Betty Zane

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER XIV.

  The sun rose red. Its ruddy rays peeped over the eastern hills,kissed the tree-tops, glinted along the stony bluffs, and chasedaway the gloom of night from the valley. Its warm gleams penetratedthe portholes of the Fort and cast long bright shadows on the walls;but it brought little cheer to the sleepless and almost exhausteddefenders. It brought to many of the settlers the familiar oldsailor's maxim: "Redness 'a the morning, sailor's warning." Risingin its crimson glory the sun flooded the valley, dyeing the river,the leaves, the grass, the stones, tingeing everything with thatawful color which stained the stairs, the benches, the floor, eventhe portholes of the block-house.

  Historians call this the time that tried men's souls. If it triedthe men think what it must have been to those grand, heroic women.Though they had helped the men load and fire nearly forty-eighthours; though they had worked without a moment's rest and were nowready to succumb to exhaustion; though the long room was full ofstifling smoke and the sickening odor of burned wood and powder, andthough the row of silent, covered bodies had steadily lengthened,the thought of giving up never occurred to the women. Death therewould be sweet compared to what it would be at the hands of theredmen.

  At sunrise Silas Zane, bare-chested, his face dark and fierce,strode into the bastion which was connected with the blockhouse. Itwas a small shedlike room, and with portholes opening to the riverand the forest. This bastion had seen the severest fighting. Fivemen had been killed here. As Silas entered four haggard andpowder-begrimed men, who were kneeling before the portholes, lookedup at him. A dead man lay in one corner.

  "Smith's dead. That makes fifteen," said Silas. "Fifteen out offorty-two, that leaves twenty-seven. We must hold out. Len, don'texpose yourselves recklessly. How goes it at the south bastion?"

  "All right. There's been firin' over there all night," answered oneof the men. "I guess it's been kinder warm over that way. But Iain't heard any shootin' for some time."

  "Young Bennet is over there, and if the men needed anything theywould send him for it," answered Silas. "I'll send some food andwater. Anything else?"

  "Powder. We're nigh out of powder," replied the man addressed. "Andwe might jes as well make ready fer a high old time. The red devilshadn't been quiet all this last hour fer nothin'."

  Silas passed along the narrow hallway which led from the bastioninto the main room of the block-house. As he turned the corner atthe head of the stairway he encountered a boy who was dragginghimself up the steps.

  "Hello! Who's this? Why, Harry!" exclaimed Silas, grasping the boyand drawing him into the room. Once in the light Silas saw that thelad was so weak he could hardly stand. He was covered with blood. Itdripped from a bandage wound tightly about his arm; it oozed througha hole in his hunting shirt, and it flowed from a wound over histemple. The shadow of death was already stealing over the pallidface, but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a spiritwhich nothing but death could quench.

  "Quick!" the lad panted. "Send men to the south wall. The redskinsare breakin' in where the water from the spring runs under thefence."

  "Where are Metzar and the other men?"

  "Dead! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night. I kept onshootin'. Then I gets plugged here under the chin. Knowin' it's allup with me I deserted my post when I heard the Injuns choppin' on thefence where it was on fire last night. But I only--run--because--they'regettin' in."

  "Wetzel, Bennet, Clarke!" yelled Silas, as he laid the boy on thebench.

  Almost as Silas spoke the tall form of the hunter confronted him.Clarke and the other men were almost as prompt.

  "Wetzel, run to the south wall. The Indians are cutting a holethrough the fence."

  Wetzel turned, grabbed his rifle and an axe and was gone like aflash.

  "Sullivan, you handle the men here. Bessie, do what you can for thisbrave lad. Come, Bennet, Clarke, we must follow Wetzel," commandedSilas.

  Mrs. Zane hastened to the side of the fainting lad. She washed awaythe blood from the wound over his temple. She saw that a bullet hadglanced on the bone and that the wound was not deep or dangerous.She unlaced the hunting shirt at the neck and pulled the flapsapart. There on the right breast, on a line with the apex of thelung, was a horrible gaping wound. A murderous British slug hadpassed through the lad. From the hole at every heart-beat poured thedark, crimson life-tide. Mrs. Zane turned her white face away for asecond; then she folded a small piece of linen, pressed it tightlyover the wound, and wrapped a towel round the lad's breast.

  "Don't waste time on me. It's all over," he whispered. "Will youcall Betty here a minute?"

  Betty came, white-faced and horror-stricken. For forty hours she hadbeen living in a maze of terror. Her movements had almost becomemechanical. She had almost ceased to hear and feel. But the light inthe eyes of this dying boy brought her back to the horrible realityof the present.

  "Oh, Harry! Harry! Harry!" was all Betty could whisper.

  "I'm goin', Betty. And I wanted--you to say a little prayer forme--and say good-bye to me," he panted.

  Betty knelt by the bench and tried to pray.

  "I hated to run, Betty, but I waited and waited and nobody came, andthe Injuns was getting' in. They'll find dead Injuns in piles outthere. I was shootin' fer you, Betty, and every time I aimed Ithought of you."

  The lad rambled on, his voice growing weaker and weaker and finallyceasing. The hand which had clasped Betty's so closely loosened itshold. His eyes closed. Betty thought he was dead, but no! he stillbreathed. Suddenly his eyes opened. The shadow of pain was gone. Inits place shone a beautiful radiance.

  "Betty, I've cared a lot for you--and I'm dyin'--happy because I'vefought fer you--and somethin' tells me--you'll--be saved. Good-bye."A smile transformed his face and his gray eyes gazed steadily intohers. Then his head fell back. With a sigh his brave spirit fled.

  Hugh Bennet looked once at the pale face of his son, then he randown the stairs after Silas and Clarke. When the three men emergedfrom behind Capt. Boggs' cabin, which was adjacent to theblock-house, and which hid the south wall from their view, they weretwo hundred feet from Wetzel. They heard the heavy thump of a logbeing rammed against the fence; then a splitting and splintering ofone of the six-inch oak planks. Another and another smashing blowand the lower half of one of the planks fell inwards, leaving anaperture large enough to admit an Indian. The men dashed forward tothe assistance of Wetzel, who stood by the hole with upraised axe.At the same moment a shot rang out. Bennet stumbled and fellheadlong. An Indian had shot through the hole in the fence. Silasand Alfred sheered off toward the fence, out of line. When withintwenty yards of Wetzel they saw a swarthy-faced and athletic savagesqueeze through the narrow crevice. He had not straightened upbefore the axe, wielded by the giant hunter, descended on his head,cracking his skull as if it were an eggshell. The savage sank to theearth without even a moan. Another savage naked and powerful,slipped in. He had to stoop to get through. He raised himself, andseeing Wetzel, he tried to dodge the lightning sweep of the axe. Itmissed his head, at which it had been aimed, but struck just overthe shoulders, and buried itself in flesh and bone. The Indianuttered an agonizing yell which ended in a choking, gurgling soundas the blood spurted from his throat. Wetzel pulled the weapon fromthe body of his victim, and with the same motion he swung it around.This time the blunt end met the next Indian's head with a thud likethat made by the butcher when he strikes the bullock to the ground.The Indian's rifle dropped, his tomahawk flew into the air, whilehis body rolled down the little embankment into the spring. Anotherand another Indian met the same fate. Then two Indians endeavored toget through the aperture. The awful axe swung by those steel arms,dispatched both of than in the twinkling of an eye. Their bodiesstuck in the hole.

  Silas and Alfred stood riveted to the spot. Just then Wetzel in allhis horrible glory was a sight to freeze the marrow of any man. Hehad cast aside his hunting shirt in that run to the fence and wasnow stripped to the waist. He was covered with blood. The m
uscles ofhis broad back and his brawny arms swelled and rippled under thebrown skin. At every swing of the gory axe he let out a yell thelike of which had never before been heard by the white men. It wasthe hunter's mad yell of revenge. In his thirst for vengeance he hadforgotten that he was defending the Fort with its women and itschildren; he was fighting because he loved to kill.

  Silas Zane heard the increasing clamor outside and knew thathundreds of Indians were being drawn to the spot. Something must bedone at once. He looked around and his eyes fell on a pile ofwhite-oak logs that had been hauled inside the Fort. They had beenplaced there by Col. Zane, with wise forethought. Silas grabbedClarke and pulled him toward the pile of logs, at the same timecommunicating his plan. Together they carried a log to the fence anddropped it in front of the hole. Wetzel immediately stepped on itand took a vicious swing at an Indian who was trying to poke hisrifle sideways through the hole. This Indian had discharged hisweapon twice. While Wetzel held the Indians at bay, Silas and Clarkepiled the logs one upon another, until the hole was closed. Thiseffectually fortified and barricaded the weak place in the stockadefence. The settlers in the bastions were now pouring such a hot fireinto the ranks of the savage that they were compelled to retreat outof range.

  While Wetzel washed the blood from his arms and his shoulders Silasand Alfred hurried back to where Bennet had fallen. They expected tofind him dead, and were overjoyed to see the big settler calmlysitting by the brook binding up a wound in his shoulder.

  "It's nothin' much. Jest a scratch, but it tumbled me over," hesaid. "I was comin' to help you. That was the wust Injun scrap Iever saw. Why didn't you keep on lettin' 'em come in? The redvarmints would'a kept on comin' and Wetzel was good fer the wholetribe. All you'd had to do was to drag the dead Injuns aside andgive him elbow room."

  Wetzel joined them at this moment, and they hurried back to theblock-house. The firing had ceased on the bluff. They met Sullivanat the steps of the Fort. He was evidently coming in search of them.

  "Zane, the Indians and the Britishers are getting ready for moredetermined and persistent effort than any that has yet been made,"said Sullivan.

  "How so?" asked Silas.

  "They have got hammers from the blacksmith's shop, and they boardedmy boat and found a keg of nails. Now they are making a number ofladders. If they make a rush all at once and place ladders againstthe fence we'll have the Fort full of Indians in ten minutes. Theycan't stand in the face of a cannon charge. We _must_ use thecannon."

  "Clarke, go into Capt. Boggs' cabin and fetch out two kegs ofpowder," said Silas.

  The young man turned in the direction of the cabin, while Silas andthe others ascended the stairs.

  "The firing seems to be all on the south side," said Silas, "and isnot so heavy as it was."

  "Yes, as I said, the Indians on the river front are busy with theirnew plans," answered Sullivan.

  "Why does not Clarke return?" said Silas, after waiting a fewmoments at the door of the long room. "We have no time to lose. Iwant to divide one keg of that powder among the men."

  Clarke appeared at the moment. He was breathing heavily as though hehad run up the stairs, or was laboring under a powerful emotion. Hisface was gray.

  "I could not find any powder!" he exclaimed. "I searched every nookand corner in Capt. Boggs' house. There is no powder there."

  A brief silence ensued. Everyone in the block-house heard the youngman's voice. No one moved. They all seemed waiting for someone tospeak. Finally Silas Zane burst out:

  "Not find it? You surely could not have looked well. Capt. Boggshimself told me there were three kegs of powder in the storeroom. Iwill go and find it myself."

  Alfred did not answer, but sat down on a bench with an odd numbfeeling round his heart. He knew what was coming. He had been in theCaptain's house and had seen those kegs of powder. He knew exactlywhere they had been. Now they were not on the accustomed shelf, norat any other place in the storeroom. While he sat there waiting forthe awful truth to dawn on the garrison, his eyes roved from one endof the room to the other. At last they found what they were seeking.A young woman knelt before a charcoal fire which she was blowingwith a bellows. It was Betty. Her face was pale and weary, her hairdishevelled, her shapely arms blackened with charcoal, butnotwithstanding she looked calm, resolute, self-contained. Lydia waskneeling by her side holding a bullet-mould on a block of wood.Betty lifted the ladle from the red coals and poured the hot metalwith a steady hand and an admirable precision. Too much or toolittle lead would make an imperfect ball. The little missile had tobe just so for those soft-metal, smooth-bore rifles. Then Lydiadipped the mould in a bucket of water, removed it and knocked it onthe floor. A small, shiny lead bullet rolled out. She rubbed it witha greasy rag and then dropped it in a jar. For nearly forty hours,without sleep or rest, almost without food, those brave girls hadbeen at their post.

  Silas Zane came running into the room. His face was ghastly, evenhis lips were white and drawn.

  "Sullivan, in God's name, what can we do? The powder is gone!" hecried in a strident voice.

  "Gone?" repeated several voices.

  "Gone?" echoed Sullivan. "Where?"

  "God knows. I found where the kegs stood a few days ago. There weremarks in the dust. They have been moved."

  "Perhaps Boggs put them here somewhere," said Sullivan. "We willlook."

  "No use. No use. We were always careful to keep the powder out ofhere on account of fire. The kegs are gone, gone."

  "Miller stole them," said Wetzel in his calm voice.

  "What difference does that make now?" burst out Silas, turningpassionately on the hunter, whose quiet voice in that moment seemedso unfeeling. "They're gone!"

  In the silence which ensued after these words the men looked at eachother with slowly whitening faces. There was no need of words. Theireyes told one another what was coming. The fate which had overtakenso many border forts was to be theirs. They were lost! And every manthought not of himself, cared not for himself, but for thoseinnocent children, those brave young girls and heroic women.

  A man can die. He is glorious when he calmly accepts death; but whenhe fights like a tiger, when he stands at bay his back to the wall,a broken weapon in his hand, bloody, defiant, game to the end, thenhe is sublime. Then he wrings respect from the souls of even hisbitterest foes. Then he is avenged even in his death.

  But what can women do in times of war? They help, they cheer, theyinspire, and if their cause is lost they must accept death or worse.Few women have the courage for self-destruction. "To the victorbelong the spoils," and women have ever been the spoils of war.

  No wonder Silas Zane and his men weakened in that moment. With onlya few charges for their rifles and none for the cannon how couldthey hope to hold out against the savages? Alone they could havedrawn their tomahawks and have made a dash through the lines ofIndians, but with the women and the children that was impossible.

  "Wetzel, what can we do? For God's sake, advise us!" said Silashoarsely. "We cannot hold the Fort without powder. We cannot leavethe women here. We had better tomahawk every woman in theblock-house than let her fall into the hands of Girty."

  "Send someone fer powder," answered Wetzel.

  "Do you think it possible," said Silas quickly, a ray of hopelighting up his haggard features. "There's plenty of powder in Eb'scabin. Whom shall we send? Who will volunteer?"

  Three men stepped forward, and others made a movement.

  "They'd plug a man full of lead afore he'd get ten foot from thegate," said Wetzel. "I'd go myself, but it wouldn't do no good. Senda boy, and one as can run like a streak."

  "There are no lads big enough to carry a keg of powder. HarryBennett might go," said Silas. "How is he, Bessie?"

  "He is dead," answered Mrs. Zane.

  Wetzel made a motion with his hands and turned away. A short,intense silence followed this indication of hopelessness from him.The women understood, for some of them covered their faces, whileothers sobbed.

 
"I will go."

  It was Betty's voice, and it rang clear and vibrant throughout theroom. The miserable women raised their drooping heads, thrilled bythat fresh young voice. The men looked stupefied. Clarke seemedturned to stone. Wetzel came quickly toward her.

  "Impossible!" said Sullivan.

  Silas Zane shook his head as if the idea were absurd.

  "Let me go, brother, let me go?" pleaded Betty as she placed herlittle hands softly, caressingly on her brother's bare arm. "I knowit is only a forlorn chance, but still it is a chance. Let me takeit. I would rather die that way than remain here and wait fordeath."

  "Silas, it ain't a bad plan," broke in Wetzel. "Betty can run like adeer. And bein' a woman they may let her get to the cabin withoutshootin'."

  Silas stood with arms folded across his broad chest. As he gazed athis sister great tears coursed down his dark cheeks and splashed onthe hands which so tenderly clasped his own. Betty stood before himtransformed; all signs of weariness had vanished; her eyes shonewith a fateful resolve; her white and eager face was surpassinglybeautiful with its light of hope, of prayer, of heroism.

  "Let me go, brother. You know I can run, and oh! I will fly today.Every moment is precious. Who knows? Perhaps Capt. Boggs is alreadynear at hand with help. You cannot spare a man. Let me go."

  "Betty, Heaven bless and save you, you shall go," said Silas.

  "No! No! Do not let her go!" cried Clarke, throwing himself beforethem. He was trembling, his eyes were wild, and he had theappearance of a man suddenly gone mad.

  "She shall not go," he cried.

  "What authority have you here?" demanded Silas Zane, sternly. "Whatright have you to speak?"

  "None, unless it is that I love her and I will go for her," answeredAlfred desperately.

  "Stand back!" cried Wetzel, placing his powerful hard on Clarke'sbreast and pushing him backward. "If you love her you don't want tohave her wait here for them red devils," and he waved his handtoward the river. "If she gets back she'll save the Fort. If shefails she'll at least escape Girty."

  Betty gazed into the hunter's eyes and then into Alfred's. Sheunderstood both men. One was sending her out to her death because heknew it would be a thousand times more merciful than the fate whichawaited her at the hands of the Indians. The other had not thestrength to watch her go to her death. He had offered himself ratherthan see her take such fearful chances.

  "I know. If it were possible you would both save me," said Betty,simply. "Now you can do nothing but pray that God may spare my lifelong enough to reach the gate. Silas, I am ready."

  Downstairs a little group of white-faced men were standing beforethe gateway. Silas Zane had withdrawn the iron bar. Sullivan stoodready to swing in the ponderous gate. Wetzel was speaking with aclearness and a rapidity which were wonderful under thecircumstances.

  "When we let you out you'll have a clear path. Run, but not veryfast. Save your speed. Tell the Colonel to empty a keg of powder ina table cloth. Throw it over your shoulder and start back. Run likeyou was racin' with me, and keep on comin' if you do get hit. Nowgo!"

  The huge gate creaked and swung in. Betty ran out, looking straightbefore her. She had covered half the distance between the Fort andthe Colonel's house when long taunting yells filled the air.

  "Squaw! Waugh! Squaw! Waugh!" yelled the Indians in contempt.

  Not a shot did they fire. The yells ran all along the river front,showing that hundreds of Indians had seen the slight figure runningup the gentle slope toward the cabin.

  Betty obeyed Wetzel's instructions to the letter. She ran easily andnot at all hurriedly, and was as cool as if there had not been anIndian within miles.

  Col. Zane had seen the gate open and Betty come forth. When shebounded up the steps he flung open that door and she ran into hisarms.

  "Betts, for God's sake! What's this?" he cried.

  "We are out of powder. Empty a keg of powder into a table cloth.Quick! I've not a second to lose," she answered, at the same timeslipping off her outer skirt. She wanted nothing to hinder that runfor the block-house.

  Jonathan Zane heard Betty's first words and disappeared into themagazine-room. He came out with a keg in his arms. With one blow ofan axe he smashed in the top of the keg. In a twinkling a long blackstream of the precious stuff was piling up in a little hill in thecenter of the table. Then the corners of the table cloth were caughtup, turned and twisted, and the bag of powder was thrown overBetty's shoulder.

  "Brave girl, so help me God, you are going to do it!" cried Col.Zane, throwing open the door. "I know you can. Run as you never ranin all your life."

  Like an arrow sprung from a bow Betty flashed past the Colonel andout on the green. Scarcely ten of the long hundred yards had beencovered by her flying feet when a roar of angry shouts and yellswarned Betty that the keen-eyed savages saw the bag of powder andnow knew they had been deceived by a girl. The cracking of riflesbegan at a point on the bluff nearest Col. Zane's house, andextended in a half circle to the eastern end of the clearing. Theleaden messengers of Death whistled past Betty. They sped before herand behind her, scattering pebbles in her path, striking up thedust, and ploughing little furrows in the ground. A quarter of thedistance covered! Betty had passed the top of the knoll now and shewas going down the gentle slope like the wind. None but a finemarksman could have hit that small, flitting figure. The yelling andscreeching had become deafening. The reports of the rifles blendedin a roar. Yet above it all Betty heard Wetzel's stentorian yell. Itlent wings to her feet. Half the distance covered! A hot, stingingpain shot through Betty's arm, but she heeded it not. The bulletswere raining about her. They sang over her head; hissed close to herears, and cut the grass in front of her; they pattered like hail onthe stockade-fence, but still untouched, unharmed, the slender brownfigure sped toward the gate. Three-fourths of the distance covered!A tug at the flying hair, and a long, black tress cut off by abullet, floated away on the breeze. Betty saw the big gate swing;she saw the tall figure of the hunter; she saw her brother. Only afew more yards! On! On! On! A blinding red mist obscured her sight.She lost the opening in the fence, but unheeding she rushed on.Another second and she stumbled; she felt herself grasped by eagerarms; she heard the gate slam and the iron bar shoot into place;then she felt and heard no more.

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

  Then something wonderful happened. A warm, living flush swept overthat pale face. The eyelids fluttered; they opened, and the darkeyes, radiant, beautiful, gazed straight into Alfred's.

  Still Alfred could not believe his eyes. That pale face and thewonderful eyes belonged to the ghost of his sweetheart. They hadcome 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 cruelred 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 aporthole.

  "God, what a woman!" he said between his teeth, as he thrust therifle forward.

  It was indeed not a time for inaction. The Indians, realizing theyhad been tricked and had lost a golden opportunity, rushed at theFort with renewed energy. They attacked from all sides and with thepersistent fury of savages long disappointed in their hopes. Theywere received with a scathing, deadly fire. Bang! roared the cannon,and the detachment of savages dropped their ladders and fled. Thelittle "bull dog" was turned on its swivel and directed at anotherrush of Indians. Bang! and the bullets, chainlinks, and bits of ironploughed through the ranks of the enemy. The Indians never lived whocould stand in the face of well-aimed cannon-shot. They fell back.The settlers, inspired, carried beyond them
selves by the heroism ofa girl, fought as they had never fought before. Every shot went to aredskin's heart, impelled by the powder for which a brave girl hadoffered her life, guided by hands and arms of iron, and aimed byeyes as fixed and stern as Fate, every bullet shed the life-blood ofa warrior.

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

  When night came the exhausted and almost famished besiegers soughtrest and food.

  The moon came out clear and beautiful, as if ashamed at hertraitor'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 ofsuccess, held a pow-wow. While they were grouped in plain view ofthe garrison, and probably conferring over the question of raisingthe siege, the long, peculiar whoop of an Indian spy, who had beensent out to watch for the approach of a relief party, rang out. Thisseemed a signal for retreat. Scarcely had the shrill cry ceased toecho in the hills when the Indians and the British, abandoning theirdead, moved rapidly across the river.

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