Joe felt the heavy lethargy rise from him like the removal of a
blanket; his eyes became clear, and he saw the trees and the forest
gloom; slowly he realized his actual position.
He was a prisoner, lying helpless among his sleeping captors.
Silvertip and the guard had fled into the woods, frightened by the
appalling moan which they believed sounded their death-knell. And
Joe believed he might have fled himself had he been free. What could
have caused that sound? He fought off the numbing chill that once
again began to creep over him. He was wide-awake now; his head was
clear, and he resolved to retain his senses. He told himself there
could be nothing supernatural in that wind, or wail, or whatever it
was, which had risen murmuring from out the forest-depths.
Yet, despite his reasoning, Joe could not allay his fears. That
thrilling cry haunted him. The frantic flight of an Indian
brave--nay, of a cunning, experienced chief--was not to be lightly
considered. The savages were at home in these untracked wilds.
Trained from infancy to scent danger and to fight when they had an
equal chance they surely would not run without good cause.
Joe knew that something moved under those dark trees. He had no idea
what. It might be the fretting night wind, or a stealthy, prowling,
soft-footed beast, or a savage alien to these wild Indians, and
wilder than they by far. The chirp of a bird awoke the stillness.
Night had given way to morning. Welcoming the light that was chasing
away the gloom, Joe raised his head with a deep sigh of relief. As
he did so he saw a bush move; then a shadow seemed to sink into the
ground. He had seen an object lighter than the trees, darker than
the gray background. Again, that strange sense of the nearness of
something thrilled him.
Moments, passed--to him long as hours. He saw a tall fern waver and
tremble. A rabbit, or perhaps a snake, had brushed it. Other ferns
moved, their tops agitated, perhaps, by a faint breeze. No; that
wavering line came straight toward him; it could not be the wind; it
marked the course of a creeping, noiseless thing. It must be a
panther crawling nearer and nearer.
Joe opened his lips to awaken his captors, but could not speak; it
was as if his heart had stopped beating. Twenty feet away the ferns
were parted to disclose a white, gleaming face, with eyes that
seemingly glittered. Brawny shoulders were upraised, and then a
tall, powerful man stood revealed. Lightly he stepped over the
leaves into the little glade. He bent over the sleeping Indians.
Once, twice, three times a long blade swung high. One brave
shuddered another gave a sobbing gasp, and the third moved two
fingers--thus they passed from life to death.
"Wetzel!" cried Joe.
"I reckon so," said the deliverer, his deep, calm voice contrasting
strangely with what might have been expected from his aspect. Then,
seeing Joe's head covered with blood, he continued: "Able to get
up?"
"I'm not hurt," answered Joe, rising when his bonds had been cut.
"Brothers, I reckon?" Wetzel said, bending over Jim.
"Yes, we're brothers. Wake up, Jim, wake up! We're saved!"
"What? Who's that?" cried Jim, sitting up and staring at Wetzel.
"This man has saved our lives! See, Jim, the Indians are dead! And,
Jim, it's Wetzel, the hunter. You remember, Jeff Lynn said I'd know
him if I ever saw him and---"
"What happened to Jeff?" inquired Wetzel, interrupting. He had
turned from Jim's grateful face.
"Jeff was on the first raft, and for all we know he is now safe at
Fort Henry. Our steersman was shot, and we were captured."
"Has the Shawnee anythin' ag'inst you boys?"
"Why, yes, I guess so. I played a joke on him--took his shirt and
put it on another fellow."
"Might jes' as well kick an' Injun. What has he ag'in you?"
"I don't know. Perhaps he did not like my talk to him," answered
Jim. "I am a preacher, and have come west to teach the gospel to the
Indians."
"They're good Injuns now," said Wetzel, pointing to the prostrate
figures.
"How did you find us?" eagerly asked Joe.
"Run acrost yer trail two days back."
"And you've been following us?"
The hunter nodded.
"Did you see anything of another band of Indians? A tall chief and
Jim Girty were among them."
"They've been arter me fer two days. I was followin' you when
Silvertip got wind of Girty an' his Delawares. The big chief was
Wingenund. I seen you pull Girty's nose. Arter the Delawares went I
turned loose yer dog an' horse an' lit out on yer trail.''
"Where are the Delawares now?"
"I reckon they're nosin' my back trail. We must be gittin'.
Silvertip'll soon hev a lot of Injuns here."
Joe intended to ask the hunter about what had frightened the
Indians, but despite his eager desire for information, he refrained
from doing so.
"Girty nigh did fer you," remarked Wetzel, examining Joe's wound.
"He's in a bad humor. He got kicked a few days back, and then hed
the skin pulled offen his nose. Somebody'll hev to suffer. Wal, you
fellers grab yer rifles, an' we'll be startin' fer the fort."
Joe shuddered as he leaned over one of the dusky forms to detach
powder and bullet horn. He had never seen a dead Indian, and the
tense face, the sightless, vacant eyes made him shrink. He shuddered
again when he saw the hunter scalp his victims. He shuddered the
third time when he saw Wetzel pick up Silvertip's beautiful white
eagle plume, dabble it in a pool of blood, and stick it in the bark
of a tree. Bereft of its graceful beauty, drooping with its gory
burden, the long feather was a deadly message. It had been
Silvertip's pride; it was now a challenge, a menace to the Shawnee
chief.
"Come," said Wetzel, leading the way into the forest.
* * *
Shortly after daylight on the second day following the release of
the Downs brothers the hunter brushed through a thicket of alder and
said: "Thar's Fort Henry."
The boys were on the summit of a mountain from which the land sloped
in a long incline of rolling ridges and gentle valleys like a green,
billowy sea, until it rose again abruptly into a peak higher still
than the one upon which they stood. The broad Ohio, glistening in
the sun, lay at the base of the mountain.
Upon the bluff overlooking the river, and under the brow of the
mountain, lay the frontier fort. In the clear atmosphere it stood
out in bold relief. A small, low structure surrounded by a high
stockade fence was all, and yet it did not seem unworthy of its
fame. Those watchful, forbidding loopholes, the blackened walls and
timbers, told the history of ten long, bloody years. The whole
effect was one of menace, as if the fort sent out a defiance to the
wilderness, and meant to protect the few dozen log cabins clustered
on the hillside.
"How will we ever get across that big river?" asked Jim,
practically.
"Wade--swim," answered the hunter, laconically, and began the
descent of the ridge. An hour's rapid walking brought the three to
the river. Depositing his rifle in a clump of willows, and directing
the boys to do the same with their guns, the hunter splashed into
the water. His companions followed him into the shallow water, and
waded a hundred yards, which brought them near the island that they
now perceived hid the fort. The hunter swam the remaining distance,
and, climbing the bank, looked back for the boys. They were close
behind him. Then he strode across the island, perhaps a quarter of a
mile wide.
"We've a long swim here," said Wetzel, waving his hand toward the
main channel of the river. "Good fer it?" he inquired of Joe, since
Jim had not received any injuries during the short captivity and
consequently showed more endurance.
"Good for anything," answered Joe, with that coolness Wetzel had
been quick to observe in him.
The hunter cast a sharp glance at the lad's haggard face, his
bruised temple, and his hair matted with blood. In that look he read
Joe thoroughly. Had the young man known the result of that scrutiny,
he would have been pleased as well as puzzled, for the hunter had
said to himself: "A brave lad, an' the border fever's on him."
"Swim close to me," said Wetzel, and he plunged into the river. The
task was accomplished without accident.
"See the big cabin, thar, on the hillside? Thar's Colonel Zane in
the door," said Wetzel.
As they neared the building several men joined the one who had been
pointed out as the colonel. It was evident the boys were the subject
of their conversation. Presently Zane left the group and came toward
them. The brothers saw a handsome, stalwart man, in the prime of
life.
"Well, Lew, what luck?" he said to Wetzel.
"Not much. I treed five Injuns, an' two got away," answered the
hunter as he walked toward the fort.
"Lads, welcome to Fort Henry," said Colonel Zane, a smile lighting
his dark face. "The others of your party arrived safely. They
certainly will be overjoyed to see you."
"Colonel Zane, I had a letter from my uncle to you," replied Jim;
"but the Indians took that and everything else we had with us."
"Never mind the letter. I knew your uncle, and your father, too.
Come into the house and change those wet clothes. And you, my lad,
have got an ugly knock on the head. Who gave you that?"
"Jim Girty."
"What?" exclaimed the colonel.
"Jim Girty did that. He was with a party of Delawares who ran across
us. They were searching for Wetzel."
"Girty with the Delawares! The devil's to pay now. And you say
hunting Wetzel? I must learn more about this. It looks bad. But tell
me, how did Girty come to strike you?"
"I pulled his nose."
"You did? Good! Good!" cried Colonel Zane, heartily. "By George,
that's great! Tell me--but wait until you are more comfortable. Your
packs came safely on Jeff's raft, and you will find them inside."
As Joe followed the colonel he heard one of the other men say:
"Like as two peas in a pod."
Farther on he saw an Indian standing a little apart from the others.
Hearing Joe's slight exclamation of surprise, he turned, disclosing
a fine, manly countenance, characterized by calm dignity. The Indian
read the boy's thought.
"Ugh! Me friend," he said in English.
"That's my Shawnee guide, Tomepomehala. He's a good fellow, although
Jonathan and Wetzel declare the only good Indian is a dead one. Come
right in here. There are your packs, and you'll find water outside
the door."
Thus saying, Colonel Zane led the brothers into a small room,
brought out their packs, and left them. He came back presently with
a couple of soft towels.
"Now you lads fix up a bit; then come out and meet my family and
tell us all about your adventure. By that time dinner will be
ready."
"Geminy! Don't that towel remind you of home?" said Joe, when the
colonel had gone. "From the looks of things, Colonel Zane means to
have comfort here in the wilderness. He struck me as being a fine
man."
The boys were indeed glad to change the few articles of clothing the
Indians had left them, and when they were shaved and dressed they
presented an entirely different appearance. Once more they were twin
brothers, in costume and feature. Joe contrived, by brushing his
hair down on his forehead, to conceal the discolored bump.
"I think I saw a charming girl," observed Joe.
"Suppose you did--what then?" asked Jim, severely.
"Why--nothing--see here, mayn't I admire a pretty girl if I want?"
"No, you may not. Joe, will nothing ever cure you? I should think
the thought of Miss Wells---"
"Look here, Jim; she don't care--at least, it's very little she
cares. And I'm--I'm not worthy of her."
"Turn around here and face me," said the young minister sharply.
Joe turned and looked in his brother's eyes.
"Have you trifled with her, as you have with so many others? Tell
me. I know you don't lie."
"No."
"Then what do you mean?"
"Nothing much, Jim, except I'm really not worthy of her. I'm no
good, you know, and she ought to get a fellow like--like you."
"Absurd! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"Never mind me. See here; don't you admire her?"
"Why--why, yes," stammered Jim, flushing a dark, guilty red at the
direct question. "Who could help admiring her?"
"That's what I thought. And I know she admires you for qualities
which I lack. Nell's like a tender vine just beginning to creep
around and cling to something strong. She cares for me; but her love
is like the vine. It may hurt her a little to tear that love away,
but it won't kill her; and in the end it will be best for her. You
need a good wife. What could I do with a woman? Go in and win her,
Jim."
"Joe, you're sacrificing yourself again for me," cried Jim, white to
the lips. "It's wrong to yourself and wrong to her. I tell you---"
"Enough!" Joe's voice cut in cold and sharp. "Usually you influence
me; but sometimes you can't; I say this: Nell will drift into your
arms as surely as the leaf falls. It will not hurt her--will be best
for her. Remember, she is yours for the winning."
"You do not say whether that will hurt you," whispered Jim.
"Come--we'll find Colonel Zane," said Joe, opening the door.
They went out in the hallway which opened into the yard as well as
the larger room through which the colonel had first conducted them.
As Jim, who was in advance, passed into this apartment a trim figure
entered from the yard. It was Nell, and she ran directly against
him. Her face was flushed, her eyes were beaming with gladness, and
she seemed the incarnation of girlish joy.
"Oh, Joe," was all she whispered. But the happiness and welcome in
that whisper could never have been better expressed in longer
speech. Then slightly, ever so slightly, she tilted her sweet face
up to his.
It all happened with the quickness of thought. In a single instant
Jim saw the radiant face, the outstretched hands, and heard the glad
whisper. He knew that she had a again mistaken him for Joe; but for
his life he could not draw back his head. He had kissed her, and
even as his lips thrilled with her tremulous caress he flushed with
the shame of his deceit.
"You're mistaken again--I'm Jim," he whispered.
For a moment they stood staring into each other's eyes, slowly
awakening to what had really happened, slowly conscious of a sweet,
alluring power. Then Colonel Zane's cheery voice rang in their ears.
"Ah, here's Nellie and your brother! Now, lads, tell me which is
which?'
"That's Jim, and I'm Joe," answered the latter. He appeared not to
notice his brother, and his greeting to Nell was natural and hearty.
For the moment she drew the attention of the others from them.
Joe found himself listening to the congratulations of a number of
people. Among the many names he remembered were those of Mrs. Zane,
Silas Zane, and Major McColloch. Then he found himself gazing at the
most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.
"My only sister, Mrs. Alfred Clarke--once Betty Zane, and the
heroine of Fort Henry," said Colonel Zane proudly, with his arm
around the slender, dark-eyed girl.
"I would brave the Indians and the wilderness again for this
pleasure," replied Joe gallantly, as he bowed low over the little
hand she cordially extended.
"Bess, is dinner ready?" inquired Colonel Zane of his comely wife.
She nodded her head, and the colonel led the way into the adjoining
room. "I know you boys must be hungry as bears."
During the meal Colonel Zane questioned his guests about their
journey, and as to the treatment they had received at the hands of
the Indians. He smiled at the young minister's earnestness in regard
to the conversion of the redmen, and he laughed outright when Joe
said "he guessed he came to the frontier because it was too slow at
home."
"I am sure your desire for excitement will soon be satisfied, if
indeed it be not so already," remarked the colonel. "But as to the
realization of your brother's hopes I am not so sanguine.
Undoubtedly the Moravian missionaries have accomplished wonders with
the Indians. Not long ago I visited the Village of Peace--the Indian
name for the mission--and was struck by the friendliness and
industry which prevailed there. Truly it was a village of peace. Yet
it is almost too early to be certain of permanent success of this
work. The Indian's nature is one hard to understand. He is naturally
roving and restless, which, however, may be owing to his habit of
moving from place to place in search of good hunting grounds. I
believe--though I must confess I haven't seen any pioneers who share
my belief--that the savage has a beautiful side to his character. I
know of many noble deeds done by them, and I believe, if they are
honestly dealt with, they will return good for good. There are bad
ones, of course; but the French traders, and men like the Girtys,
have caused most of this long war. Jonathan and Wetzel tell me the
Shawnees and Chippewas have taken the warpath again. Then the fact
that the Girtys are with the Delawares is reason for alarm. We have
been comparatively quiet here of late. Did you boys learn to what
tribe your captors belong? Did Wetzel say?"
"He did not; he spoke little, but I will say he was exceedingly
active," answered Joe, with a smile.
"To have seen Wetzel fight Indians is something you are not likely
to forget," said Colonel Zane grimly. "Now, tell me, how did those
Indians wear their scalp-lock?"
"Their heads were shaved closely, with the exception of a little
place on top. The remaining hair was twisted into a tuft, tied
tightly, and into this had been thrust a couple of painted pins.
When Wetzel scalped the Indians the pins fell out. I picked one up,
and found it to be bone."
"You will make a woodsman, that's certain," replied Colonel Zane.
"The Indians were Shawnee on the warpath. Well, we will not borrow
trouble, for when it comes in the shape of redskins it usually comes
quickly. Mr. Wells seemed anxious to resume the journey down the
river; but I shall try to persuade him to remain with us awhile.
Indeed, I am sorry I cannot keep you all here at Fort Henry, and
more especially the girls. On the border we need young people, and,
while I do not want to frighten the women, I fear there will be more
than Indians fighting for them."
"I hope not; but we have come prepared for anything," said Kate,
with a quiet smile. "Our home was with uncle, and when he announced
his intention of going west we decided our duty was to go with him."
"You were right, and I hope you will find a happy home," rejoined
Colonel Zane. "If life among the Indians proves to be too hard, we
shall welcome you here. Betty, show the girls your pets and Indian
trinkets. I am going to take the boys to Silas' cabin to see Mr.
Wells, and then show them over the fort."
As they went out Joe saw the Indian guide standing in exactly the
same position as when they entered the building.
"Can't that Indian move?" he asked curiously.
"He can cover one hundred miles in a day, when he wants to," replied
Colonel Zane. "He is resting now. An Indian will often stand or sit
in one position for many hours."
"He's a fine-looking chap," remarked Joe, and then to himself: "but
I don't like him. I guess I'm prejudiced."
"You'll learn to like Tome, as we call him."
"Colonel Zane, I want a light for my pipe. I haven't had a smoke
since the day we were captured. That blamed redskin took my tobacco.
It's lucky I had some in my other pack. I'd like to meet him again;
also Silvertip and that brute Girty."
"My lad, don't make such wishes," said Colonel Zane, earnestly. "You
were indeed fortunate to escape, and I can well understand your
feelings. There is nothing I should like better than to see Girty
over the sights of my rifle; but I never hunt after danger, and to
look for Girty is to court death."
"But Wetzel---"
"Ah, my lad, I know Wetzel goes alone in the woods; but then, he is
different from other men. Before you leave I will tell you all about
him."
Colonel Zane went around the corner of the cabin and returned with a
live coal on a chip of wood, which Joe placed in the bowl of his
pipe, and because of the strong breeze stepped close to the cabin
wall. Being a keen observer, he noticed many small, round holes in
the logs. They were so near together that the timbers had an odd,
speckled appearance, and there was hardly a place where he could
have put his thumb without covering a hole. At first he thought they
were made by a worm or bird peculiar to that region; but finally he
concluded that they were bullet-holes. He thrust his knife blade
into one, and out rolled a leaden ball.
"I'd like to have been here when these were made," he said.
"Well, at the time I wished I was back on the Potomac," replied
Colonel Zane.
They found the old missionary on the doorstep of the adjacent cabin.
He appeared discouraged when Colonel Zane interrogated him, and said
that he was impatient because of the delay.
"Mr. Wells, is it not possible that you underrate the danger of your
enterprise?"
"I fear naught but the Lord," answered the old man.
"Do you not fear for those with you?" went on the colonel earnestly.
"I am heart and soul with you in your work, but want to impress upon
you that the time is not propitious. It is a long journey to the
village, and the way is beset with dangers of which you have no
idea. Will you not remain here with me for a few weeks, or, at
least, until my scouts report?"
"I thank you; but go I will."
"Then let me entreat you to remain here a few days, so that I may
send my brother Jonathan and Wetzel with you. If any can guide you
safely to the Village of Peace it will be they."
At this moment Joe saw two men approaching from the fort, and
recognized one of them as Wetzel. He doubted not that the other was
Lord Dunmore's famous guide and hunter, Jonathan Zane. In features
he resembled the colonel, and was as tall as Wetzel, although not so
muscular or wide of chest.
Joe felt the same thrill he had experienced while watching the
frontiersmen at Fort Pitt. Wetzel and Jonathan spoke a word to
Colonel Zane and then stepped aside. The hunters stood lithe and
erect, with the easy, graceful poise of Indians.
"We'll take two canoes, day after to-morrow," said Jonathan,
decisively, to Colonel Zane. "Have you a rifle for Wetzel? The
Delawares got his."
Colonel Zane pondered over the question; rifles were not scarce at
the fort, but a weapon that Wetzel would use was hard to find.
"The hunter may have my rifle," said the old missionary. "I have no
use for a weapon with which to destroy God's creatures. My brother
was a frontiersman; he left this rifle to me. I remember hearing him
say once that if a man knew exactly the weight of lead and powder
needed, it would shoot absolutely true."
He went into the cabin, and presently came out with a long object
wrapped in linsey cloths. Unwinding the coverings, he brought to
view a rifle, the proportions of which caused Jonathan's eyes to
glisten, and brought an exclamation from Colonel Zane. Wetzel
balanced the gun in his hands. It was fully six feet long; the
barrel was large, and the dark steel finely polished; the stock was
black walnut, ornamented with silver trimmings. Using Jonathan's
powder-flask and bullet-pouch, Wetzel proceeded to load the weapon.
He poured out a quantity of powder into the palm of his hand,
performing the action quickly and dexterously, but was so slow while
measuring it that Joe wondered if he were counting the grains. Next
he selected a bullet out of a dozen which Jonathan held toward him.
He examined it carefully and tried it in the muzzle of the rifle.
Evidently it did not please him, for he took another. Finally he
scraped a bullet with his knife, and placing it in the center of a
small linsey rag, deftly forced it down. He adjusted the flint,
dropped a few grains of powder in the pan, and then looked around
for a mark at which to shoot.
Joe observed that the hunters and Colonel Zane were as serious
regarding the work as if at that moment some important issue
depended upon the accuracy of the rifle.
"There, Lew; there's a good shot. It's pretty far, even for you,
when you don't know the gun," said Colonel Zane, pointing toward the
river.
Joe saw the end of a log, about the size of a man's head, sticking
out of the water, perhaps an hundred and fifty yards distant. He
thought to hit it would be a fine shot; but was amazed when he heard
Colonel Zane say to several men who had joined the group that Wetzel
intended to shoot at a turtle on the log. By straining his eyes Joe
succeeded in distinguishing a small lump, which he concluded was the
turtle.
Wetzel took a step forward; the long, black rifle was raised with a
stately sweep. The instant it reached a level a thread of flame
burst forth, followed by a peculiarly clear, ringing report.
"Did he hit?" asked Colonel Zane, eagerly as a boy.
"I allow he did," answered Jonathan.
"I'll go and see," said Joe. He ran down the bank, along the beach,
and stepped on the log. He saw a turtle about the size of an
ordinary saucer. Picking it up, he saw a bullet-hole in the shell
near the middle. The bullet had gone through the turtle, and it was
quite dead. Joe carried it to the waiting group.
"I allowed so," declared Jonathan.
Wetzel examined the turtle, and turning to the old missionary, said:
"Your brother spoke the truth, an' I thank you fer the rifle."