The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  Silas Zane bounded up the stairs with a doubly precious burden in his arms. A mighty cheer greeted his entrance. It aroused Alfred Clarke, who had bowed his head on the bench and had lost all sense of time and place. What were the women sobbing and crying over? To whom belonged that white face? Of course, it was the face of the girl he loved. The face of the girl who had gone to her death. And he writhed in his agony.

  Then something wonderful happened. A warm, living flush swept over that pale face. The eyelids fluttered; they opened, and the dark eyes, radiant, beautiful, gazed straight into Alfred’s.

  Still Alfred could not believe his eyes. That pale face and the wonderful eyes belonged to the ghost of his sweetheart. They had come back to haunt him. Then he heard a voice.

  “O-h! but that brown place burns!”

  Alfred saw a bare and shapely arm. Its beauty was marred by a cruel red welt. He heard that same sweet voice laugh and cry together. Then he came back to life and hope. With one bound he sprang to a porthole.

  “God, what a woman!” he said between his teeth, as he thrust the rifle forward.

  It was indeed not a time for inaction. The Indians, realizing they had been tricked and had lost a golden opportunity, rushed at the Fort with renewed energy. They attacked from all sides and with the persistent fury of savages long disappointed in their hopes. They were received with a scathing, deadly fire. Bang! roared the cannon, and the detachment of savages dropped their ladders and fled. The little “bull dog” was turned on its swivel and directed at another rush of Indians. Bang! and the bullets, chainlinks, and bits of iron ploughed through the ranks of the enemy. The Indians never lived who could stand in the face of well-aimed cannon-shot. They fell back. The settlers, inspired, carried beyond themselves by the heroism of a girl, fought as they had never fought before. Every shot went to a redskin’s heart, impelled by the powder for which a brave girl had offered her life, guided by hands and arms of iron, and aimed by eyes as fixed and stern as Fate, every bullet shed the life-blood of a warrior.

  Slowly and sullenly the red men gave way before that fire. Foot by foot they retired. Girty was seen no more. Fire, the Shawnee chief, lay dead in the road almost in the same spot where two days before his brother chief, Red Fox, had bit the dust. The British had long since retreated.

  When night came the exhausted and almost famished besiegers sought rest and food.

  The moon came out clear and beautiful, as if ashamed at her traitor’s part of the night before, and brightened up the valley, bathing the Fort, the river, and the forest in her silver light.

  Shortly after daybreak the next morning the Indians, despairing of success, held a pow-wow. While they were grouped in plain view of the garrison, and probably conferring over the question of raising the siege, the long, peculiar whoop of an Indian spy, who had been sent out to watch for the approach of a relief party, rang out. This seemed a signal for retreat. Scarcely had the shrill cry ceased to echo in the hills when the Indians and the British, abandoning their dead, moved rapidly across the river.

  After a short interval a mounted force was seen galloping up the creek road. It proved to be Capt. Boggs, Swearengen, and Williamson with seventy men. Great was the rejoicing. Capt. Boggs had expected to find only the ashes of the Fort. And the gallant little garrison, although saddened by the loss of half its original number, rejoiced that it had repulsed the united forces of braves and British.

  CHAPTER XV.

  Peace and quiet reigned ones more at Ft. Henry. Before the glorious autumn days had waned, the settlers had repaired the damage done to their cabins, and many of them were now occupied with the fall plowing. Never had the Fort experienced such busy days. Many new faces were seen in the little meeting-house. Pioneers from Virginia, from Ft. Pitt, and eastward had learned that Fort Henry had repulsed the biggest force of Indians and soldiers that Governor Hamilton and his minions could muster. Settlers from all points along the river were flocking to Col. Zane’s settlement. New cabins dotted the hillside; cabins and barns in all stages of construction could be seen. The sounds of hammers, the ringing stroke of the axe, and the crashing down of mighty pines or poplars were heard all day long.

  Col. Zane sat oftener and longer than ever before in his favorite seat on his doorstep. On this evening he had just returned from a hard day in the fields, and sat down to rest a moment before going to supper. A few days previous Isaac Zane and Myeerah had come to the settlement. Myeerah brought a treaty of peace signed by Tarhe and the other Wyandot chieftains. The once implacable Huron was now ready to be friendly with the white people. Col. Zane and his brothers signed the treaty, and Betty, by dint of much persuasion, prevailed on Wetzel to bury the hatchet with the Hurons. So Myeerah’s love, like the love of many other women, accomplished more than years of war and bloodshed.

  The genial and happy smile never left Col. Zane’s face, and as he saw the well-laden rafts coming down the river, and the air of liveliness and animation about the growing settlement, his smile broadened into one of pride and satisfaction. The prophecy that he had made twelve years before was fulfilled. His dream was realized. The wild, beautiful spot where he had once built a bark shack and camped half a year without seeing a white man was now the scene of a bustling settlement; and he believed he would live to see that settlement grow into a prosperous city. He did not think of the thousands of acres which would one day make him a wealthy man. He was a pioneer at heart; he had opened up that rich new country; he had conquered all obstacles, and that was enough to make him content.

  “Papa, when shall I be big enough to fight bars and bufflers and Injuns?” asked Noah, stopping in his play and straddling his father’s knee.

  “My boy, did you not have Indians enough a short time ago?”

  “But, papa, I did not get to see any. I heard the shooting and yelling. Sammy was afraid, but I wasn’t. I wanted to look out of the little holes, but they locked us up in the dark room.”

  “If that boy ever grows up to be like Jonathan or Wetzel it will be the death of me,” said the Colonel’s wife, who had heard the lad’s chatter.

  “Don’t worry, Bessie. When Noah grows to be a man the Indians will be gone.”

  Col. Zane heard the galloping of a horse and looking up saw Clarke coming down the road on his black thoroughbred. The Colonel rose and walked out to the hitching-block, where Clarke had reined in his fiery steed.

  “Ah, Alfred. Been out for a ride?”

  “Yes, I have been giving Roger a little exercise.”

  “That’s a magnificent animal. I never get tired watching him move. He’s the best bit of horseflesh on the river. By the way, we have not seen much of you since the siege. Of course you have been busy. Getting ready to put on the harness, eh? Well, that’s what we want the young men to do. Come over and see us.”

  “I have been trying to come. You know how it is with me—about Betty, I mean. Col. Zane, I—I love her. That’s all.”

  “Yes, I know, Alfred, and I don’t wonder at your fears. But I have always liked you, and now I guess it’s about time for me to put a spoke in your wheel of fortune. If Betty cares for you—and I have a sneaking idea she does—I will give her to you.”

  “I have nothing. I gave up everything when I left home.”

  “My lad, never mind about that,” said the Colonel, laying his hand on Clarke’s knee. “We don’t need riches. I have so often said that we need nothing out here on the border but honest hearts and strong, willing hands. These you have. That is enough for me and for my people, and as for land, why, I have enough for an army of young men. I got my land cheap. That whole island there I bought from Cornplanter. You can have that island or any tract of land along the river. Some day I shall put you at the head of my men. It will take you years to cut that road through to Maysville. Oh, I have plenty of work for you.”

  “Col. Zane, I cannot thank you,” answered Alfred, with emotion. “I shall try to merit your friendship and esteem. Will you please tell your sister I shall
come over in the morning and beg to see her alone.”

  “That I will, Alfred. Goodnight.”

  Col. Zane strode across his threshold with a happy smile on his face. He loved to joke and tease, and never lost an opportunity.

  “Things seem to be working out all right. Now for some fun with Her Highness,” he said to himself.

  As the Colonel surveyed the pleasant home scene he felt he had nothing more to wish for. The youngsters were playing with a shaggy little pup which had already taken Tige’s place in their fickle affections. His wife was crooning a lullaby as she gently rocked the cradle to and fro. A wonderful mite of humanity peacefully slumbered in that old cradle. Annie was beginning to set the table for the evening meal. Isaac lay with a contented smile on his face, fast asleep on the couch, where, only a short time before, he had been laid bleeding and almost dead. Betty was reading to Myeerah, whose eyes were rapturously bright as she leaned her head against her sister and listened to the low voice.

  “Well, Betty, what do you think?” said Col. Zane, stopping before the girls.

  “What do I think?” retorted Betty. “Why, I think you are very rude to interrupt me. I am reading to Myeerah her first novel.”

  “I have a very important message for you.”

  “For me? What! From whom?”

  “Guess.”

  Betty ran through a list of most of her acquaintances, but after each name her brother shook his head.

  “Oh, well, I don’t care,” she finally said. The color in her cheeks had heightened noticeably.

  “Very well. If you do not care, I will say nothing more,” said Col. Zane.

  At this juncture Annie called them to supper. Later, when Col. Zane sat on the doorstep smoking, Betty came and sat beside him with her head resting against his shoulder. The Colonel smoked on in silence. Presently the dusky head moved restlessly.

  “Eb, tell me the message,” whispered Betty.

  “Message? What message?” asked Col. Zone. “What are you talking about?”

  “Do not tease—not now. Tell me.” There was an undercurrent of wistfulness in Betty’s voice which touched the kindhearted brother.

  “Well, today a certain young man asked me if he could relieve me of the responsibility of looking after a certain young lady.”

  “Oh——”

  “Wait a moment. I told him I would be delighted.”

  “Eb, that was unkind.”

  “Then he asked me to tell her he was coming over tomorrow morning to fix it up with her.”

  “Oh, horrible!” cried Betty. “Were those the words he used?”

  “Betts, to tell the honest truth, he did not say much of anything. He just said: ‘I love her,’ and his eyes blazed.”

  Betty uttered a half articulate cry and ran to her room. Her heart was throbbing. What could she do? She felt that if she looked once into her lover’s eyes she would have no strength. How dared she allow herself to be so weak! Yet she knew this was the end. She could deceive him no longer. For she felt a stir in her heart, stronger than all, beyond all resistance, an exquisite agony, the sweet, blind, tumultuous exultation of the woman who loves and is loved.

  * * * *

  “Bess, what do you think?” said Col. Zane, going into the kitchen next morning, after he had returned from the pasture. “Clarke just came over and asked for Betty. I called her. She came down looking as sweet and cool as one of the lilies out by the spring. She said: ‘Why, Mr. Clarke, you are almost a stranger. I am pleased to see you. Indeed, we are all very glad to know you have recovered from your severe burns.’ She went on talking like that for all the world like a girl who didn’t care a snap for him. And she knows as well as I do. Not only that, she has been actually breaking her heart over him all these months. How did she do it? Oh, you women beat me all hollow!”

  “Would you expect Betty to fall into his arms?” asked the Colonel’s worthy spouse, indignantly.

  “Not exactly. But she was too cool, too friendly. Poor Alfred looked as if he hadn’t slept. He was nervous and scared to death. When Betty ran up stairs I put a bug in Alfred’s ear. He’ll be all right now, if he follows my advice.”

  “Humph! What did Colonel Ebenezer Zane tell him?” asked Bessie, in disgust.

  “Oh, not much. I simply told him not to lose his nerve; that a woman never meant ‘no’; that she often says it only to be made say ‘yes.’ And I ended up with telling him if she got a little skittish, as thoroughbreds do sometimes, to try a strong arm. That was my way.”

  “Col. Zane, if my memory does not fail me, you were as humble and beseeching as the proudest girl could desire.”

  “I beseeching? Never!”

  “I hope Alfred’s wooing may go well. I like him very much. But I’m afraid. Betty has such a spirit that it is quite likely she will refuse him for no other reason than that he built his cabin before he asked her.”

  “Nonsense. He asked her long ago. Never fear, Bess, my sister will come back as meek as a lamb.”

  Meanwhile Betty and Alfred were strolling down the familiar path toward the river. The October air was fresh with a suspicion of frost. The clear notes of a hunter’s horn came floating down from the hills. A flock of wild geese had alighted on the marshy ground at the end of the island where they kept up a continual honk! honk! The brown hills, the red forest, and the yellow fields were now at the height of their autumnal beauty. Soon the November north wind would thrash the trees bare, and bow the proud heads of the daisies and the goldenrod; but just now they flashed in the sun, and swayed back and forth in all their glory.

  “I see you limp. Are you not entirely well?” Betty was saying.

  “Oh, I am getting along famously, thank you,” said Alfred. “This one foot was quite severely burned and is still tender.”

  “You have had your share of injuries. I heard my brother say you had been wounded three times within a year.”

  “Four times.”

  “Jonathan told of the axe wound; then the wound Miller gave you, and finally the burns. These make three, do they not?”

  “Yes, but you see, all three could not be compared to the one you forgot to mention.”

  “Let us hurry past here,” said Betty, hastening to change the subject. “This is where you had the dreadful fight with Miller.”

  “As Miller did go to meet Girty, and as he did not return to the Fort with the renegade, we must believe he is dead. Of course, we do not know this to be actually a fact. But something makes me think so. Jonathan and Wetzel have not said anything; I can’t get any satisfaction on that score from either; but I am sure neither of them would rest until Miller was dead.”

  “I think you are right. But we may never know. All I can tell you is that Wetzel and Jack trailed Miller to the river, and then they both came back. I was the last to see Lewis that night before he left on Miller’s trail. It isn’t likely I shall forget what Lewis said and how he looked. Miller was a wicked man; yes, a traitor.”

  “He was a bad man, and he nearly succeeded in every one of his plans. I have not the slightest doubt that had he refrained from taking part in the shooting match he would have succeeded in abducting you, in killing me, and in leading Girty here long before he was expected.”

  “There are many things that may never be explained, but one thing Miller did always mystify us. How did he succeed in binding Tige?”

  “To my way of thinking that was not so difficult as climbing into my room and almost killing me, or stealing the powder from Capt. Boggs’ room.”

  “The last, at least, gave me a chance to help,” said Betty, with a touch of her odd roguishness.

  “That was the grandest thing a woman ever did,” said Alfred, in a low tone.

  “Oh, no, I only ran fast.”

  “I would have given the world to have seen you, but I was lying on the bench wishing I were dead. I did not have strength to look out of a porthole. Oh! that horrible time! I can never forget it. I lie awake at night and hear the yelling and
shooting. Then I dream of running over the burning roofs and it all comes back so vividly I can almost feel the flames and smell the burnt wood. Then I wake up and think of that awful moment when you were carried into the blockhouse white, and, as I thought, dead.”

  “But I wasn’t. And I think it best for us to forget that horrible siege. It is past. It is a miracle that any one was spared. Ebenezer says we should not grieve for those who are gone; they were heroic; they saved the Fort. He says too, that we shall never again be troubled by Indians. Therefore let us forget and be happy. I have forgotten Miller. You can afford to do the same.”