Fort Henry stood on a bluff overlooking the river and commanded a
fine view of the surrounding country. In shape it was a
parallelogram, being about three hundred and fifty-six feet in
length, and one hundred and fifty in width. Surrounded by a stockade
fence twelve feet high, with a yard wide walk running around the
inside, and with bastions at each corner large enough to contain six
defenders, the fort presented an almost impregnable defense. The
blockhouse was two stories in height, the second story projecting
out several feet over the first. The thick white oak walls bristled
with portholes. Besides the blockhouse, there were a number of
cabins located within the stockade. Wells had been sunk inside the
inclosure, so that if the spring happened to go dry, an abundance of
good water could be had at all times.
In all the histories of frontier life mention is made of the forts
and the protection they offered in time of savage warfare. These
forts were used as homes for the settlers, who often lived for weeks
inside the walls.
Forts constructed entirely of wood without the aid of a nail or
spike (for the good reason that these things could not be had) may
seem insignificant in these days of great nasal and military
garrisons. However, they answered the purpose at that time and
served to protect many an infant settlement from the savage attacks
of Indian tribes. During a siege of Fort Henry, which had occurred
about a year previous, the settlers would have lost scarcely a man
had they kept to the fort. But Captain Ogle, at that time in charge
of the garrison, had led a company out in search of the Indians.
Nearly all of his men were killed, several only making their way to
the fort.
On the day following Major McColloch's arrival at Fort Henry, the
settlers had been called in from their spring plowing and other
labors, and were now busily engaged in moving their stock and the
things they wished to save from the destructive torch of the
redskin. The women had their hands full with the children, the
cleaning of rifles and moulding of bullets, and the thousand and one
things the sterner tasks of their husbands had left them. Major
McColloch, Jonathan and Silas Zane, early in the day, had taken
different directions along the river to keep a sharp lookout for
signs of the enemy. Colonel Zane intended to stay in his oven house
and defend it, so he had not moved anything to the fort excepting
his horses and cattle. Old Sam, the negro, was hauling loads of hay
inside the stockade. Captain Boggs had detailed several scouts to
watch the roads and one of these was the young man, Clarke, who had
accompanied the Major from Fort Pitt.
The appearance of Alfred Clarke, despite the fact that he wore the
regulation hunting garb, indicated a young man to whom the hard work
and privation of the settler were unaccustomed things. So thought
the pioneers who noticed his graceful walk, his fair skin and smooth
hands. Yet those who carefully studied his clearcut features were
favorably impressed; the women, by the direct, honest gaze of his
blue eyes and the absence of ungentle lines in his face; the men, by
the good nature, and that indefinable something by which a man marks
another as true steel.
He brought nothing with him from Fort Pitt except his horse, a
black-coated, fine limbed thoroughbred, which he frankly confessed
was all he could call his own. When asking Colonel Zane to give him
a position in the garrison he said he was a Virginian and had been
educated in Philadelphia; that after his father died his mother
married again, and this, together with a natural love of adventure,
had induced him to run away and seek his fortune with the hardy
pioneer and the cunning savage of the border. Beyond a few months'
service under General Clark he knew nothing of frontier life; but he
was tired of idleness; he was strong and not afraid of work, and he
could learn. Colonel Zane, who prided himself on his judgment of
character, took a liking to the young man at once, and giving him a
rifle and accoutrements, told him the border needed young men of
pluck and fire, and that if he brought a strong hand and a willing
heart he could surely find fortune. Possibly if Alfred Clarke could
have been told of the fate in store for him he might have mounted
his black steed and have placed miles between him and the frontier
village; but, as there were none to tell, he went cheerfully out to
meet that fate.
On this is bright spring morning he patrolled the road leading along
the edge of the clearing, which was distant a quarter of a mile from
the fort. He kept a keen eye on the opposite side of the river, as
he had been directed. From the upper end of the island, almost
straight across from where he stood, the river took a broad turn,
which could not be observed from the fort windows. The river was
high from the recent rains and brush heaps and logs and debris of
all descriptions were floating down with the swift current. Rabbits
and other small animals, which had probably been surrounded on some
island and compelled to take to the brush or drown, crouched on
floating logs and piles of driftwood. Happening to glance down the
road, Clarke saw a horse galloping in his direction. At first he
thought it was a messenger for himself, but as it neared him he saw
that the horse was an Indian pony and the rider a young girl, whose
long, black hair was flying in the wind.
"Hello! I wonder what the deuce this is? Looks like an Indian girl,"
said Clarke to himself. "She rides well, whoever she may be."
He stepped behind a clump of laurel bushes near the roadside and
waited. Rapidly the horse and rider approached him. When they were
but a few paces distant he sprang out and, as the pony shied and
reared at sight of him, he clutched the bridle and pulled the pony's
head down. Looking up he encountered the astonished and bewildered
gaze from a pair of the prettiest dark eyes it had ever been his
fortune, or misfortune, to look into.
Betty, for it was she, looked at the young man in amazement, while
Alfred was even more surprised and disconcerted. For a moment they
looked at each other in silence. But Betty, who was scarcely ever at
a loss for words, presently found her voice.
"Well, sir! What does this mean?" she asked indignantly.
"It means that you must turn around and go back to the fort,"
answered Alfred, also recovering himself.
Now Betty's favorite ride happened to be along this road. It lay
along the top of the bluff a mile or more and afforded a fine
unobstructed view of the river. Betty had either not heard of the
Captain's order, that no one was to leave the fort, or she had
disregarded it altogether; probably the latter, as she generally did
what suited her fancy.
"Release my pony's head!" she cried, her face flushing, as she gave
a jerk to the reins. "How dare you? What right have you to detain
me?"
The expression Betty saw on Clarke's face was not new to her, for
she remembered having seen it on the faces of young gentlemen whom
she had met at her aunt's house in Philadelphia. It was the slight,
provoking smile of the man familiar with the various moods of young
women, the expression of an amused contempt for their imperiousness.
But it was not that which angered Betty. It was the coolness with
which he still held her pony regardless of her commands.
"Pray do not get excited," he said. "I am sorry I cannot allow such
a pretty little girl to have her own way. I shall hold your pony
until you say you will go back to the fort."
"Sir!" exclaimed Betty, blushing a bright-red. "You--you are
impertinent!"
"Not at all," answered Alfred, with a pleasant laugh. "I am sure I
do not intend to be. Captain Boggs did not acquaint me with full
particulars or I might have declined my present occupation: not,
however, that it is not agreeable just at this moment. He should
have mentioned the danger of my being run down by Indian ponies and
imperious young ladies."
"Will you let go of that bridle, or shall I get off and walk back
for assistance?" said Betty, getting angrier every moment.
"Go back to the fort at once," ordered Alfred, authoritatively.
"Captain Boggs' orders are that no one shall be allowed to leave the
clearing."
"Oh! Why did you not say so? I thought you were Simon Girty, or a
highwayman. Was it necessary to keep me here all this time to
explain that you were on duty?"
"You know sometimes it is difficult to explain," said Alfred,
"besides, the situation had its charm. No, I am not a robber, and I
don't believe you thought so. I have only thwarted a young lady's
whim, which I am aware is a great crime. I am very sorry. Goodbye."
Betty gave him a withering glance from her black eyes, wheeled her
pony and galloped away. A mellow laugh was borne to her ears before
she got out of hearing, and again the red blood mantled her cheeks.
"Heavens! What a little beauty," said Alfred to himself, as he
watched the graceful rider disappear. "What spirit! Now, I wonder
who she can be. She had on moccasins and buckskin gloves and her
hair tumbled like a tomboy's, but she is no backwoods girl, I'll bet
on that. I'm afraid I was a little rude, but after taking such a
stand I could not weaken, especially before such a haughty and
disdainful little vixen. It was too great a temptation. What eyes
she had! Contrary to what I expected, this little frontier
settlement bids fair to become interesting."
The afternoon wore slowly away, and until late in the day nothing
further happened to disturb Alfred's meditations, which consisted
chiefly of different mental views and pictures of red lips and black
eyes. Just as he decided to return to the fort for his supper he
heard the barking of a dog that he had seen running along the road
some moments before. The sound came from some distance down the
river bank and nearer the fort. Walking a few paces up the bluff
Alfred caught sight of a large black dog running along the edge of
the water. He would run into the water a few paces and then come out
and dash along the shore. He barked furiously all the while. Alfred
concluded that he must have been excited by a fox or perhaps a wolf;
so he climbed down the steep bank and spoke to the dog. Thereupon
the dog barked louder and more fiercely than ever, ran to the water,
looked out into the river and then up at the man with almost human
intelligence.
Alfred understood. He glanced out over the muddy water, at first
making out nothing but driftwood. Then suddenly he saw a log with an
object clinging to it which he took to be a man, and an Indian at
that. Alfred raised his rifle to his shoulder and was in the act of
pressing the trigger when he thought he heard a faint halloo.
Looking closer, he found he was not covering the smooth polished
head adorned with the small tuft of hair, peculiar to a redskin on
the warpath, but a head from which streamed long black hair.
Alfred lowered his rifle and studied intently the log with its human
burden. Drifting with the current it gradually approached the bank,
and as it came nearer he saw that it bore a white man, who was
holding to the log with one hand and with the other was making
feeble strokes. He concluded the man was either wounded or nearly
drowned, for his movements were becoming slower and weaker every
moment. His white face lay against the log and barely above water.
Alfred shouted encouraging words to him.
At the bend of the river a little rocky point jutted out a few yards
into the water. As the current carried the log toward this point,
Alfred, after divesting himself of some of his clothing, plunged in
and pulled it to the shore. The pallid face of the man clinging to
the log showed that he was nearly exhausted, and that he had been
rescued in the nick of time. When Alfred reached shoal water he
slipped his arm around the man, who was unable to stand, and carried
him ashore.
The rescued man wore a buckskin hunting shirt and leggins and
moccasins of the same material, all very much the worse for wear.
The leggins were torn into tatters and the moccasins worn through.
His face was pinched with suffering and one arm was bleeding from a
gunshot wound near the shoulder.
"Can you not speak? Who are you?" asked Clarke, supporting the limp
figure.
The man made several efforts to answer, and finally said something
that to Alfred sounded like "Zane," then he fell to the ground
unconscious.
All this time the dog had acted in a most peculiar manner, and if
Alfred had not been so intent on the man he would have noticed the
animal's odd maneuvers. He ran to and fro on the sandy beach; he
scratched up the sand and pebbles, sending them flying in the air;
he made short, furious dashes; he jumped, whirled, and, at last,
crawled close to the motionless figure and licked its hand.
Clarke realized that he would not be able to carry the inanimate
figure, so he hurriedly put on his clothes and set out on a run for
Colonel Zane's house. The first person whom he saw was the old negro
slave, who was brushing one of the Colonel's horses.
Sam was deliberate and took his time about everything. He slowly
looked up and surveyed Clarke with his rolling eyes. He did not
recognize in him any one he had ever seen before, and being of a
sullen and taciturn nature, especially with strangers, he seemed in
no hurry to give the desired information as to Colonel Zane's
whereabouts.
"Don't stare at me that way, you damn nigger," said Clarke, who was
used to being obeyed by negroes. "Quick, you idiot. Where is the
Colonel?"
At that moment Colonel Zane came out of the barn and started to
speak, when Clarke interrupted him.
"Colonel, I have just pulled a man out of the river who says his
name is Zane, or if he did not mean that, he knows you, for he
surely said 'Zane.'"
"What!" ejaculated the Colonel, letting his pipe fall from his
mouth.
Clarke related the circumstances in a few hurried words. Calling Sam
they ran quickly down to the river, where they found the prostrate
figure as Clarke had left it, the dog still crouched close by.
"My God! It is Isaac!" exclaimed Colonel Zane, when he saw the white
face. "Poor boy, he looks as if he were dead. Are you sure he spoke?
Of course he must have spoken for you could not have known. Yes, his
heart is still beating."
Colonel Zane raised his head from the unconscious man's breast,
where he had laid it to listen for the beating heart.
"Clarke, God bless you for saving him," said he fervently. "It shall
never be forgotten. He is alive, and, I believe, only exhausted, for
that wound amounts to little. Let us hurry."
"I did not save him. It was the dog," Alfred made haste to answer.
They carried the dripping form to the house, where the door was
opened by Mrs. Zane.
"Oh, dear, another poor man," she said, pityingly. Then, as she saw
his face, "Great Heavens, it is Isaac! Oh! don't say he is dead!"
"Yes, it is Isaac, and he is worth any number of dead men yet," said
Colonel Zane, as they laid the insensible man on the couch. "Bessie,
there is work here for you. He has been shot."
"Is there any other wound beside this one in his arm?" asked Mrs.
Zane, examining it.
"I do not think so, and that injury is not serious. It is lose of
blood, exposure and starvation. Clarke, will you please run over to
Captain Boggs and tell Betty to hurry home! Sam, you get a blanket
and warm it by the fire. That's right, Bessie, bring the whiskey,"
and Colonel Zane went on giving orders.
Alfred did not know in the least who Betty was, but, as he thought
that unimportant, he started off on a run for the fort. He had a
vague idea that Betty was the servant, possibly Sam's wife, or some
one of the Colonel's several slaves.
Let us return to Betty. As she wheeled her pony and rode away from
the scene of her adventure on the river bluff, her state of mind can
be more readily imagined than described. Betty hated opposition of
any kind, whether justifiable or not; she wanted her own way, and
when prevented from doing as she pleased she invariably got angry.
To be ordered and compelled to give up her ride, and that by a
stranger, was intolerable. To make it all the worse this stranger
had been decidedly flippant. He had familiarly spoken to her as "a
pretty little girl." Not only that, which was a great offense, but
he had stared at her, and she had a confused recollection of a gaze
in which admiration had been ill disguised. Of course, it was that
soldier Lydia had been telling her about. Strangers were of so rare
an occurrence in the little village that it was not probable there
could be more than one.
Approaching the house she met her brother who told her she had
better go indoors and let Sam put up the pony. Accordingly, Betty
called the negro, and then went into the house. Bessie had gone to
the fort with the children. Betty found no one to talk to, so she
tried to read. Finding she could not become interested she threw the
book aside and took up her embroidery. This also turned out a
useless effort; she got the linen hopelessly twisted and tangled,
and presently she tossed this upon the table. Throwing her shawl
over her shoulders, for it was now late in the afternoon and growing
chilly, she walked downstairs and out into the Yard. She strolled
aimlessly to and fro awhile, and then went over to the fort and into
Captain Bogg's house, which adjoined the blockhouse. Here she found
Lydia preparing flax.
"I saw you racing by on your pony. Goodness, how you can ride! I
should be afraid of breaking my neck," exclaimed Lydia, as Betty
entered.
"My ride was spoiled," said Betty, petulantly.
"Spoiled? By what--whom?"
"By a man, of course," retorted Betty, whose temper still was high.
"It is always a man that spoils everything."
"Why, Betty, what in the world do you mean? I never heard you talk
that way," said Lydia, opening her blue eyes in astonishment.
"Well, Lyde, I'll tell you. I was riding down the river road and
just as I came to the end of the clearing a man jumped out from
behind some bushes and grasped Madcap's bridle. Imagine! For a
moment I was frightened out of my wits. I instantly thought of the
Girtys, who, I have heard, have evinced a fondness for kidnapping
little girls. Then the fellow said he was on guard and ordered me,
actually commanded me to go home."
"Oh, is that all?" said Lydia, laughing.
"No, that is not all. He--he said I was a pretty little girl and
that he was sorry I could not have my own way; that his present
occupation was pleasant, and that the situation had its charm. The
very idea. He was most impertinent," and Betty's telltale cheeks
reddened again at the recollection.
"Betty, I do not think your experience was so dreadful, certainly
nothing to put you out as it has," said Lydia, laughing merrily. "Be
serious. You know we are out in the backwoods now and must not
expect so much of the men. These rough border men know little of
refinement like that with which you have been familiar. Some of them
are quiet and never speak unless addressed; their simplicity is
remarkable; Lew Wetzel and your brother Jonathan, when they are not
fighting Indians, are examples. On the other hand, some of them are
boisterous and if they get anything to drink they will make trouble
for you. Why, I went to a party one night after I had been here only
a few weeks and they played a game in which every man in the place
kissed me."
"Gracious! Please tell me when any such games are likely to be
proposed and I'll stay home," said Betty.
"I have learned to get along very well by simply making the best of
it," continued Lydia. "And to tell the truth, I have learned to
respect these rugged fellows. They are uncouth; they have no
manners, but their hearts are honest and true, and that is of much
greater importance in frontiersmen than the little attentions and
courtesies upon which women are apt to lay too much stress."
"I think you speak sensibly and I shall try and be more reasonable
hereafter. But, to return to the man who spoiled my ride. He, at
least, is no frontiersman, notwithstanding his gun and his buckskin
suit. He is an educated man. His manner and accent showed that. Then
he looked at me so differently. I know it was that soldier from Fort
Pitt."
"Mr. Clarke? Why, of course!" exclaimed Lydia, clapping her hands in
glee. "How stupid of me!"
"You seem to be amused," said Betty, frowning.
"Oh, Betty, it is such a good joke."
"Is it? I fail to see it."
"But I can. I am very much amused. You see, I heard Mr. Clarke say,
after papa told him there were lots of pretty girls here, that he
usually succeeded in finding those things out and without any
assistance. And the very first day he has met you and made you
angry. It is delightful."
"Lyde, I never knew you could be so horrid."
"It is evident that Mr. Clarke is not only discerning, but not
backward in expressing his thoughts. Betty, I see a romance."
"Don't be ridiculous," retorted Betty, with an angry blush. "Of
course, he had a right to stop me, and perhaps he did me a good turn
by keeping me inside the clearing, though I cannot imagine why he
hid behind the bushes. But he might have been polite. He made me
angry. He was so cool and--and--"
"I see," interrupted Lydia, teasingly. "He failed to recognize your
importance."
"Nonsense, Lydia. I hope you do not think I am a silly little fool.
It is only that I have not been accustomed to that kind of
treatment, and I will not have it."
Lydia was rather pleased that some one had appeared on the scene who
did not at once bow down before Betty, and therefore she took the
young man's side of the argument.
"Do not be hard on poor Mr. Clarke. Maybe he mistook you for an
Indian girl. He is handsome. I am sure you saw that."
"Oh, I don't remember how he looked," said Betty. She did remember,
but would not admit it.
The conversation drifted into other channels after this, and soon
twilight came stealing down on them. As Betty rose to go there came
a hurried tap on the door.
"I wonder who would knock like that," said Lydia, rising "Betty,
wait a moment while I open the door."
On doing this she discovered Clarke standing on the step with his
cap in his hand.
"Why, Mr. Clarke! Will you come in?" exclaimed Lydia. "Thank you,
only for a moment," said Alfred. "I cannot stay. I came to find
Betty. Is she here?"
He had not observed Betty, who had stepped back into the shadow of
the darkening room. At his question Lydia became so embarrassed she
did not know what to say or do, and stood looking helplessly at him.
But Betty was equal to the occasion. At the mention of her first
name in such a familiar manner by this stranger, who had already
grievously offended her once before that day, Betty stood perfectly
still a moment, speechless with surprise, then she stepped quickly
out of the shadow.
Clarke turned as he heard her step and looked straight into a pair
of dark, scornful eyes and a face pale with anger.
"If it be necessary that you use my name, and I do not see how that
can be possible, will you please have courtesy enough to say Miss
Zane?" she cried haughtily.
Lydia recovered her composure sufficiently to falter out:
"Betty, allow me to introduce--"
"Do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I have met this person once before
to-day, and I do not care for an introduction."
When Alfred found himself gazing into the face that had haunted him
all the afternoon, he forgot for the moment all about his errand. He
was finally brought to a realization of the true state of affairs by
Lydia's words.
"Mr. Clarke, you are all wet. What has happened?" she exclaimed,
noticing the water dripping from his garments.
Suddenly a light broke in on Alfred. So the girl he had accosted on
the road and "Betty" were one and the same person. His face flushed.
He felt that his rudeness on that occasion may have merited censure,
but that it had not justified the humiliation she had put upon him.
These two persons, so strangely brought together, and on whom Fate
had made her inscrutable designs, looked steadily into each other's
eyes. What mysterious force thrilled through Alfred Clarke and made
Betty Zane tremble?
"Miss Boggs, I am twice unfortunate," said Alfred, tuning to Lydia,
and there was an earnest ring in his deep voice "This time I am
indeed blameless. I have just left Colonel Zane's house, where there
has been an accident, and I was dispatched to find 'Betty,' being
entirely ignorant as to who she might be. Colonel Zane did not stop
to explain. Miss Zane is needed at the house, that is all."
And without so much as a glance at Betty he bowed low to Lydia and
then strode out of the open door.
"What did he say?" asked Betty, in a small trembling voice, all her
anger and resentment vanished.
"There has been an accident. He did not say what or to whom. You
must hurry home. Oh, Betty, I hope no one has been hurt! And you
were very unkind to Mr. Clarke. I am sure he is a gentleman, and you
might have waited a moment to learn what he meant."
Betty did not answer, but flew out of the door and down the path to
the gate of the fort. She was almost breathless when she reached
Colonel Zane's house, and hesitated on the step before entering.
Summoning her courage she pushed open the door. The first thing that
struck her after the bright light was the pungent odor of strong
liniment. She saw several women neighbors whispering together. Major
McColloch and Jonathan Zane were standing by a couch over which Mrs.
Zane was bending. Colonel Zane sat at the foot of the couch. Betty
saw this in the first rapid glance, and then, as the Colonel's wife
moved aside, she saw a prostrate figure, a white face and dark eyes
that smiled at her.
"Betty," came in a low voice from those pale lips.
Her heart leaped and then seemed to cease beating. Many long years
had passed since she had heard that voice, but it had never been
forgotten. It was the best beloved voice of her childhood, and with
it came the sweet memories of her brother and playmate. With a cry
of joy she fell on her knees beside him and threw her arms around
his neck.
"Oh, Isaac, brother, brother!" she cried, as she kissed him again
and again. "Can it really be you? Oh, it is too good to be true!
Thank God! I have prayed and prayed that you would be restored to
us."
Then she began to cry and laugh at the same time in that strange way
in which a woman relieves a heart too full of joy. "Yes, Betty. It
is all that is left of me," he said, running his hand caressingly
over the dark head that lay on his breast.
"Betty, you must not excite him," said Colonel Zane.
"So you have not forgotten me?" whispered Isaac.
"No, indeed, Isaac. I have never forgotten," answered Betty, softly.
"Only last night I spoke of you and wondered if you were living. And
now you are here. Oh, I am so happy!" The quivering lips and the
dark eyes bright with tears spoke eloquently of her joy.
"Major will you tell Captain Boggs to come over after supper? Isaac
will be able to talk a little by then, and he has some news of the
Indians," said Colonel Zane.
"And ask the young man who saved my life to come that I may thank
him," said Isaac.
"Saved your life?" exclaimed Betty, turning to her brother, in
surprise, while a dark red flush spread over her face. A humiliating
thought had flashed into her mind.
"Saved his life, of course," said Colonel Zane, answering for Isaac.
"Young Clarke pulled him out of the river. Didn't he tell you?"
"No," said Betty, rather faintly.
"Well, he is a modest young fellow. He saved Isaac's life, there is
no doubt of that. You will hear all about it after supper. Don't
make Isaac talk any more at present."
Betty hid her face on Isaac's shoulder and remained quiet a few
moments; then, rising, she kissed his cheek and went quietly to her
room. Once there she threw herself on the bed and tried to think.
The events of the day, coming after a long string of monotonous,
wearying days, had been confusing; they had succeeded one another in
such rapid order as to leave no time for reflection. The meeting by
the river with the rude but interesting stranger; the shock to her
dignity; Lydia's kindly advice; the stranger again, this time
emerging from the dark depths of disgrace into the luminous light as
the hero of her brother's rescue--all these thoughts jumbled in her
mind making it difficult for her to think clearly. But after a time
one thing forced itself upon her. She could not help being conscious
that she had wronged some one to whom she would be forever indebted.
Nothing could alter that. She was under an eternal obligation to the
man who had saved the life she loved best on earth. She had unjustly
scorned and insulted the man to whom she owed the life of her
brother.
Betty was passionate and quick-tempered, but she was generous and
tender-hearted as well, and when she realized how unkind and cruel
she kind been she felt very miserable. Her position admitted of no
retreat. No matter how much pride rebelled; no matter how much she
disliked to retract anything she had said, she knew no other course
lay open to her. She would have to apologize to Mr. Clarke. How
could she? What would she say? She remembered how cold and stern his
face had been as he turned from her to Lydia. Perplexed and unhappy,
Betty did what any girl in her position would have done: she
resorted to the consoling and unfailing privilege of her sex--a good
cry.
When she became composed again she got up and bathed her hot cheeks,
brushed her hair, and changed her gown for a becoming one of white.
She tied a red ribbon about her throat and put a rosette in her
hair. She had forgotten all about the Indians. By the time Mrs. Zane
called her for supper she had her mind made up to ask Mr. Clarke's
pardon, tell him she was sorry, and that she hoped they might be
friends.
Isaac Zane's fame had spread from the Potomac to Detroit and
Louisville. Many an anxious mother on the border used the story of
his captivity as a means to frighten truant youngsters who had
evinced a love for running wild in the woods. The evening of Isaac's
return every one in the settlement called to welcome home the
wanderer. In spite of the troubled times and the dark cloud hanging
over them they made the occasion one of rejoicing.
Old John Bennet, the biggest and merriest man in the colony, came in
and roared his appreciation of Isaac's return. He was a huge man,
and when he stalked into the room he made the floor shake with his
heavy tread. His honest face expressed his pleasure as he stood over
Isaac and nearly crushed his hand.
"Glad to see you, Isaac. Always knew you would come back. Always
said so. There are not enough damn redskins on the river to keep you
prisoner."
"I think they managed to keep him long enough," remarked Silas Zane.
"Well, here comes the hero," said Colonel Zane, as Clarke entered,
accompanied by Captain Boggs, Major McColloch and Jonathan. "Any
sign of Wetzel or the Indians?"
Jonathan had not yet seen his brother, and he went over and seized
Isaac's hand and wrung it without speaking.
"There are no Indians on this side of the river," said Major
McColloch, in answer to the Colonel's question.
"Mr. Clarke, you do not seem impressed with your importance," said
Colonel Zane. "My sister said you did not tell her what part you
took in Isaac's rescue."
"I hardly deserve all the credit," answered Alfred. "Your big black
dog merits a great deal of it."
"Well, I consider your first day at the fort a very satisfactory
one, and an augury of that fortune you came west to find."
"How are you?" said Alfred, going up to the couch where Isaac lay.
"I am doing well, thanks to you," said Isaac, warmly shaking
Alfred's hand.
"It is good to see you pulling out all right," answered Alfred. "I
tell you, I feared you were in a bad way when I got you out of the
water."
Isaac reclined on the couch with his head and shoulder propped up by
pillows. He was the handsomest of the brothers. His face would have
been but for the marks of privation, singularly like Betty's; the
same low, level brows and dark eyes; the same mouth, though the lips
were stronger and without the soft curves which made his sister's
mouth so sweet.
Betty appeared at the door, and seeing the room filled with men she
hesitated a moment before coming forward. In her white dress she
made such a dainty picture that she seemed out of place among those
surroundings. Alfred Clarke, for one, thought such a charming vision
was wasted on the rough settlers, every one of whom wore a faded and
dirty buckskin suit and a belt containing a knife and a tomahawk.
Colonel Zane stepped up to Betty and placing his arm around her
turned toward Clarke with pride in his eyes.
"Betty, I want to make you acquainted with the hero of the hour, Mr.
Alfred Clarke. This is my sister."
Betty bowed to Alfred, but lowered her eyes instantly on
encountering the young man's gaze.
"I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Zane twice today," said
Alfred.
"Twice?" asked Colonel Zane, turning to Betty. She did not answer,
but disengaged herself from his arm and sat down by Isaac.
"It was on the river road that I first met Miss Zane, although I did
not know her then," answered Alfred. "I had some difficulty in
stopping her pony from going to Fort Pitt, or some other place down
the river."
"Ha! Ha! Well, I know she rides that pony pretty hard," said Colonel
Zane, with his hearty laugh. "I'll tell you, Clarke, we have some
riders here in the settlement. Have you heard of Major McColloch's
leap over the hill?"
"I have heard it mentioned, and I would like to hear the story,"
responded Alfred. "I am fond of horses, and think I can ride a
little myself. I am afraid I shall be compelled to change my mind."
"That is a fine animal you rode from Fort Pitt," remarked the Major.
"I would like to own him."
"Come, draw your chairs up and he'll listen to Isaac's story," said
Colonel Zane.
"I have not much of a story to tell," said Isaac, in a voice still
weak and low. "I have some bad news, I am sorry to say, but I shall
leave that for the last. This year, if it had been completed, would
have made my tenth year as a captive of the Wyandots. This last
period of captivity, which has been nearly four years, I have not
been ill-treated and have enjoyed more comfort than any of you can
imagine. Probably you are all familiar with the reason for my long
captivity. Because of the interest of Myeerah, the Indian Princess,
they have importuned me for years to be adopted into the tribe,
marry the White Crane, as they call Myeerah, and become a Wyandot
chief. To this I would never consent, though I have been careful not
to provoke the Indians. I was allowed the freedom of the camp, but
have always been closely watched. I should still be with the Indians
had I not suspected that Hamilton, the British Governor, had formed
a plan with the Hurons, Shawnees, Delawares, and other tribes, to
strike a terrible blow at the whites along, the river. For months I
have watched the Indians preparing for an expedition, the extent of
which they had never before undertaken. I finally learned from
Myeerah that my suspicions were well founded. A favorable chance to
escape presented and I took it and got away. I outran all the
braves, even Arrowswift, the Wyandot runner, who shot me through the
arm. I have had a hard time of it these last three or four days,
living on herbs and roots, and when I reached the river I was ready
to drop. I pushed a log into the water and started to drift over.
When the old dog saw me I knew I was safe if I could hold on. Once,
when the young man pointed his gun at me, I thought it was all over.
I could not shout very loud."
"Were you going to shoot?" asked Colonel Zane of Clarke.
"I took him for an Indian, but fortunately I discovered my mistake
in time," answered Alfred.
"Are the Indians on the way here?" asked Jonathan.
"That I cannot say. At present the Wyandots are at home. But I know
that the British and the Indians will make a combined attack on the
settlements. It may be a month, or a year, but it is coming."
"And Hamilton, the hair buyer, the scalp buyer, is behind the plan,"
said Colonel Zane, in disgust.
"The Indians have their wrongs. I sympathize with them in many ways.
We have robbed them, broken faith with them, and have not lived up
to the treaties. Pipe and Wingenund are particularly bitter toward
the whites. I understand Cornplanter is also. He would give anything
for Jonathan's scalp, and I believe any of the tribes would give a
hundred of their best warriors for 'Black Wind,' as they call Lew
Wetzel."
"Have you ever seen Red Fox?" asked Jonathan, who was sitting near
the fire and as usual saying but little. He was the wildest and most
untamable of all the Zanes. Most of the time he spent in the woods,
not so much to fight Indians, as Wetzel did, but for pure love of
outdoor life. At home he was thoughtful and silent.
"Yes, I have seen him," answered Isaac. "He is a Shawnee chief and
one of the fiercest warriors in that tribe of fighters. He was at
Indian-head, which is the name of one of the Wyandot villages, when
I visited there last, and he had two hundred of his best braves with
him."
"He is a bad Indian. Wetzel and I know him. He swore he would hang
our scalps up in his wigwam," said Jonathan.
"What has he in particular against you?" asked Colonel Zane. "Of
course, Wetzel is the enemy of all Indians."
"Several years ago Wetzel and I were on a hunt down the river at the
place called Girty's Point, where we fell in with the tracks of five
Shawnees. I was for coming home, but Wetzel would not hear of it. We
trailed the Indians and, coming up on them after dark, we tomahawked
them. One of them got away crippled, but we could not follow him
because we discovered that they had a white girl as captive, and one
of the red devils, thinking we were a rescuing party, had tomahawked
her. She was not quite dead. We did all we could to save her life.
She died and we buried her on the spot. They were Red Fox's braves
and were on their way to his camp with the prisoner. A year or so
afterwards I learned from a friendly Indian that the Shawnee chief
had sworn to kill us. No doubt he will be a leader in the coming
attack."
"We are living in the midst of terrible times," remarked Colonel
Zane. "Indeed, these are the times that try men's souls, but I
firmly believe the day is not far distant when the redmen will be
driven far over the border."
"Is the Indian Princess pretty?" asked Betty of Isaac.
"Indeed she is, Betty, almost as beautiful as you are," said Isaac.
"She is tall and very fair for an Indian. But I have something to
tell about her more interesting than that. Since I have been with
the Wyandots this last time I have discovered a little of the
jealously guarded secret of Myeerah's mother. When Tarhe and his
band of Hurons lived in Canada their home was in the Muskoka Lakes
region on the Moon river. The old warriors tell wonderful stories of
the beauty of that country. Tarhe took captive some French
travellers, among them a woman named La Durante. She had a beautiful
little girl. The prisoners, except this little girl, were released.
When she grew up Tarhe married her. Myeerah is her child. Once Tarhe
took his wife to Detroit and she was seen there by an old Frenchman
who went crazy over her and said she was his child. Tarhe never went
to the white settlements again. So you see, Myeerah is from a great
French family on her mother's side, as this is old Frenchman was
probably Chevalier La Durante, and Myeerah's grandfather."
"I would love to see her, and yet I hate her. What an odd name she
has," said Betty.
"It is the Indian name for the white crane, a rare and beautiful
bird. I never saw one. The name has been celebrated among the Hurons
as long as any one of them can remember. The Indians call her the
White Crane, or Walk-in-the-Water, because of her love for wading in
the stream."
"I think we have made Isaac talk enough for one night," said Colonel
Zane. "He is tired out. Major, tell Isaac and Betty, and Mr. Clarke,
too, of your jump over the cliff."
"I have heard of that leap from the Indians," said Isaac.
"Major, from what hill did you jump your horse?" asked Alfred.
"You know the bare rocky bluff that stands out prominently on the
hill across the creek. From that spot Colonel Zane first saw the
valley, and from there I leaped my horse. I can never convince
myself that it really happened. Often I look up at that cliff in
doubt. But the Indians and Colonel Zane, Jonathan, Wetzel and others
say they actually saw the deed done, so I must accept it," said
Major McColloch.
"It seems incredible!" said Alfred. "I cannot understand how a man
or horse could go over that precipice and live."
"That is what we all say," responded the Colonel. "I suppose I shall
have to tell the story. We have fighters and makers of history here,
but few talkers."
"I am anxious to hear it," answered Clarke, "and I am curious to see
this man Wetzel, whose fame has reached as far as my home, way down
in Virginia."
"You will have your wish gratified soon, I have no doubt," resumed
the Colonel. "Well, now for the story of McColloch's mad ride for
life and his wonderful leap down Wheeling hill. A year ago, when the
fort was besieged by the Indians, the Major got through the lines
and made off for Short Creek. He returned next morning with forty
mounted men. They marched boldly up to the gate, and all succeeded
in getting inside save the gallant Major, who had waited to be the
last man to go in. Finding it impossible to make the short distance
without going under the fire of the Indians, who had rushed up to
prevent the relief party from entering the fort, he wheeled his big
stallion, and, followed by the yelling band of savages, he took the
road leading around back of the fort to the top of the bluff. The
road lay along the edge of the cliff and I saw the Major turn and
wave his rifle at us, evidently with the desire of assuring us that
he was safe. Suddenly, on the very summit of the hill, he reined in
his horse as if undecided. I knew in an instant what had happened.
The Major had run right into the returning party of Indians, which
had been sent out to intercept our reinforcements. In a moment more
we heard the exultant yells of the savages, and saw them gliding
from tree to tree, slowly lengthening out their line and surrounding
the unfortunate Major. They did not fire a shot. We in the fort were
stupefied with horror, and stood helplessly with our useless guns,
watching and waiting for the seemingly inevitable doom of our
comrade. Not so with the Major! Knowing that he was a marked man by
the Indians and feeling that any death was preferable to the
gauntlet, the knife, the stake and torch of the merciless savage, he
had grasped at a desperate chance. He saw his enemies stealthily
darting from rock to tree, and tree to bush, creeping through the
brush, and slipping closer and closer every moment. On three sides
were his hated foes and on the remaining side--the abyss. Without a
moment's hesitation the intrepid Major spurred his horse at the
precipice. Never shall I forget that thrilling moment. The three
hundred savages were silent as they realized the Major's intention.
Those in the fort watched with staring eyes. A few bounds and the
noble steed reared high on his hind legs. Outlined by the clear blue
sky the magnificent animal stood for one brief instant, his black
mane flying in the wind, his head thrown up and his front hoofs
pawing the air like Marcus Curtius' mailed steed of old, and then
down with a crash, a cloud of dust, and the crackling of pine limbs.
A long yell went up from the Indians below, while those above ran to
the edge of the cliff. With cries of wonder and baffled vengeance
they gesticulated toward the dark ravine into which horse and rider
had plunged rather than wait to meet a more cruel death. The
precipice at this point is over three hundred feet in height, and in
places is almost perpendicular. We believed the Major to be lying
crushed and mangled on the rocks. Imagine our frenzy of joy when we
saw the daring soldier and his horse dash out of the bushes that
skirt the base of the cliff, cross the creek, and come galloping to
the fort in safety."
"It was wonderful! Wonderful!" exclaimed Isaac, his eyes glistening.
"No wonder the Indians call you the 'Flying Chief.'"
"Had the Major not jumped into the clump of pine trees which grow
thickly some thirty feet below the summit he would not now be
alive," said Colonel Zane. "I am certain of that. Nevertheless that
does not detract from the courage of his deed. He had no time to
pick out the best place to jump. He simply took his one chance, and
came out all right. That leap will live in the minds of men as long
as yonder bluff stands a monument to McColloch's ride for life."
Alfred had listened with intense interest to the Colonel's recital.
When it ended, although his pulses quickened and his soul expanded
with awe and reverence for the hero of that ride, he sat silent.
Alfred honored courage in a man more than any other quality. He
marvelled at the simplicity of these bordermen who, he thought, took
the most wonderful adventures and daring escapes as a matter of
course, a compulsory part of their daily lives. He had already, in
one day, had more excitement than had ever befallen him, and was
beginning to believe his thirst for a free life of stirring action
would be quenched long before he had learned to become useful in his
new sphere. During the remaining half hour of his call on his lately
acquired friends, he took little part in the conversation, but sat
quietly watching the changeful expressions on Betty's face, and
listening to Colonel Zane's jokes. When he rose to go he bade his
host good-night, and expressed a wish that Isaac, who had fallen
asleep, might have a speedy recovery. He turned toward the door to
find that Betty had intercepted him.
"Mr. Clarke," she said, extending a little hand that trembled
slightly. "I wish to say--that--I want to say that my feelings have
changed. I am sorry for what I said over at Lydia's. I spoke hastily
and rudely. You have saved my brother's life. I will be forever
grateful to you. It is useless to try to thank you. I--I hope we may
be friends."
Alfred found it desperately hard to resist that low voice, and those
dark eyes which were raised shyly, yet bravely, to his. But he had
been deeply hurt. He pretended not to see the friendly hand held out
to him, and his voice was cold when he answered her.
"I am glad to have been of some service," he said, "but I think you
overrate my action. Your brother would not have drowned, I am sure.
You owe me nothing. Good-night."
Betty stood still one moment staring at the door through which he
had gone before she realized that her overtures of friendship had
been politely, but coldly, ignored. She had actually been snubbed.
The impossible had happened to Elizabeth Zane. Her first sensation
after she recovered from her momentary bewilderment was one of
amusement, and she laughed in a constrained manner; but, presently,
two bright red spots appeared in her cheeks, and she looked quickly
around to see if any of the others had noticed the incident. None of
them had been paying any attention to her and she breathed a sigh of
relief. It was bad enough to be snubbed without having others see
it. That would have been too humiliating. Her eyes flashed fire as
she remembered the disdain in Clarke's face, and that she had not
been clever enough to see it in time.
"Tige, come here!" called Colonel Zane. "What ails the dog?"
The dog had jumped to his feet and ran to the door, where he sniffed
at the crack over the threshold. His aspect was fierce and
threatening. He uttered low growls and then two short barks. Those
in the room heard a soft moccasined footfall outside. The next
instant the door opened wide and a tall figure stood disclosed.
"Wetzel!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. A hush fell on the little company
after that exclamation, and all eyes were fastened on the new comer.
Well did the stranger merit close attention. He stalked into the
room, leaned his long rifle against the mantelpiece and spread out
his hands to the fire. He was clad from head to foot in fringed and
beaded buckskin, which showed evidence of a long and arduous tramp.
It was torn and wet and covered with mud. He was a magnificently
made man, six feet in height, and stood straight as an arrow. His
wide shoulders, and his muscular, though not heavy, limbs denoted
wonderful strength and activity. His long hair, black as a raven's
wing, hung far down his shoulders. Presently he turned and the light
shone on a remarkable face. So calm and cold and stern it was that
it seemed chiselled out of marble. The most striking features were
its unusual pallor, and the eyes, which were coal black, and
piercing as the dagger's point.
"If you have any bad news out with it," cried Colonel Zane,
impatiently.
"No need fer alarm," said Wetzel. He smiled slightly as he saw
Betty's apprehensive face. "Don't look scared, Betty. The redskins
are miles away and goin' fer the Kanawha settlement."