The savage had just emerged from the river, for his graceful,
copper-colored body and scanty clothing were dripping with water. He
carried a long bow and a quiver of arrows.
Brandt uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Metzar a curse, as the
lithe Indian leaped the brook. He was not young. His swarthy face was
lined, seamed, and terrible with a dark impassiveness.
"Paleface-brother-get-arrow," he said in halting English, as his eyes
flashed upon Brandt. "Chief-want-make-sure."
The white man leaned forward, grasped the Indian's arm, and addressed
him in an Indian language. This questioning was evidently in regard to
his signal, the whereabouts of others of the party, and why he took
such fearful risks almost in the village. The Indian answered with one
English word.
"Deathwind!"
Brandt drew back with drawn, white face, while a whistling breath
escaped him.
"I knew it, Metz. Wetzel!" he exclaimed in a husky voice.
The blood slowly receded from Metzar's evil, murky face, leaving it
haggard.
"Deathwind-on-Chief's-trail-up-Eagle Rock," continued the Indian.
"Deathwind-fooled-not-for-long. Chief-wait-paleface-brothers at
Two Islands."
The Indian stepped into the brook, parted the willows, and was gone as
he had come, silently.
"We know what to expect," said Brandt in calmer tone as the daring
cast of countenance returned to him. "There's an Indian for you! He
got away, doubled like an old fox on his trail, and ran in here to
give us a chance at escape. Now you know why Bing Legget can't
be caught."
"Let's dig at once," replied Metzar, with no show of returning courage
such as characterized his companion.
Brandt walked to and fro with bent brows, like one in deep thought.
Suddenly he turned upon Metzar eyes which were brightly hard, and
reckless with resolve.
"By Heaven! I'll do it! Listen. Wetzel has gone to the top of Eagle
Mountain, where he and Zane have a rendezvous. Even he won't suspect
the cunning of this Indian; anyway it'll be after daylight to-morrow
before he strikes the trail. I've got twenty-four hours, and more, to
get this girl, and I'll do it!"
"Bad move to have weight like her on a march," said Metzar.
"Bah! The thing's easy. As for you, go on, push ahead after we're
started. All I ask is that you stay by me until the time to
cut loose."
"I ain't agoin' to crawfish now," growled Metzar. "Strikes me, too,
I'm losin' more'n you."
"You won't be a loser if you can get back to Detroit with your scalp.
I'll pay you in horses and gold. Once we reach Legget's place
we're safe."
"What's yer plan about gittin' the gal?" asked Metzar.
Brandt leaned forward and spoke eagerly, but in a low tone.
"Git away on hoss-back?" questioned Metzar, visibly brightening. "Wal,
that's some sense. Kin ye trust ther other party?"
"I'm sure I can," rejoined Brandt.
"It'll be a good job, a good job an' all done in daylight, too. Bing
Legget couldn't plan better," Metzar said, rubbing his hands,
"We've fooled these Zanes and their fruit-raising farmers for a year,
and our time is about up," Brandt muttered. "One more job and we've
done. Once with Legget we're safe, and then we'll work slowly back
towards Detroit. Let's get out of here now, for some one may come at
any moment."
The plotters separated, Brandt going through the grove, and Metzar
down the path by which he had come.
* * * * *
Helen, trembling with horror of what she had heard, raised herself
cautiously from the willows where she had lain, and watched the
innkeeper's retreating figure. When it had disappeared she gave a
little gasp of relief. Free now to run home, there to plan what course
must be pursued, she conquered her fear and weakness, and hurried from
the glade. Luckily, so far as she was able to tell, no one saw her
return. She resolved that she would be cool, deliberate, clever,
worthy of the borderman's confidence.
First she tried to determine the purport of this interview between
Brandt and Metzar. She recalled to mind all that was said, and
supplied what she thought had been suggested. Brandt and Metzar were
horse-thieves, aids of Bing Legget. They had repaired to the glade to
plan. The Indian had been a surprise. Wetzel had routed the Shawnees,
and was now on the trail of this chieftain. The Indian warned them to
leave Fort Henry and to meet him at a place called Two Islands.
Brandt's plan, presumably somewhat changed by the advent of the
red-man, was to steal horses, abduct a girl in broad daylight, and
before tomorrow's sunset escape to join the ruffian Legget.
"I am the girl," murmured Helen shudderingly, as she relapsed
momentarily into girlish fears. But at once she rose above
selfish feelings.
Secondly, while it was easy to determine what the outlaws meant, the
wisest course was difficult to conceive. She had promised the
borderman to help him, and not speak of anything she learned to any
but himself. She could not be true to him if she asked advice. The
point was clear; either she must remain in the settlement hoping for
Jonathan's return in time to frustrate Brandt's villainous scheme, or
find the borderman. Suddenly she remembered Metzar's allusion to a
second person whom Brandt felt certain he could trust. This meant
another traitor in Fort Henry, another horse-thief, another desperado
willing to make off with helpless women.
Helen's spirit rose in arms. She had their secret, and could ruin
them. She would find the borderman.
Wetzel was on the trail at Eagle Rock. What for? Trailing an Indian
who was then five miles east of that rock? Not Wetzel! He was on that
track to meet Jonathan. Otherwise, with the redskins near the river,
he would have been closer to them. He would meet Jonathan there at
sunset to-day, Helen decided.
She paced the room, trying to still her throbbing heart and trembling
hands.
"I must be calm," she said sternly. "Time is precious. I have not a
moment to lose. I will find him. I've watched that mountain many a
time, and can find the trail and the rock. I am in more danger here,
than out there in the forest. With Wetzel and Jonathan on the mountain
side, the Indians have fled it. But what about the savage who warned
Brandt? Let me think. Yes, he'll avoid the river; he'll go round south
of the settlement, and, therefore, can't see me cross. How fortunate
that I have paddled a canoe many times across the river. How glad that
I made Colonel Zane describe the course up the mountains!"
Her resolution fixed, Helen changed her skirt for one of buckskin,
putting on leggings and moccasins of the same serviceable material.
She filled the pockets of a short, rain-proof jacket with biscuits,
and, thus equipped, sallied forth with a spirit and exultation she
could not subdue. Only one thing she feared, which was that Brandt or
Metzar might see her cross the river. She launched her canoe and
paddled down stream, under cover of the bluff, to a point opposite the
end of the island, then straight across, keeping the island between
her and the settlement. Gaining the other shore, Helen pulled the
canoe into the willows, and mounted the bank. A thicket of willow and
alder made progress up the steep incline difficult, but once out of it
she faced a long stretch of grassy meadowland. A mile beyond began the
green, billowy rise of that mountain which she intended to climb.
Helen's whole soul was thrown into the adventure. She felt her strong
young limbs in accord with her heart.
"Now, Mr. Brandt, horse-thief and girl-snatcher, we'll see," she said
with scornful lips. "If I can't beat you now I'm not fit to be Betty
Zane's friend; and am unworthy of a borderman's trust."
She traversed the whole length of meadowland close under the shadow of
the fringed bank, and gained the forest. Here she hesitated. All was
so wild and still. No definite course through the woods seemed to
invite, and yet all was open. Trees, trees, dark, immovable trees
everywhere. The violent trembling of poplar and aspen leaves, when all
others were so calm, struck her strangely, and the fearful stillness
awed her. Drawing a deep breath she started forward up the gently
rising ground.
As she advanced the open forest became darker, and of wilder aspect.
The trees were larger and closer together. Still she made fair
progress without deviating from the course she had determined upon.
Before her rose a ridge, with a ravine on either side, reaching nearly
to the summit of the mountain. Here the underbrush was scanty, the
fallen trees had slipped down the side, and the rocks were not so
numerous, all of which gave her reason to be proud, so far, of
her judgment.
Helen, pressing onward and upward, forgot time and danger, while she
reveled in the wonder of the forestland. Birds and squirrels fled
before her; whistling and wheezing of alarm, or heavy crashings in the
bushes, told of frightened wild beasts. A dull, faint roar, like a
distant wind, suggested tumbling waters. A single birch tree, gleaming
white among the black trees, enlivened the gloomy forest. Patches of
sunlight brightened the shade. Giant ferns, just tinging with autumn
colors, waved tips of sculptured perfection. Most wonderful of all
were the colored leaves, as they floated downward with a sad,
gentle rustle.
Helen was brought to a realization of her hazardous undertaking by a
sudden roar of water, and the abrupt termination of the ridge in a
deep gorge. Grasping a tree she leaned over to look down. It was fully
a hundred feet deep, with impassable walls, green-stained and damp,
at the bottom of which a brawling, brown brook rushed on its way.
Fully twenty feet wide, it presented an insurmountable barrier to
further progress in that direction.
But Helen looked upon it merely as a difficulty to be overcome. She
studied the situation, and decided to go to the left because higher
ground was to be seen that way. Abandoning the ridge, she pressed on,
keeping as close to the gorge as she dared, and came presently to a
fallen tree lying across the dark cleft. Without a second's
hesitation, for she knew such would be fatal, she stepped upon the
tree and started across, looking at nothing but the log under her
feet, while she tried to imagine herself walking across the
water-gate, at home in Virginia.
She accomplished the venture without a misstep. When safely on the
ground once more she felt her knees tremble and a queer, light feeling
came into her head. She laughed, however, as she rested a moment. It
would take more than a gorge to discourage her, she resolved with set
lips, as once again she made her way along the rising ground.
Perilous, if not desperate, work was ahead of her. Broken, rocky
ground, matted thicket, and seemingly impenetrable forest, rose darkly
in advance. But she was not even tired, and climbed, crawled, twisted
and turned on her way upward. She surmounted a rocky ledge, to face a
higher ridge covered with splintered, uneven stones, and the fallen
trees of many storms. Once she slipped and fell, spraining her wrist.
At length this uphill labor began to weary her. To breathe caused a
pain in her side and she was compelled to rest.
Already the gray light of coming night shrouded the forest. She was
surprised at seeing the trees become indistinct; because the shadows
hovered over the thickets, and noted that the dark, dim outline of the
ridges was fading into obscurity.
She struggled on up the uneven slope with a tightening at her heart
which was not all exhaustion. For the first time she doubted herself,
but it was too late. She could not turn back. Suddenly she felt that
she was on a smoother, easier course. Not to strike a stone or break a
twig seemed unusual. It might be a path worn by deer going to a
spring. Then into her troubled mind flashed the joyful thought, she
had found a trail.
Soft, wiry grass, springing from a wet soil, rose under her feet. A
little rill trickled alongside the trail. Mossy, soft-cushioned stones
lay imbedded here and there. Young maples and hickories grew
breast-high on either side, and the way wound in and out under the
lowering shade of forest monarchs.
Swiftly ascending this path she came at length to a point where it was
possible to see some distance ahead. The ascent became hardly
noticeable. Then, as she turned a bend of the trail, the light grew
brighter and brighter, until presently all was open and clear. An oval
space, covered with stones, lay before her. A big, blasted chestnut
stood near by. Beyond was the dim, purple haze of distance. Above, the
pale, blue sky just faintly rose-tinted by the setting sun. Far to her
left the scraggly trees of a low hill were tipped with orange and
russet shades. She had reached the summit.
Desolate and lonely was this little plateau. Helen felt immeasurably
far away from home. Yet she could see in the blue distance the
glancing river, the dark fort, and that cluster of cabins which marked
the location of Fort Henry. Sitting upon the roots of the big chestnut
tree she gazed around. There were the remains of a small camp-fire.
Beyond, a hollow under a shelving rock. A bed of dry leaves lay packed
in this shelter. Some one had been here, and she doubted not that it
was the borderman.
She was so tired and her wrist pained so severely that she lay back
against the tree-trunk, closed her eyes and rested. A weariness, the
apathy of utter exhaustion, came over her. She wished the bordermen
would hurry and come before she went to sleep.
Drowsily she was sinking into slumber when a long, low rumble aroused
her. How dark it had suddenly become! A sheet of pale light flared
across the overcast heavens.
"A storm!" exclaimed Helen. "Alone on this mountain-top with a storm
coming. Am I frightened? I don't believe it. At least I'm safe from
that ruffian Brandt. Oh! if my borderman would only come!"
Helen changed her position from beside the tree, to the hollow under
the stone. It was high enough to permit of her sitting upright, and
offered a safe retreat from the storm. The bed of leaves was soft and
comfortable. She sat there peering out at the darkening heavens.
All beneath her, southward and westward was gray twilight. The
settlement faded from sight; the river grew wan and shadowy. The ruddy
light in the west was fast succumbing to the rolling clouds. Darker
and darker it became, until only one break in the overspreading vapors
admitted the last crimson gleam of sunshine over hills and valley,
brightening the river until it resembled a stream of fire. Then the
light failed, the glow faded. The intense blackness of night
prevailed.
Out of the ebon west came presently another flare of light, a quick,
spreading flush, like a flicker from a monster candle; it was followed
by a long, low, rumbling roll.
Helen felt in those intervals of unutterably vast silence, that she
must shriek aloud. The thunder was a friend. She prayed for the storm
to break. She had withstood danger and toilsome effort with fortitude;
but could not brave this awful, boding, wilderness stillness.
Flashes of lightning now revealed the rolling, pushing, turbulent
clouds, and peals of thunder sounded nearer and louder.
A long swelling moan, sad, low, like the uneasy sigh of the sea,
breathed far in the west. It was the wind, the ominous warning of the
storm. Sheets of light were now mingled with long, straggling ropes of
fire, and the rumblings were often broken by louder, quicker
detonations.
Then a period, longer than usual, of inky blackness succeeded the
sharp flaring of light. A faint breeze ruffled the leaves of the
thicket, and fanned Helen's hot cheek. The moan of the wind became
more distinct, then louder, and in another instant like the far-off
roar of a rushing river. The storm was upon her. Helen shrank closer
against the stone, and pulled her jacket tighter around her
trembling form.
A sudden, intense, dazzling, blinding, white light enveloped her. The
rocky promontory, the weird, giant chestnut tree, the open plateau,
and beyond, the stormy heavens, were all luridly clear in the flash of
lightning. She fancied it was possible to see a tall, dark figure
emerging from the thicket. As the thunderclap rolled and pealed
overhead, she strained her eyes into the blackness waiting for the
next lightning flash.
It came with brilliant, dazing splendor. The whole plateau and thicket
were as light as in the day. Close by the stone where she lay crept
the tall, dark figure of an Indian. With starting eyes she saw the
fringed clothing, the long, flying hair, and supple body peculiar to
the savage. He was creeping upon her.
Helen's blood ran cold; terror held her voiceless. She felt herself
sinking slowly down upon the leaves.