Zane Grey (15 page)

The old chief slowly advanced toward the Christian Indians. He laid
aside his knife and tomahawk, and then his eagle plumes and
war-bonnet. Bareheaded, he seated himself among the converted
redmen. They began chanting in low, murmuring tones.

Amid the breathless silence that followed this act of such great
significance, Wingenund advanced toward the knoll with slow, stately
step. His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn; his glance
alone revealed the passion that swayed him.

"Wingenund's ears are keen; they have heard a feather fall in the
storm; now they hear a soft-voiced thrush. Wingenund thunders to his
people, to his friends, to the chiefs of other tribes: 'Do not bury
the hatchet!' The young White Father's tongue runs smooth like the
gliding brook; it sings as the thrush calls its mate. Listen; but
wait, wait! Let time prove his beautiful tale; let the moons go by
over the Village of Peace.

"Wingenund does not flaunt his wisdom. He has grown old among his
warriors; he loves them; he fears for them. The dream of the
palefaces' beautiful forest glimmers as the rainbow glows over the
laughing falls of the river. The dream of the paleface is too
beautiful to come true. In the days of long ago, when Wingenund's
forefathers heard not the paleface's ax, they lived in love and
happiness such as the young White Father dreams may come again. They
waged no wars. A white dove sat in every wigwam. The lands were
theirs and they were rich. The paleface came with his leaden death,
his burning firewater, his ringing ax, and the glory of the redmen
faded forever.

"Wingenund seeks not to inflame his braves to anger. He is sick of
blood-spilling—not from fear; for Wingenund cannot feel fear. But
he asks his people to wait. Remember, the gifts of the paleface ever
contained a poisoned arrow. Wingenund's heart is sore. The day of
the redman is gone. His sun is setting. Wingenund feels already the
gray shades of evening."

He stopped one long moment as if to gather breath for his final
charge to his listeners. Then with a magnificent gesture he
thundered:

"Is the Delaware a fool? When Wingenund can cross unarmed to the Big
Water he shall change his mind. When Deathwind ceases to blow his
bloody trail over the fallen leaves Wingenund will believe."

As the summer waned, each succeeding day, with its melancholy calm,
its changing lights and shades, its cool, damp evening winds,
growing more and more suggestive of autumn, the little colony of
white people in the Village of Peace led busy, eventful lives.

Upwards of fifty Indians, several of them important chiefs, had
become converted since the young missionary began preaching.
Heckewelder declared that this was a wonderful showing, and if it
could be kept up would result in gaining a hold on the Indian tribes
which might not be shaken. Heckewelder had succeeded in interesting
the savages west of the Village of Peace to the extent of permitting
him to establish missionary posts in two other localities—one near
Goshhocking, a Delaware town; and one on the Muskingong, the
principal river running through central Ohio. He had, with his
helpers, Young and Edwards, journeyed from time to time to these
points, preaching, making gifts, and soliciting help from chiefs.

The most interesting feature, perhaps, of the varied life of the
missionary party was a rivalry between Young and Edwards for the
elder Miss Wells. Usually Nell's attractiveness appealed more to men
than Kate's; however, in this instance, although the sober teachers
of the gospel admired Nell's winsome beauty, they fell in love with
Kate. The missionaries were both under forty, and good, honest men,
devoted to the work which had engrossed them for years. Although
they were ardent lovers, certainly they were not picturesque. Two
homelier men could hardly have been found. Moreover, the sacrifice
of their lives to missionary work had taken them far from the
companionship of women of their own race, so that they lacked the
ease of manner which women like to see in men. Young and Edwards
were awkward, almost uncouth. Embarrassment would not have done
justice to their state of feeling while basking in the shine of
Kate's quiet smile. They were happy, foolish, and speechless.

If Kate shared in the merriment of the others—Heckewelder could not
conceal his, and Nell did not try very hard to hide hers—she never
allowed a suspicion of it to escape. She kept the easy, even tenor
of her life, always kind and gracious in her quaint way, and
precisely the same to both her lovers. No doubt she well knew that
each possessed, under all his rough exterior, a heart of gold.

One day the genial Heckewelder lost, or pretended to lose, his
patience.

"Say, you worthy gentlemen are becoming ornamental instead of
useful. All this changing of coats, trimming of mustaches, and
eloquent sighing doesn't seem to have affected the young lady. I've
a notion to send you both to Maumee town, one hundred miles away.
This young lady is charming, I admit, but if she is to keep on
seriously hindering the work of the Moravian Mission I must object.
As for that matter, I might try conclusions myself. I'm as young as
either of you, and, I flatter myself, much handsomer. You'll have a
dangerous rival presently. Settle it! You can't both have her;
settle it!"

This outburst from their usually kind leader placed the earnest but
awkward gentlemen in a terrible plight.

On the afternoon following the crisis Heckewelder took Mr. Wells to
one of the Indian shops, and Jim and Nell went canoeing. Young and
Edwards, after conferring for one long, trying hour, determined on
settling the question.

Young was a pale, slight man, very homely except when he smiled. His
smile not only broke up the plainness of his face, but seemed to
chase away a serious shadow, allowing his kindly, gentle spirit to
shine through. He was nervous, and had a timid manner. Edwards was
his opposite, being a man of robust frame, with a heavy face, and a
manner that would have suggested self-confidence in another man.

They were true and tried friends.

"Dave, I couldn't ask her," said Young, trembling at the very
thought. "Besides, there's no hope for me. I know it. That's why I'm
afraid, why I don't want to ask her. What'd such a glorious creature
see in a poor, puny little thing like me?"

"George, you're not over-handsome," admitted Dave, shaking his head.
"But you can never tell about women. Sometimes they like even
little, insignificant fellows. Don't be too scared about asking her.
Besides, it will make it easier for me. You might tell her about
me—you know, sort of feel her out, so I'd—"

Dave's voice failed him here; but he had said enough, and that was
most discouraging to poor George. Dave was so busy screwing up his
courage that he forgot all about his friend.

"No; I couldn't," gasped George, falling into a chair. He was
ghastly pale. "I couldn't ask her to accept me, let alone do another
man's wooing. She thinks more of you. She'll accept you."

"You really think so?" whispered Dave, nervously.

"I know she will. You're such a fine, big figure of a man. She'll
take you, and I'll be glad. This fever and fretting has about
finished me. When she's yours I'll not be so bad. I'll be happy in
your happiness. But, Dave, you'll let me see her occasionally, won't
you? Go! Hurry—get it over!"

"Yes; we must have it over," replied Dave, getting up with a brave,
effort. Truly, if he carried that determined front to his lady-love
he would look like a masterful lover. But when he got to the door he
did not at all resemble a conqueror.

"You're sure she—cares for me?" asked Dave, for the hundredth time.
This time, as always, his friend was faithful and convincing.

"I know she does. Go—hurry. I tell you I can't stand this any
longer," cried George, pushing Dave out of the door.

"You won't go—first?" whispered Dave, clinging to the door.

"I won't go at all. I couldn't ask her—I don't want her—go! Get
out!"

Dave started reluctantly toward the adjoining cabin, from the open
window of which came the song of the young woman who was responsible
for all this trouble. George flung himself on his bed. What a relief
to feel it was all over! He lay there with eves shut for hours, as
it seemed. After a time Dave came in. George leaped to his feet and
saw his friend stumbling over a chair. Somehow, Dave did not look as
usual. He seemed changed, or shrunken, and his face wore a
discomfited, miserable expression.

"Well?" cried George, sharply. Even to his highly excited
imagination this did not seem the proper condition for a victorious
lover.

"She refused—refused me," faltered Dave. "She was very sweet and
kind; said something about being my sister—I don't remember just
what—but she wouldn't have me."

"What did you say to her?" whispered George, a paralyzing hope
almost rendering him speechless.

"I—I told her everything I could think of," replied Dave,
despondently; "even what you said."

"What I said? Dave, what did you tell her I said?"

"Why, you know—about she cared for me—that you were sure of it,
and that you didn't want her—"

"Jackass!" roared George, rising out of his meekness like a lion
roused from slumber.

"Didn't you—say so?" inquired Dave, weakly.

"No! No! No! Idiot!"

As one possessed, George rushed out of the cabin, and a moment later
stood disheveled and frantic before Kate.

"Did that fool say I didn't love you?" he demanded.

Kate looked up, startled; but as an understanding of George's wild
aspect and wilder words dawned upon her, she resumed her usual calm
demeanor. Looking again to see if this passionate young man was
indeed George, she turned her face as she said:

"If you mean Mr. Edwards, yes; I believe he did say as much. Indeed,
from his manner, he seemed to have monopolized all the love near the
Village of Peace."

"But it's not true. I do love you. I love you to distraction. I have
loved you ever since I first saw you. I told Dave that. Heckewelder
knows it; even the Indians know it," cried George, protesting
vehemently against the disparaging allusion to his affections. He
did not realize he was making a most impassioned declaration of
love. When he was quite out of breath he sat down and wiped his
moist brow.

A pink bloom tinged Kate's cheeks, and her eyes glowed with a happy
light; but George never saw these womanly evidences of pleasure.

"Of course I know you don't care for me—"

"Did Mr. Edwards tell you so?" asked Kate, glancing up quickly.

"Why, yes, he has often said he thought that. Indeed, he always
seemed to regard himself as the fortunate object of your affections.
I always believed he was."

"But it wasn't true."

"What?"

"It's not true."

"What's not true?"

"Oh—about my—not caring."

"Kate!" cried George, quite overcome with rapture. He fell over two
chairs getting to her; but he succeeded, and fell on his knees to
kiss her hand.

"Foolish boy! It has been you all the time," whispered Kate, with
her quiet smile.

"Look here, Downs; come to the door. See there," said Heckewelder to
Jim.

Somewhat surprised at Heckewelder's grave tone, Jim got up from the
supper-table and looked out of the door. He saw two tall Indians
pacing to and fro under the maples. It was still early twilight and
light enough to see clearly. One Indian was almost naked; the lithe,
graceful symmetry of his dark figure standing out in sharp contrast
to the gaunt, gaudily-costumed form of the other.

"Silvertip! Girty!" exclaimed Jim, in a low voice.

"Girty I knew, of course; but I was not sure the other was the
Shawnee who captured you and your brother," replied Heckewelder,
drawing Jim into another room.

"What do they mean by loitering around the village? Inquired Jim,
apprehensively. Whenever he heard Girty's name mentioned, or even
thought of him, he remembered with a shudder the renegade's allusion
to the buzzards. Jim never saw one of these carrion birds soaring
overhead but his thoughts instantly reverted to the frontier ruffian
and his horrible craving.

"I don't know," answered Heckewelder. "Girty has been here several
times of late. I saw him conferring with Pipe at Goshhocking. I hope
there's no deviltry afoot. Pipe is a relentless enemy of all
Christians, and Girty is a fiend, a hyena. I think, perhaps, it will
be well for you and the girls to stay indoors while Girty and
Silvertip are in the village."

That evening the entire missionary party were gathered in Mr. Wells'
room. Heckewelder told stories of Indian life; Nell sang several
songs, and Kate told many amusing things said and done by the little
Indian boys in her class at the school. Thus the evening passed
pleasantly for all.

"So next Wednesday I am to perform the great ceremony," remarked
Heckewelder, laying his hand kindly on Young's knee. "We'll
celebrate the first white wedding in the Village of Peace."

Young looked shyly down at his boots; Edwards crossed one leg over
the other, and coughed loudly to hide his embarrassment. Kate wore,
as usual, her pensive smile; Nell's eyes twinkled, and she was about
to speak, when Heckewelder's quizzical glance in her direction made
her lips mute.

"I hope I'll have another wedding on my hands soon," he said
placidly.

This ordinary remark had an extraordinary effect. Nell turned with
burning cheeks and looked out of the window. Jim frowned fiercely
and bit his lips. Edwards began to laugh, and even Mr. Wells'
serious face lapsed into a smile.

"I mean I've picked out a nice little Delaware squaw for Dave," said
Heckewelder, seeing his badinage had somehow gone amiss.

"Oh-h!" suddenly cried Nell, in shuddering tones.