Zane Grey (11 page)

"He did?" questioned Joe, eagerly, flushing with pleasure. "Do you
think he'd take me out? Dare I ask him?"

"Don't be impatient. Perhaps I can arrange it. Come over here now to
Metzar's place. I want to make you acquainted with him. These boys
have all been cutting timber; they've just come in for dinner. Be
easy and quiet with them; then you'll get on."

Colonel Zane introduced Joe to five sturdy boys and left him in
their company. Joe sat down on a log outside a cabin and leisurely
surveyed the young men. They all looked about the same: strong
without being heavy, light-haired and bronze-faced. In their turn
they carefully judged Joe. A newcomer from the East was always
regarded with some doubt. If they expected to hear Joe talk much
they were mistaken. He appeared good-natured, but not too friendly.

"Fine weather we're havin'," said Dick Metzar.

"Fine," agreed Joe, laconically.

"Like frontier life?"

"Sure."

A silence ensued after this breaking of the ice. The boys were
awaiting their turn at a little wooden bench upon which stood a
bucket of water and a basin.

"Hear ye got ketched by some Shawnees?" remarked another youth, as
he rolled up his shirt-sleeves. They all looked at Joe now. It was
not improbably their estimate of him would be greatly influenced by
the way he answered this question.

"Yes; was captive for three days."

"Did ye knock any redskins over?" This question was artfully put to
draw Joe out. Above all things, the bordermen detested boastfulness;
tried on Joe the ruse failed signally.

"I was scared speechless most of the time," answered Joe, with his
pleasant smile.

"By gosh, I don't blame ye!" burst out Will Metzar. "I hed that
experience onct, an' onct's enough."

The boys laughed and looked in a more friendly manner at Joe. Though
he said he had been frightened, his cool and careless manner belied
his words. In Joe's low voice and clear, gray eye there was
something potent and magnetic, which subtly influenced those with
whom he came in contact.

While his new friends were at dinner Joe strolled over to where
Colonel Zane sat on the doorstep of his home.

"How did you get on with the boys?" inquired the colonel.

"All right, I hope. Say, Colonel Zane, I'd like to talk to your
Indian guide."

Colonel Zane spoke a few words in the Indian language to the guide,
who left his post and came over to them. The colonel then had a
short conversation with him, at the conclusion of which he pointed
toward Joe.

"How do—shake," said Tome, extending his hand.

Joe smiled, and returned the friendly hand-pressure.

"Shawnee—ketch'um?" asked the Indian, in his fairly intelligible
English.

Joe nodded his head, while Colonel Zane spoke once more in Shawnee,
explaining the cause of Silvertip's emnity.

"Shawnee—chief—one—bad—Injun," replied Tome, seriously.
"Silvertip—mad—thunder-mad. Ketch'um paleface—scalp'um sure."

After giving this warning the chief returned to his former position
near the corner of the cabin.

"He can talk in English fairly well, much better than the Shawnee
brave who talked with me the other day," observed Joe.

"Some of the Indians speak the language almost fluently," said
Colonel Zane. "You could hardly have distinguished Logan's speech
from a white man's. Corn-planter uses good English, as also does my
brother's wife, a Wyandot girl."

"Did your brother marry an Indian?" and Joe plainly showed his
surprise.

"Indeed he did, and a most beautiful girl she is. I'll tell you
Isaac's story some time. He was a captive among the Wyandots for ten
years. The chief's daughter, Myeerah, loved him, kept him from being
tortured, and finally saved him from the stake."

"Well, that floors me," said Joe; "yet I don't see why it should.
I'm just surprised. Where is your brother now?"

"He lives with the tribe. He and Myeerah are working hard for peace.
We are now on more friendly terms with the great Wyandots, or
Hurons, as we call them, than ever before."

"Who is this big man coming from the the fort?" asked Joe, suddenly
observing a stalwart frontiersman approaching.

"Major Sam McColloch. You have met him. He's the man who jumped his
horse from yonder bluff."

"Jonathan and he have the same look, the same swing," observed Joe,
as he ran his eye over the major. His faded buckskin costume,
beaded, fringed, and laced, was similar to that of the colonel's
brother. Powder-flask and bullet-pouch were made from cow-horns and
slung around his neck on deerhide strings. The hunting coat was
unlaced, exposing, under the long, fringed borders, a tunic of the
same well-tanned, but finer and softer, material. As he walked, the
flaps of his coat fell back, showing a belt containing two knives,
sheathed in heavy buckskin, and a bright tomahawk. He carried a long
rifle in the hollow of his arm.

"These hunters have the same kind of buckskin suits," continued Joe;
"still, it doesn't seem to me the clothes make the resemblance to
each other. The way these men stand, walk and act is what strikes me
particularly, as in the case of Wetzel."

"I know what you mean. The flashing eye, the erect poise of
expectation, and the springy step—those, my lad, come from a life
spent in the woods. Well, it's a grand way to live."

"Colonel, my horse is laid up," said Major McColloch, coming to the
steps. He bowed pleasantly to Joe.

"So you are going to Short Creek? You can have one of my horses; but
first come inside and we'll talk over you expedition."

The afternoon passed uneventfully for Joe. His brother and Mr. Wells
were absorbed in plans for their future work, and Nell and Kate were
resting; therefore he was forced to find such amusement or
occupation as was possible in or near the stockade.

Joe went to bed that night with a promise to himself to rise early
next morning, for he had been invited to take part in a "raising,"
which term meant that a new cabin was to be erected, and such task
was ever an event in the lives of the settlers.

The following morning Joe rose early, dressing himself in a complete
buckskin suit, for which he had exchanged his good garments of
cloth. Never before had he felt so comfortable. He wanted to hop,
skip and jump. The soft, undressed buckskin was as warm and smooth
as silk-plush; the weight so light, the moccasins so well-fitting
and springy, that he had to put himself under considerable restraint
to keep from capering about like a frolicsome colt.

The possession of this buckskin outfit, and the rifle and
accouterments which went with the bargain, marked the last stage in
Joe's surrender to the border fever. The silent, shaded glens, the
mystery of the woods, the breath of this wild, free life claimed him
from this moment entirely and forever.

He met the others, however, with a serene face, showing no trace of
the emotion which welled up strongly from his heart. Nell glanced
shyly at him; Kate playfully voiced her admiration; Jim met him with
a brotherly ridicule which bespoke his affection as well as his
amusement; but Colonel Zane, having once yielded to the same
burning, riotous craving for freedom which now stirred in the boy's
heart, understood, and felt warmly drawn toward the lad. He said
nothing, though as he watched Joe his eyes were grave and kind. In
his long frontier life, where many a day measured the life and fire
of ordinary years, he had seen lad after lad go down before this
forest fever. It was well, he thought, because the freedom of the
soil depended on these wild, light-footed boys; yet it always made
him sad. How many youths, his brother among them, lay under the
fragrant pine-needle carpet of the forest, in their last earthly
sleep!

The "raising" brought out all the settlement—the women to look on
and gossip, while the children played; the men to bend their backs
in the moving of the heavy timbers. They celebrated the erection of
a new cabin as a noteworthy event. As a social function it had a
prominent place in the settlers' short list of pleasures.

Joe watched the proceeding with the same pleasure and surprise he
had felt in everything pertaining to border life.

To him this log-raising appeared the hardest kind of labor. Yet it
was plain these hardy men, these low-voiced women, and merry
children regarded the work as something far more significant than
the mere building of a cabin. After a while he understood the
meaning of the scene. A kindred spirit, the spirit of the pioneer,
drew them all into one large family. This was another cabin; another
home; another advance toward the conquering of the wilderness, for
which these brave men and women were giving their lives. In the
bright-eyed children's glee, when they clapped their little hands at
the mounting logs, Joe saw the progress, the march of civilization.

"Well, I'm sorry you're to leave us to-night," remarked Colonel Zane
to Joe, as the young man came over to where he, his wife, and sister
watched the work. "Jonathan said all was ready for your departure at
sundown."

"Do we travel by night?"

"Indeed, yes, my lad. There are Indians everywhere on the river. I
think, however, with Jack and Lew handling the paddles, you will
slip by safely. The plan is to keep along the south shore all night;
then cross over at a place called Girty's Point, where you are to
remain in hiding during daylight. From there you paddle up Yellow
Creek; then portage across country to the head of the Tuscarwawas.
Another night's journey will then bring you to the Village of
Peace."

Jim and Mr. Wells, with his nieces, joined the party now, and all
stood watching as the last logs were put in place.

"Colonel Zane, my first log-raising is an education to me," said the
young minister, in his earnest manner. "This scene is so full of
life. I never saw such goodwill among laboring men. Look at that
brawny-armed giant standing on the topmost log. How he whistles as
he swings his ax! Mr. Wells, does it not impress you?"

"The pioneers must be brothers because of their isolation and peril;
to be brothers means to love one another; to love one another is to
love God. What you see in this fraternity is God. And I want to see
this same beautiful feeling among the Indians."

"I have seen it," said Colonel Zane, to the old missionary. "When I
came out here alone twelve years ago the Indians were peaceable. If
the pioneers had paid for land, as I paid Cornplanter, there would
never have been a border war. But no; the settlers must grasp every
acre they could. Then the Indians rebelled; then the Girtys and
their allies spread discontent, and now the border is a bloody
warpath."

"Have the Jesuit missionaries accomplished anything with these war
tribes?" inquired Jim.

"No; their work has been chiefly among the Indians near Detroit and
northward. The Hurons, Delawares, Shawnees and other western tribes
have been demoralized by the French traders' rum, and incited to
fierce hatred by Girty and his renegades. Your work at Gnaddenhutten
must be among these hostile tribes, and it is surely a hazardous
undertaking."

"My life is God's," murmured the old minister. No fear could assail
his steadfast faith.

"Jim, it strikes me you'd be more likely to impress these Indians
Colonel Zane spoke of if you'd get a suit like mine and wear a knife
and tomahawk," interposed Joe, cheerfully. "Then, if you couldn't
convert, you could scalp them."

"Well, well, let us hope for the best," said Colonel Zane, when the
laughter had subsided. "We'll go over to dinner now. Come, all of
you. Jonathan, bring Wetzel. Betty, make him come, if you can."

As the party slowly wended its way toward the colonel's cabin Jim
and Nell found themselves side by side. They had not exchanged a
word since the evening previous, when Jim had kissed her. Unable to
look at each other now, and finding speech difficult, they walked in
embarrassed silence.

"Doesn't Joe look splendid in his hunting suit?" asked Jim,
presently.

"I hadn't noticed. Yes; he looks well," replied Nell, carelessly.
She was too indifferent to be natural.

"Are you angry with him?"

"Certainly not."

Jim was always simple and frank in his relations with women. He had
none of his brother's fluency of speech, with neither confidence,
boldness nor understanding of the intricate mazes of a woman's
moods.

"But—you are angry with—me?" he whispered.

Nell flushed to her temples, yet she did not raise her eyes nor
reply.

"It was a terrible thing for me to do," went on Jim, hesitatingly.
"I don't know why I took advantage—of—of your mistaking me for
Joe. If you only hadn't held up your mouth. No—I don't mean
that—of course you didn't. But—well, I couldn't help it. I'm
guilty. I have thought of little else. Some wonderful feeling has
possessed me ever since—since—"

"What has Joe been saying about me?" demanded Nell, her eyes burning
like opals.

"Why, hardly anything," answered Jim, haltingly. "I took him to task
about—about what I considered might be wrong to you. Joe has never
been very careful of young ladies' feelings, and I thought—well, it
was none of my business. He said he honestly cared for you, that you
had taught him how unworthy he was of a good woman. But he's wrong
there. Joe is wild and reckless, yet his heart is a well of gold. He
is a diamond in the rough. Just now he is possessed by wild notions
of hunting Indians and roaming through the forests; but he'll come
round all right. I wish I could tell you how much he has done for
me, how much I love him, how I know him! He can be made worthy of
any woman. He will outgrow this fiery, daring spirit, and
then—won't you help him?"

"I will, if he will let me," softly whispered Nell, irresistibly
drawn by the strong, earnest love thrilling in his voice.