Zane Grey (26 page)

Nell mastered her grief by an astonishing reserve of strength.
Undoubtedly it was that marvelously merciful power which enables a
person, for the love of others, to bear up under a cross, or even to
fight death himself. As Young had his bright-eyed Indian boys and
girls, who had learned Christianity from him, and whose future
depended on him, so Nell had her aged and weakening uncle to care
for and cherish.

Jim's attentions to her before the deep affliction had not been
slight, but now they were so marked as to be unmistakable. In some
way Jim seemed changed since he had returned from the Delaware
encampment. Although he went back to the work with his old
aggressiveness, he was not nearly so successful as he had been
before. Whether or not this was his fault, he took his failure
deeply to heart. There was that in his tenderness which caused Nell
to regard him, in one sense, as she did her uncle. Jim, too, leaned
upon her, and she accepted his devotion where once she had repelled
it. She had unconsciously betrayed a great deal when she had turned
so tenderly to him in the first moments after her recognition, and
he remembered it. He did not speak of love to her; he let a thousand
little acts of kindness, a constant thoughtfulness of her plead his
cause.

The days succeeding Heckewelder's departure were remarkable for
several reasons. Although the weather was enticing, the number of
visiting Indians gradually decreased. Not a runner from any tribe
came into the village, and finally the day dawned when not a single
Indian from the outlying towns was present to hear the preaching.

Jim spoke, as usual. After several days had passed and none but
converted Indians made up the congregation, the young man began to
be uneasy in mind.

Young and Edwards were unable to account for the unusual absence
from worship, yet they did not see in it anything to cause especial
concern. Often there had been days without visitation to the Village
of Peace.

Finally Jim went to consult Glickhican. He found the Delaware at
work in the potato patch. The old Indian dropped his hoe and bowed
to the missionary. A reverential and stately courtesy always
characterized the attitude of the Indians toward the young white
father.

"Glickhican, can you tell me why no Indians have come here lately?"

The old chief shook his head.

"Does their absence signify ill to the Village of Peace?"

"Glickhican saw a blackbird flitting in the shadow of the moon. The
bird hovered above the Village of Peace, but sang no song."

The old Delaware vouchsafed no other than this strange reply.

Jim returned to his cabin decidedly worried. He did not at all like
Glickhican's answer. The purport of it seemed to be that a cloud was
rising on the bright horizon of the Christian village. He confided
his fears to Young and Edwards. After discussing the situation, the
three missionaries decided to send for Heckewelder. He was the
leader of the Mission; he knew more of Indian craft than any of
them, and how to meet it. If this calm in the heretofore busy life
of the Mission was the lull before a storm, Heckewelder should be
there with his experience and influence.

"For nearly ten years Heckewelder has anticipated trouble from
hostile savages," said Edwards, "but so far he has always averted
it. As you know, he has confined himself mostly to propitiating the
Indians, and persuading them to be friendly, and listen to us. We'll
send for him."

Accordingly they dispatched a runner to Goshocking. In due time the
Indian returned with the startling news that Heckewelder had left
the Indian village days before, as had, in fact, all the savages
except the few converted ones. The same held true in the case of
Sandusky, the adjoining town. Moreover, it had been impossible to
obtain any news in regard to Zeisberger.

The missionaries were now thoroughly alarmed, and knew not what to
do. They concealed the real state of affairs from Nell and her
uncle, desiring to keep them from anxiety as long as possible. That
night the three teachers went to bed with heavy hearts.

The following morning at daybreak, Jim was awakened from a sound
sleep by some one calling at his window. He got up to learn who it
was, and, in the gray light, saw Edwards standing outside.

"What's the matter?" questioned Jim, hurriedly.

"Matter enough. Hurry. Get into your clothes," replied Edwards. "As
soon as you are dressed, quietly awaken Mr. Wells and Nellie, but do
not frighten them."

"But what's the trouble?" queried Jim, as he began to dress.

"The Indians are pouring into the village as thickly as flying
leaves in autumn."

Edwards' exaggerated assertion proved to be almost literally true.
No sooner had the rising sun dispelled the mist, than it shone on
long lines of marching braves, mounted warriors, hundreds of
packhorses approaching from the forests. The orderly procession was
proof of a concerted plan on the part of the invaders.

From their windows the missionaries watched with bated breath; with
wonder and fear they saw the long lines of dusky forms. When they
were in the clearing the savages busied themselves with their packs.
Long rows of teepees sprung up as if by magic. The savages had come
to stay! The number of incoming visitors did not lessen until noon,
when a few straggling groups marked the end of the invading host.
Most significant of all was the fact that neither child, maiden, nor
squaw accompanied this army.

Jim appraised the number at six or seven hundred, more than had ever
before visited the village at one time. They were mostly Delawares,
with many Shawnees, and a few Hurons among them. It was soon
evident, however, that for the present, at least, the Indians did
not intend any hostile demonstration. They were quiet in manner, and
busy about their teepees and camp-fires, but there was an absence of
the curiosity that had characterized the former sojourns of Indians
at the peaceful village.

After a brief consultation with his brother missionaries, who all
were opposed to his preaching that afternoon, Jim decided he would
not deviate from his usual custom. He held the afternoon service,
and spoke to the largest congregation that had ever sat before him.
He was surprised to find that the sermon, which heretofore so
strongly impressed the savages, did not now arouse the slightest
enthusiasm. It was followed by a brooding silence of a boding,
ominous import.

Four white men, dressed in Indian garb, had been the most attentive
listeners to Jim's sermon. He recognized three as Simon Girty,
Elliott and Deering, the renegades, and he learned from Edwards that
the other was the notorious McKee. These men went through the
village, stalking into the shops and cabins, and acting as do men
who are on a tour of inspection.

So intrusive was their curiosity that Jim hurried back to Mr. Well's
cabin and remained there in seclusion. Of course, by this time Nell
and her uncle knew of the presence of the hostile savages. They were
frightened, and barely regained their composure when the young man
assured them he was certain they had no real cause for fear.

Jim was sitting at the doorstep with Mr. Wells and Edwards when
Girty, with his comrades, came toward them. The renegade leader was
a tall, athletic man, with a dark, strong face. There was in it none
of the brutality and ferocity which marked his brother's visage.
Simon Girty appeared keen, forceful, authoritative, as, indeed, he
must have been to have attained the power he held in the
confederated tribes. His companions presented wide contrasts.
Elliott was a small, spare man of cunning, vindictive aspect; McKee
looked, as might have been supposed from his reputation, and Deering
was a fit mate for the absent Girty. Simon appeared to be a man of
some intelligence, who had used all his power to make that position
a great one. The other renegades were desperadoes.

"Where's Heckewelder?" asked Girty, curtly, as he stopped before the
missionaries.

"He started out for the Indian towns on the Muskingong," answered
Edwards. "But we have had no word from either him or Zeisberger."

"When d'ye expect him?"

"I can't say. Perhaps to-morrow, and then, again, maybe not for a
week."

"He is in authority here, ain't he?"

"Yes; but he left me in charge of the Mission. Can I serve you in
any way?"

"I reckon not," said the renegade, turning to his companions. They
conversed in low tones for a moment. Presently McKee, Elliott and
Deering went toward the newly erected teepees.

"Girty, do you mean us any ill will?" earnestly asked Edwards. He
had met the man on more than one occasion, and had no hesitation
about questioning him.

"I can't say as I do," answered the renegade, and those who heard
him believed him. "But I'm agin this redskin preachin', an' hev been
all along. The injuns are mad clear through, an' I ain't sayin' I've
tried to quiet 'em any. This missionary work has got to be stopped,
one way or another. Now what I waited here to say is this: I ain't
quite forgot I was white once, an' believe you fellars are honest.
I'm willin' to go outer my way to help you git away from here."

"Go away?" echoed Edwards.

"That's it," answered Girty, shouldering his rifle.

"But why? We are perfectly harmless; we are only doing good and hurt
no one. Why should we go?"

"'Cause there's liable to be trouble," said the renegade,
significantly.

Edwards turned slowly to Mr. Wells and Jim. The old missionary was
trembling visibly. Jim was pale; but more with anger than fear.

"Thank you, Girty, but we'll stay," and Jim's voice rang clear.

"Jim, come out here," called Edwards at the window of Mr. Wells'
cabin.

The young man arose from the breakfast table, and when outside found
Edwards standing by the door with an Indian brave. He was a Wyandot
lightly built, lithe and wiry, easily recognizable as an Indian
runner. When Jim appeared the man handed him a small packet. He
unwound a few folds of some oily skin to find a square piece of
birch bark, upon which were scratched the following words:

"Rev. J. Downs. Greeting.

"Your brother is alive and safe. Whispering Winds rescued him by
taking him as her husband. Leave the Village of Peace. Pipe and Half
King have been influenced by Girty.

"Zane."

"Now, what do you think of that?" exclaimed Jim, handing the message
to Edwards. "Thank Heaven, Joe was saved!"

"Zane? That must be the Zane who married Tarhe's daughter," answered
Edwards, when he had read the note. "I'm rejoiced to hear of your
brother."

"Joe married to that beautiful Indian maiden! Well, of all wonderful
things," mused Jim. "What will Nell say?"

"We're getting warnings enough. Do you appreciate that?" asked
Edwards. "'Pipe and Half King have been influenced by Girty.'
Evidently the writer deemed that brief sentence of sufficient
meaning."

"Edwards, we're preachers. We can't understand such things. I am
learning, at least something every day. Colonel Zane advised us not
to come here. Wetzel said, 'Go back to Fort Henry.' Girty warned us,
and now comes this peremptory order from Isaac Zane."

"Well?"

"It means that these border men see what we will not admit. We
ministers have such hope and trust in God that we can not realize
the dangers of this life. I fear that our work has been in vain."

"Never. We have already saved many souls. Do not be discouraged."

All this time the runner had stood near at hand straight as an
arrow. Presently Edwards suggested that the Wyandot was waiting to
be questioned, and accordingly he asked the Indian if he had
anything further to communicate.

"Huron—go by—paleface." Here he held up both hands and shut his
fists several times, evidently enumerating how many white men he had
seen. "Here—when—high—sun."

With that he bounded lightly past them, and loped off with an even,
swinging stride.

"What did he mean?" asked Jim, almost sure he had not heard the
runner aright.

"He meant that a party of white men are approaching, and will be
here by noon. I never knew an Indian runner to carry unreliable
information. We have joyful news, both in regard to your brother,
and the Village of Peace. Let us go in to tell the others."

The Huron runner's report proved to be correct. Shortly before noon
signals from Indian scouts proclaimed the approach of a band of
white men. Evidently Girty's forces had knowledge beforehand of the
proximity of this band, for the signals created no excitement. The
Indians expressed only a lazy curiosity. Soon several Delaware
scouts appeared, escorting a large party of frontiersmen.

These men turned out to be Captain Williamson's force, which had
been out on an expedition after a marauding tribe of Chippewas. This
last named tribe had recently harried the remote settlers, and
committed depredations on the outskirts of the white settlements
eastward. The company was composed of men who had served in the
garrison at Fort Pitt, and hunters and backwoodsmen from Yellow
Creek and Fort Henry. The captain himself was a typical borderman,
rough and bluff, hardened by long years of border life, and, like
most pioneers, having no more use for an Indian than for a snake. He
had led his party after the marauders, and surprised and slaughtered
nearly all of them. Returning eastward he had passed through
Goshocking, where he learned of the muttering storm rising over the
Village of Peace, and had come more out of curiosity than hope to
avert misfortune.

The advent of so many frontiersmen seemed a godsend to the perplexed
and worried missionaries. They welcomed the newcomers most heartily.
Beds were made in several of the newly erected cabins; the village
was given over for the comfort of the frontiersmen. Edwards
conducted Captain Williamson through the shops and schools, and the
old borderman's weather-beaten face expressed a comical surprise.