Zane Grey (5 page)

"Ye've seen thet big curly birch over thar—thet 'un as bends kind
of sorrowful like. Wal, it used to stand straight an' proud. I've
knowed thet tree all the years I've navigated this river, an' it
seems natural like to me thet it now droops dyin', fer it shades the
grave of as young, an' sweet, an' purty a lass as yerself, Miss
Nell. Rivermen called this island George's Island, 'cause Washington
onct camped here; but of late years the name's got changed, an' the
men say suthin' like this: 'We'll try an' make Milly's birch afore
sundown,' jest as Bill and me hev done to-day. Some years agone I
was comin' up from Fort Henry, an' had on board my slow old scow a
lass named Milly—we never learned her other name. She come to me at
the fort, an' tells as how her folks hed been killed by Injuns, an'
she wanted to git back to Pitt to meet her sweetheart. I was ag'in
her comin' all along, an' fust off I said 'No.' But when I seen
tears in her blue eyes, an' she puts her little hand on mine, I jest
wilted, an' says to Jim Blair, 'She goes.' Wal, jest as might hev
been expected—an' fact is I looked fer it—we wus tackled by
redskins. Somehow, Jim Girty got wind of us hevin' a lass aboard,
an' he ketched up with us jest below here. It's a bad place, called
Shawnee Rock, an' I'll show it to ye termorrer. The renegade, with
his red devils, attacked us thar, an' we had a time gittin' away.
Milly wus shot. She lived fer awhile, a couple of days, an' all the
time wus so patient, an' sweet, an' brave with thet renegade's
bullet in her—fer he shot her when he seen he couldn't capture
her—thet thar wusn't a blame man of us who wouldn't hev died to
grant her prayer, which wus that she could live to onct more see her
lover."

There was a long silence, during which the old frontiersman sat
gazing into the fire with sad eyes.

"We couldn't do nuthin', an' we buried her thar under thet birch,
where she smiled her last sad, sweet smile, an' died. Ever since
then the river has been eatn' away at this island. It's only half as
big as it wus onct, an' another flood will take away this sand-bar,
these few birches—an' Milly's grave."

The old frontiersman's story affected all his listeners. The elder
minister bowed his head and prayed that no such fate might overtake
his nieces. The young minister looked again, as he had many times
that day, at Nell's winsome face. The girls cast grave glances at
the drooping birch, and their bright tears glistened in the
fire-glow. Once more Joe's eyes glinted with that steely flash, and
as he gazed out over the wide, darkening expanse of water his face
grew cold and rigid.

"I'll allow I might hev told a more cheerful story, an' I'll do so
next time; but I wanted ye all, particular the lasses, to know
somethin' of the kind of country ye're goin' into. The frontier
needs women; but jist yit it deals hard with them. An' Jim Girty,
with more of his kind, ain't dead yit."

"Why don't some one kill him?" was Joe's sharp question.

"Easier said than done, lad. Jim Girty is a white traitor, but he's
a cunnin' an' fierce redskin in his ways an' life. He knows the
woods as a crow does, an' keeps outer sight 'cept when he's least
expected. Then ag'in, he's got Simon Girty, his brother, an' almost
the whole redskin tribe behind him. Injuns stick close to a white
man that has turned ag'inst his own people, an' Jim Girty hain't
ever been ketched. Howsumever, I heard last trip thet he'd been
tryin' some of his tricks round Fort Henry, an' thet Wetzel is on
his trail. Wal, if it's so thet Lew Wetzel is arter him, I wouldn't
give a pinch o' powder fer the white-redskin's chances of a long
life."

No one spoke, and Jeff, after knocking the ashes from his pipe, went
down to the raft, returning shortly afterward with his blanket. This
he laid down and rolled himself in it. Presently from under his
coon-skin cap came the words:

"Wal, I've turned in, an' I advise ye all to do the same."

All save Joe and Nell acted on Jeff's suggestion. For a long time
the young couple sat close together on the bank, gazing at the
moonlight on the river.

The night was perfect. A cool wind fanned the dying embers of the
fire and softly stirred the leaves. Earlier in the evening a single
frog had voiced his protest against the loneliness; but now his
dismal croak was no longer heard. A snipe, belated in his feeding,
ran along the sandy shore uttering his tweet-tweet, and his little
cry, breaking in so softly on the silence, seemed only to make more
deeply felt the great vast stillness of the night.

Joe's arm was around Nell. She had demurred at first, but he gave no
heed to her slight resistance, and finally her head rested against
his shoulder. There was no need of words.

Joe had a pleasurable sense of her nearness, and there was a delight
in the fragrance of her hair as it waved against his cheek; but just
then love was not uppermost in his mind. All day he had been silent
under the force of an emotion which he could not analyze. Some
power, some feeling in which the thought of Nell had no share, was
drawing him with irresistible strength. Nell had just begun to
surrender to him in the sweetness of her passion; and yet even with
that knowledge knocking reproachfully at his heart, he could not
help being absorbed in the shimmering water, in the dark reflection
of the trees, the gloom and shadow of the forest.

Presently he felt her form relax in his arms; then her soft regular
breathing told him she had fallen asleep and he laughed low to
himself. How she would pout on the morrow when he teased her about
it! Then, realizing that she was tired with her long day's journey,
he reproached himself for keeping her from the needed rest, and
instantly decided to carry her to the raft. Yet such was the novelty
of the situation that he yielded to its charm, and did not go at
once. The moonlight found bright threads in her wavy hair; it shone
caressingly on her quiet face, and tried to steal under the downcast
lashes.

Joe made a movement to rise with her, when she muttered indistinctly
as if speaking to some one. He remembered then she had once told him
that she talked in her sleep, and how greatly it annoyed her. He
might hear something more with which to tease her; so he listened.

"Yes—uncle—I will go—Kate, we must—go. . ."

Another interval of silence, then more murmurings. He distinguished
his own name, and presently she called clearly, as if answering some
inward questioner.

"I—love him—yes—I love Joe—he has mastered me. Yet I wish he
were—like Jim—Jim who looked at me—so—with his deep eyes—and
I. . . ."

Joe lifted her as if she were a baby, and carrying her down to the
raft, gently laid her by her sleeping sister.

The innocent words which he should not have heard were like a blow.
What she would never have acknowledged in her waking hours had been
revealed in her dreams. He recalled the glance of Jim's eyes as it
had rested on Nell many times that day, and now these things were
most significant.

He found at the end of the island a great, mossy stone. On this he
climbed, and sat where the moonlight streamed upon him. Gradually
that cold bitterness died out from his face, as it passed from his
heart, and once more he became engrossed in the silver sheen on the
water, the lapping of the waves on the pebbly beach, and in that
speaking, mysterious silence of the woods.

When the first faint rays of red streaked over the eastern
hill-tops, and the river mist arose from the water in a vapory
cloud, Jeff Lynn rolled out of his blanket, stretched his long
limbs, and gave a hearty call to the morning. His cheerful welcome
awakened all the voyagers except Joe, who had spent the night in
watching and the early morning in fishing.

"Wal, I'll be darned," ejaculated Jeff as he saw Joe. "Up afore me,
an' ketched a string of fish."

"What are they?" asked Joe, holding up several bronze-backed fish.

"Bass—black bass, an' thet big feller is a lammin' hefty 'un. How'd
ye ketch 'em?"

"I fished for them."

"Wal, so it 'pears," growled Jeff, once more reluctantly yielding to
his admiration for the lad. "How'd ye wake up so early?"

"I stayed up all night. I saw three deer swim from the mainland, but
nothing else came around."

"Try yer hand at cleanin' 'em fer breakfast," continued Jeff,
beginning to busy himself with preparations for that meal. "Wal,
wal, if he ain't surprisin'! He'll do somethin' out here on the
frontier, sure as I'm a born sinner," he muttered to himself,
wagging his head in his quaint manner.

Breakfast over, Jeff transferred the horses to the smaller raft,
which he had cut loose from his own, and, giving a few directions to
Bill, started down-stream with Mr. Wells and the girls.

The rafts remained close together for a while, but as the current
quickened and was more skillfully taken advantage of by Jeff, the
larger raft gained considerable headway, gradually widening the gap
between the two.

All day they drifted. From time to time Joe and Jim waved their
hands to the girls; but the greater portion of their attention was
given to quieting the horses. Mose, Joe's big white dog, retired in
disgust to the hut, where he watched and dozed by turns. He did not
fancy this kind of voyaging. Bill strained his sturdy arms all day
on the steering-oar.

About the middle of the afternoon Joe observed that the hills grew
more rugged and precipitous, and the river ran faster. He kept a
constant lookout for the wall of rock which marked the point of
danger. When the sun had disappeared behind the hills, he saw ahead
a gray rock protruding from the green foliage. It was ponderous,
overhanging, and seemed to frown down on the river. This was Shawnee
Rock. Joe looked long at the cliff, and wondered if there was now an
Indian scout hidden behind the pines that skirted the edge.
Prominent on the top of the bluff a large, dead tree projected its
hoary, twisted branches.

Bill evidently saw the landmark, for he stopped in his monotonous
walk to and fro across the raft, and pushing his oar amidships he
looked ahead for the other raft. The figure of the tall frontiersman
could be plainly seen as he labored at the helm.

The raft disappeared round a bend, and as it did so Joe saw a white
scarf waved by Nell.

Bill worked the clumsy craft over toward the right shore where the
current was more rapid. He pushed with all his strength, and when
the oar had reached its widest sweep, he lifted it and ran back
across the raft for another push. Joe scanned the river ahead. He
saw no rapids; only rougher water whirling over some rocks. They
were where the channel narrowed and ran close to the right-hand
bank. Under a willow-flanked ledge was a sand-bar. To Joe there
seemed nothing hazardous in drifting through this pass.

"Bad place ahead," said Bill, observing Joe's survey of the river.

"It doesn't look so," replied Joe.

"A raft ain't a boat. We could pole a boat. You has to hev water to
float logs, an' the river's run out considerable. I'm only afeerd
fer the horses. If we hit or drag, they might plunge around a bit."

When the raft passed into the head of the bend it struck the rocks
several times, but finally gained the channel safely, and everything
seemed propitious for an easy passage.

But, greatly to Bill's surprise, the wide craft was caught directly
in the channel, and swung round so that the steering-oar pointed
toward the opposite shore. The water roared a foot deep over the
logs.

"Hold hard on the horses!" yelled Bill. "Somethin's wrong. I never
seen a snag here."

The straining mass of logs, insecurely fastened together, rolled and
then pitched loose again, but the short delay had been fatal to the
steering apparatus.

Joe would have found keen enjoyment in the situation, had it not
been for his horse, Lance. The thoroughbred was difficult to hold.
As Bill was making strenuous efforts to get in a lucky stroke of the
oar, he failed to see a long length of grapevine floating like a
brown snake of the water below. In the excitement they heeded not
the barking of Mose. Nor did they see the grapevine straighten and
become taut just as they drifted upon it; but they felt the raft
strike and hold on some submerged object. It creaked and groaned and
the foamy water surged, gurgling, between the logs.

Jim's mare snorted with terror, and rearing high, pulled her halter
loose and plunged into the river. But Jim still held her, at risk of
being drawn overboard.

"Let go! She'll drag you in!" yelled Joe, grasping him with his free
hand. Lance trembled violently and strained at the rope, which his
master held with a strong grip.

CRACK!

The stinging report of a rifle rang out above the splashing of the
water.

Without a cry, Bill's grasp on the oar loosened; he fell over it
limply, his head striking the almost submerged log. A dark-red fluid
colored the water; then his body slipped over the oar and into the
river, where it sank.

"My God! Shot!" cried Jim, in horrified tones.

He saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows. Then the
branches parted, revealing the dark forms of several Indian
warriors. From the rifle in the foremost savage's hand a slight veil
of smoke rose. With the leap of a panther the redskin sprang from
the strip of sand to the raft.

"Hold, Jim! Drop that ax! We're caught!" cried Joe.

"It's that Indian from the fort!" gasped Jim.

The stalwart warrior was indeed Silvertip. But how changed! Stripped
of the blanket he had worn at the settlement, now standing naked but
for his buckskin breech-cloth, with his perfectly proportioned form
disclosed in all its sinewy beauty, and on his swarthy, evil face an
expression of savage scorn, he surely looked a warrior and a chief.

He drew his tomahawk and flashed a dark glance at Joe. For a moment
he steadily regarded the young man; but if he expected to see fear
in the latter's face he was mistaken, for the look was returned
coolly.