, and a faint voice. Then heavy, hurrying footsteps, followed by Sheppard's words of thanksgiving.

“Where's Wetzel?” began Colonel Zane.

The borderman shook his head gloomily.

“Where did you leave him?”

“We jumped Legget's bunch last night, when the moon was about an hour high. I reckon about fifteen miles northeast. I got away with the lass.”