Betty Zane

by Zane Grey

  AFTERWORD.

  Betty lived all her after life on the scene of her famous exploit.She became a happy wife and mother. When she grew to be an old lady,with her grandchildren about her knee, she delighted to tell themthat when a girl she had run the gauntlet of the Indians.

  Col. Zane became the friend of all redmen. He maintained atrading-post for many years, and his dealings were ever kind andhonorable. After the country got settled he received from time totime various marks of distinction from the State, Colonial, andNational governments. His most noted achievement was completed about1796. President Washington, desiring to open a National road fromFort Henry to Maysville, Kentucky, paid a great tribute to Col.Zane's ability by employing him to undertake the arduous task. Hisbrother Jonathan and the Indian guide, Tomepomehala, renderedvaluable aid in blazing out the path through the wilderness. Thisroad, famous for many years as Zane's Trace, opened the beautifulOhio valley to the ambitious pioneer. For this service Congressgranted Col. Zane the privilege of locating military warrants uponthree sections of land, each a square mile in extent, which propertythe government eventually presented to him. Col. Zane was thefounder of Wheeling, Zanesville, Martin's Ferry, and Bridgeport. Hedied in 1811.

  Isaac Zane received from the government a patent of ten thousandacres of land on Mad river. He established his home in the center ofthis tract, where he lived with the Wyandot until his death. A whitesettlement sprang up, prospered, and grew, and today it is thethriving city of Zanesfield.

  Jonathan Zane settled down after peace was declared with theIndians, found himself a wife, and eventually became an influentialcitizen. However, he never lost his love for the wild woods. Attimes he would take down the old rifle and disappear for two orthree days. He always returned cheerful and happy from these lonelyhunts.

  Wetzel alone did not take kindly to the march of civilization; butthen he was a hunter, not a pioneer. He kept his word of peace withhis old enemies, the Hurons, though he never abandoned his wanderingand vengeful quests after the Delawares.

  As the years passed Wetzel grew more silent and taciturn. From timeto time he visited Ft. Henry, and on these visits he spent hoursplaying with Betty's children. But he was restless in thesettlement, and his sojourns grew briefer and more infrequent astime rolled on. True to his conviction that no wife existed on earthfor him, he never married. His home was the trackless wilds, wherehe was true to his calling--a foe to the redman.

  Wonderful to relate his long, black hair never adorned the walls ofan Indian's lodge, where a warrior might point with grim pride andsay: "No more does the Deathwind blow over the hills and vales." Wecould tell of how his keen eye once again saw Wingenund over thesights of his fatal rifle, and how he was once again a prisoner inthe camp of that lifelong foe, but that's another story, which,perhaps, we may tell some day.

  To-day the beautiful city of Wheeling rises on the banks of theOhio, where the yells of the Indians once blanched the cheeks of thepioneers. The broad, winding river rolls on as of yore; it aloneremains unchanged. What were Indians and pioneers, forts and citiesto it? Eons of time before human beings lived it flowed slowlytoward the sea, and ages after men and their works are dust, it willroll on placidly with its eternal scheme of nature.

  Upon the island still stand noble beeches, oaks, andchestnuts--trees that long ago have covered up their bullet-scars,but they could tell, had they the power to speak, many a wildthrilling tale. Beautiful parks and stately mansions grace theisland; and polished equipages roll over the ground that once knewnaught save the soft tread of the deer and the moccasin.

  McColloch's Rock still juts boldly out over the river as deep andrugged as when the brave Major leaped to everlasting fame. Wetzel'sCave, so named to this day, remains on the side of the bluffoverlooking the creek. The grapevines and wild rose-bushes stillcluster round the cavern-entrance, where, long ago, the wily savagewas wont to lie in wait for the settler, lured there by the falseturkey-call. The boys visit the cave on Saturday afternoons and play"Injuns."

  Not long since the writer spent a quiet afternoon there, listeningto the musical flow of the brook, and dreaming of those who hadlived and loved, fought and died by that stream one hundred andtwenty years ago. The city with its long blocks of buildings, itsspires and bridges, faded away, leaving the scene as it was in thedays of Fort Henry--unobscured by smoke, the river undotted bypulling boats, and everywhere the green and verdant forest.

  Nothing was wanting in that dream picture: Betty tearing along onher pony; the pioneer plowing in the field; the stealthy approach ofthe savage; Wetzel and Jonathan watching the river; the deerbrowsing with the cows in the pasture, and the old fort, grim andmenacing on the bluff--all were there as natural as in those timeswhich tried men's souls.

  And as the writer awoke to the realities of life, that his dreamswere of long ago, he was saddened by the thought that the labor ofthe pioneer is ended; his faithful, heroic wife's work is done. Thatbeautiful country, which their sacrifices made ours, will ever be amonument to them.

  Sad, too, is the thought that the poor Indian is unmourned. He isalmost forgotten; he is in the shadow; his songs are sung; no morewill he sing to his dusky bride: his deeds are done; no more will heboast of his all-conquering arm or of his speed like the Northwind;no more will his heart bound at the whistle of the stag, for hesleeps in the shade of the oaks, under the moss and the ferns.