The bordermen watched Legget and his band disappear into the thicket
adjoining the grove. When the last dark, lithe form glided out of
sight among the yellowing copse, Jonathan leaped from the low cliff,
and had hardly reached the ground before Wetzel dashed down to the
grassy turf.
Again they followed the outlaw's trail darker-faced, fiercer-visaged
than ever, with cocked, tightly-gripped rifles thrust well before
them, and light feet that scarcely brushed the leaves.
Wetzel halted after a long tramp up and down the ridges, and surveyed
with keen intent the lay of the land ahead.
"Sooner or later we'll hear from that redskin as discovered us a ways
back," whispered he. "I wish we might get a crack at him afore he
hinders us bad. I ain't seen many keener Injuns. It's lucky we fixed
ther arrow-shootin' Shawnee. We'd never hev beat thet combination. An'
fer all of thet I'm worrin' some about the goin' ahead."
"Ambush?" Jonathan asked.
"Like as not. Legget'll send thet Injun back, an' mebbe more'n him.
Jack, see them little footprints? They're Helen's. Look how she's
draggin' along. Almost tuckered out. Legget can't travel many more
miles to-day. He'll make a stand somewheres, an' lose all his redskins
afore he gives up the lass."
"I'll never live through to-night with her in that gang. She'll be
saved, or dead, before the stars pale in the light of the moon."
"I reckon we're nigh the end for some of us. It'll be moonlight an
hour arter dusk, an' now it's only the middle of the arternoon; we've
time enough fer anythin'. Now, Jack, let's not tackle the trail
straight. We'll split, an' go round to head 'em off. See thet dead
white oak standin' high over thar?"
Jonathan looked out between the spreading branches of a beech, and
saw, far over a low meadow, luxuriant with grasses and rushes and
bright with sparkling ponds and streams, a dense wood out of which
towered a bare, bleached tree-top.
"You slip around along the right side of this meader, an' I'll take
the left side. Go slow, an' hev yer eyes open. We'll meet under thet
big dead tree. I allow we can see it from anywhere around. We'll leave
the trail here, an' take it up farther on. Legget's goin' straight
for his camp; he ain't losin' an inch. He wants to get in that rocky
hole of his'n."
Wetzel stepped off the trail, glided into the woods, and vanished.
Jonathan turned to the right, traversed the summit of the ridge,
softly traveled down its slope, and, after crossing a slow, eddying,
quiet stream, gained the edge of the forest on that side of the swamp.
A fringe of briars and prickly thorns bordered this wood affording an
excellent cover. On the right the land rose rather abruptly. He saw
that by walking up a few paces he could command a view of the entire
swamp, as well as the ridge beyond, which contained Wetzel, and,
probably, the outlaw and his band.
Remembering his comrade's admonition, Jonathan curbed his unusual
impatience and moved slowly. The wind swayed the tree-tops, and
rustled the fallen leaves. Birds sang as if thinking the warm, soft
weather was summer come again. Squirrels dropped heavy nuts that
cracked on the limbs, or fell with a thud to the ground, and they
scampered over the dry earth, scratching up the leaves as they barked
and scolded. Crows cawed clamorously after a hawk that had darted
under the tree-tops to escape them; deer loped swiftly up the hill,
and a lordly elk rose from a wallow in the grassy swamp, crashing into
the thicket.
When two-thirds around this oval plain, which was a mile long and
perhaps one-fourth as wide, Jonathan ascended the hill to make a
survey. The grass waved bright brown and golden in the sunshine,
swished in the wind, and swept like a choppy sea to the opposite
ridge. The hill was not densely wooded. In many places the red-brown
foliage opened upon irregular patches, some black, as if having been
burned over, others showing the yellow and purple colors of the low
thickets and the gray, barren stones.
Suddenly Jonathan saw something darken one of these sunlit plots. It
might have been a deer. He studied the rolling, rounded tree-tops, the
narrow strips between the black trunks, and the open places that were
clear in the sunshine. He had nearly come to believe he had seen a
small animal or bird flit across the white of the sky far in the
background, when he distinctly saw dark figures stealing along past a
green-gray rock, only to disappear under colored banks of foliage.
Presently, lower down, they reappeared and crossed an open patch of
yellow fern. Jonathan counted them. Two were rather yellow in color,
the hue of buckskin; another, slight of stature as compared with the
first, and light gray by contrast. Then six black, slender, gliding
forms crossed the space. Jonathan then lost sight of them, and did not
get another glimpse. He knew them to be Legget and his band. The
slight figure was Helen.
Jonathan broke into a run, completed the circle around the swamp, and
slowed into a walk when approaching the big dead tree where he was to
wait for Wetzel.
Several rods beyond the lowland he came to a wood of white oaks, all
giants rugged and old, with scarcely a sapling intermingled with them.
Although he could not see the objective point, he knew from his
accurate sense of distance that he was near it. As he entered the wood
he swept its whole length and width with his eyes, he darted forward
twenty paces to halt suddenly behind a tree. He knew full well that a
sharply moving object was more difficult to see in the woods, than one
stationary. Again he ran, fleet and light, a few paces ahead to take
up a position as before behind a tree. Thus he traversed the forest.
On the other side he found the dead oak of which Wetzel had spoken.
Its trunk was hollow. Jonathan squeezed himself into the blackened
space, with his head in a favorable position behind a projecting knot,
where he could see what might occur near at hand.
He waited for what seemed to him a long while, during which he neither
saw nor heard anything, and then, suddenly, the report of a rifle rang
out. A single, piercing scream followed. Hardly had the echo ceased
when three hollow reports, distinctly different in tone from the
first, could be heard from the same direction. In quick succession
short, fierce yells attended rather than succeeded, the reports.
Jonathan stepped out of the hiding-place, cocked his rifle, and fixed
a sharp eye on the ridge before him whence those startling cries had
come. The first rifle-shot, unlike any other in its short, spiteful,
stinging quality, was unmistakably Wetzel's. Zane had heard it,
followed many times, as now, by the wild death-cry of a savage. The
other reports were of Indian guns, and the yells were the clamoring,
exultant cries of Indians in pursuit.
Far down where the open forest met the gloom of the thickets, a brown
figure flashed across the yellow ground. Darting among the trees,
across the glades, it moved so swiftly that Jonathan knew it was
Wetzel. In another instant a chorus of yelps resounded from the
foliage, and three savages burst through the thicket almost at right
angles with the fleeing borderman, running to intercept him. The
borderman did not swerve from his course; but came on straight toward
the dead tree, with the wonderful fleetness that so often had
served him well.
Even in that moment Jonathan thought of what desperate chances his
comrade had taken. The trick was plain. Wetzel had, most likely, shot
the dangerous scout, and, taking to his heels, raced past the others,
trusting to his speed and their poor marksmanship to escape with a
whole skin.
When within a hundred yards of the oak Wetzel's strength apparently
gave out. His speed deserted him; he ran awkwardly, and limped. The
savages burst out into full cry like a pack of hungry wolves. They had
already emptied their rifles at him, and now, supposing one of the
shots had taken effect, redoubled their efforts, making the forest
ring with their short, savage yells. One gaunt, dark-bodied Indian
with a long, powerful, springy stride easily distanced his companions,
and, evidently sure of gaining the coveted scalp of the borderman,
rapidly closed the gap between them as he swung aloft his tomahawk,
yelling the war-cry.
The sight on Jonathan's rifle had several times covered this savage's
dark face; but when he was about to press the trigger Wetzel's
fleeting form, also in line with the savage, made it extremely
hazardous to take a shot.
Jonathan stepped from his place of concealment, and let out a yell
that pealed high over the cries of the savages.
Wetzel suddenly dropped flat on the ground.
With a whipping crack of Jonathan's rifle, the big Indian plunged
forward on his face.
The other Indians, not fifty yards away, stopped aghast at the fate of
their comrade, and were about to seek the shelter of trees when, with
his terrible yell, Wetzel sprang up and charged upon them. He had left
his rifle where he fell; but his tomahawk glittered as he ran. The
lameness had been a trick, for now he covered ground with a swiftness
which caused his former progress to seem slow.
The Indians, matured and seasoned warriors though they were, gave but
one glance at this huge, brown figure bearing down upon them like a
fiend, and, uttering the Indian name of _Deathwind_, wavered, broke
and ran.
One, not so fleet as his companion, Wetzel overtook and cut down with
a single stroke. The other gained a hundred-yard start in the slight
interval of Wetzel's attack, and, spurred on by a pealing, awful cry
in the rear, sped swiftly in and out among the trees until he was
lost to view.
Wetzel scalped the two dead savages, and, after returning to regain
his rifle, joined Jonathan at the dead oak.
"Jack, you can never tell how things is comin' out. Thet redskin I
allowed might worry us a bit, fooled me as slick as you ever saw, an'
I hed to shoot him. Knowin' it was a case of runnin', I just cut fer
this oak, drew the redskins' fire, an' hed 'em arter me quicker 'n
you'd say Jack Robinson. I was hopin' you'd be here; but wasn't sure
till I'd seen your rifle. Then I kinder got a kink in my leg jest to
coax the brutes on."
"Three more quiet," said Jonathan Zane. "What now?"
"We've headed Legget, an' we'll keep nosin' him off his course.
Already he's lookin' fer a safe campin' place for the night."
"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 owl
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 fagged 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 into 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, an' 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 leggings, 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.