Zane Grey (3 page)

"Don't touch that dog; he'll tear your leg off!" Joe cried sharply.

"Say, pard, cum an' hev' a drink," replied the teamster, with a
friendly leer.

"I don't drink," answered Joe, curtly, and moved on.

The teamster growled something of which only the word "parson" was
intelligible to the brothers. Joe stopped and looked back. His gray
eyes seemed to contract; they did not flash, but shaded and lost
their warmth. Jim saw the change, and, knowing what it signified,
took Joe's arm as he gently urged him away. The teamster's shrill
voice could be heard until they entered the fur-trader's cabin.

An old man with long, white hair flowing from beneath his
wide-brimmed hat, sat near the door holding one of Mrs. Wentz's
children on his knee. His face was deep-lined and serious; but
kindness shone from his mild blue eyes.

"Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has come
in place of the man you expected from Williamsburg."

The old minister arose, and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at
the new-comer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in his
quick scrutiny of the other's face, for his lips were wreathed with
a smile of welcome.

"Mr. Downs, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me.
I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who is young enough
to carry on the work when my days are done."

"I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in my
power," answered Jim, earnestly.

"We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers who
claim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fierce
savages Christianity; but I know it can be done, and my heart is in
the work. I have no fear; yet I would not conceal from you, young
man, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must be
great."

"I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the
redman. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature and
believe the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war,
and I want to help him into other paths."

Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs.
Wentz. The fur-trader's wife was glowing with pleasure. She held in
her hand several rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener,
a young woman, that the toys were for the children, having been
brought all the way from Williamsburg.

"Kate, where's Nell?" Joe asked of the girl.

"She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz."

Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow,
easy and consistent with her large, full, form. Her brown eyes and
hair contrasted sharply with Nell's. The greatest difference in the
sisters lay in that Nell's face was sparkling and full of the fire
of her eager young life, while Kate's was calm, like the unruffled
surface of a deep lake.

"That's Jim, my brother. We're going with you," said Joe.

"Are you? I'm glad," answered the girl, looking at the handsome
earnest face of the young minister.

"Your brother's like you for all the world," whispered Mrs. Wentz.

"He does look like you," said Kate, with her slow smile.

"Which means you think, or hope, that that is all," retorted Joe
laughingly. "Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God for
Jim!"

He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look at
him wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; never
until then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A
moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the children
who were playing with the trinkets; while Kate mused over the young
man's remark, and began studying his, half-averted face. She felt
warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he had
given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with
much of this wild and reckless boy's behavior. To Kate he had always
seemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet here
was proof that Master Joe loved his brother.

The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by a
low cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, and
then a husky voice:

"Hol' on, my purty lass."'

Joe took two long strides, and was on the door-step. He saw Nell
struggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster.

"I'll jes' hev' to kiss this lassie fer luck," he said in a tone of
good humor.

At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth,
the grizzled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell.

"Let me go!" cried Nell.

Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him, and was bending
his red, moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped his
neck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth
opened, his tongue protruded; his eyes seemed starting from their
sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flung
with a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in a heap on
the grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple.

"What's this?" cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up,
and arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman.

"It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn't hev' did better myself, and I
was comin' for that purpose," said the frontiersman. "Leffler was
tryin' to kiss the lass. He's been drunk fer two days. That little
girl's sweetheart kin handle himself some, now you take my word on
it."

"I'll agree Leff's bad when he's drinkin'," answered the fur-trader,
and to Joe he added, "He's liable to look you up when he comes
around."

"Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I'll kill him," Joe cried
in a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster,
and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance
was cutting, as if with the flash of cold gray steel. "Nell, I'm
sorry I wasn't round sooner," he said, apologetically, as if it was
owing to his neglect the affair had happened.

As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was the
third time he had injured a man because of her. She had on several
occasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had
always frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were inside
the building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly,
and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry with
him; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He
had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he
considered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet
and subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fear
because of his strength was mingled with her pride in it. Any other
girl would have been only too glad to have such a champion; she
would, too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud.

"Look here, Nell, you haven't spoken to me," Joe cried suddenly,
seeming to understand that she had not even heard what he said, so
engrossed had she been with her reflections. "Are you mad with me
yet?" he continued. "Why, Nell, I'm in—I love you!"

Evidently Joe thought such fact a sufficient reason for any act on
his part. His tender tone conquered Nell, and she turned to him with
flushed cheeks and glad eyes.

"I wasn't angry at all," she whispered, and then, eluding the arm he
extended, she ran into the other room.

Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplating
two quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One
he recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour
that morning; the red son of the woods was wrapped in slumber. He
had placed under his head a many-hued homespun shirt which the young
preacher had given him; but while asleep his head had rolled off
this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attracting
the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had
found lodgment in Joe's fertile brain.

The other sleeper was a short, stout man whom Joe had seen several
times before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced in
his mind, and was the butt of the settlers' jokes, while the
children called him "Loorey." He, like the Indian, was sleeping off
the effects of the previous night's dissipation.

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an
expression on his face which told that he thought in them were great
possibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared
within the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveying
the village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a small
basket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simply
contained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as the Indians
used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the
fur-trader's wares.

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were
busy with their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckled
when there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the
Indians' gaudy shirt, and, lifting Loorey, slipped it around him,
shoved the latter's arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it in
front. He streaked the round face with red and white paint, and
then, dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the Indian's
head-dress, stuck it in Loorey's thick shock of hair. It was all
done in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went down
to the river.

Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf where Jeff
Lynn, the grizzled old frontiersman, busied himself with
preparations for the raft-journey down the Ohio. Lynn had been
employed to guide the missionary's party to Fort Henry, and, as the
brothers had acquainted him with their intention of accompanying the
travelers, he had constructed a raft for them and their horses.

Joe laughed when he saw the dozen two-foot logs fastened together,
upon which a rude shack had been erected for shelter. This slight
protection from sun and storm was all the brothers would have on
their long journey.

Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with some
thought for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hut
was raised so that the waves which broke over the logs could not
reach it. Taking a peep into the structure, Joe was pleased to see
that Nell and Kate would be comfortable, even during a storm. A
buffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior a cozy, warm
look. He observed that some of the girls' luggage was already on
board.

"When'll we be off?" he inquired.

"Sun-up," answered Lynn, briefly.

"I'm glad of that. I like to be on the go in the early morning,"
said Joe, cheerfully.

"Most folks from over Eastways ain't in a hurry to tackle the
river," replied Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply.

"It's a beautiful river, and I'd like to sail on it from here to
where it ends, and then come back to go again," Joe replied, warmly.

"In a hurry to be a-goin'? I'll allow you'll see some slim red
devils, with feathers in their hair, slipping among the trees along
the bank, and mebbe you'll hear the ping which's made when whistlin'
lead hits. Perhaps you'll want to be back here by termorrer
sundown."

"Not I," said Joe, with his short, cool laugh.

The old frontiersman slowly finished his task of coiling up a rope
of wet cowhide, and then, producing a dirty pipe, he took a live
ember from the fire and placed it on the bowl. He sucked slowly at
the pipe-stem, and soon puffed out a great cloud of smoke. Sitting
on a log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long,
heavy limbs of the young man, with a keen appreciation of their
symmetry and strength. Agility, endurance and courage were more to a
borderman than all else; a new-comer on the frontier was always
"sized-up" with reference to these "points," and respected in
proportion to the measure in which he possessed them.

Old Jeff Lynn, riverman, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at his
pipe while he mused thus to himself: "Mebbe I'm wrong in takin' a
likin' to this youngster so sudden. Mebbe it's because I'm fond of
his sunny-haired lass, an' ag'in mebbe it's because I'm gettin' old
an' likes young folks better'n I onct did. Anyway, I'm kinder
thinkin, if this young feller gits worked out, say fer about twenty
pounds less, he'll lick a whole raft-load of wild-cats."

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put
together, and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. At
length he seated himself beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions;
to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, the
Indians—everything in connection with this wild life; but already
he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means
of closing their lips.

"Ever handle the long rifle?" asked Lynn, after a silence.

"Yes," answered Joe, simply.

"Ever shoot anythin'?" the frontiersman questioned, when he had
taken four or five puffs at his pipe.

"Squirrels."

"Good practice, shootin' squirrels," observed Jeff, after another
silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined.
"Kin ye hit one—say, a hundred yards?"

"Yes, but not every time in the head," returned Joe. There was an
apologetic tone in his answer.

Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowly
pursuing his line of thought. After Joe's last remark he returned
his pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco-pouch. He tore off
a large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then he
held out the little buckskin sack to Joe.

"Hev' a chaw," he said.

To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a borderman's guarantee of
friendliness toward that person.

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a little
nearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly
this was the borderman's way of oiling up his conversational
machinery. At all events, he commenced to talk.