The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey
Читать онлайн книгу.
rugged hill far west of Beautiful Spring. A white dog, weary and footsore, limped by his side. Both man and beast showed evidence of severe exertion.
The hunter stopped in a little cave under a projecting stone, and, laying aside his rifle, began to gather twigs and sticks. He was particular about selecting the wood, and threw aside many pieces which would have burned well; but when he did kindle a flame it blazed hotly, yet made no smoke.
He sharpened a green stick, and, taking some strips of meat from his pocket, roasted them over the hot flame. He fed the dog first. Mose had crouched close on the ground with his head on his paws, and his brown eyes fastened upon the hunter.
“He had too big a start fer us,” said Wetzel, speaking as if the dog were human. It seemed that Wetzel’s words were a protest against the meaning in those large, sad eyes.
Then the hunter put out the fire, and, searching for a more secluded spot, finally found one on top of the ledge, where he commanded a good view of his surroundings. The weary dog was asleep. Wetzel settled himself to rest, and was soon wrapped in slumber.
About noon he awoke. He arose, stretched his limbs, and then took an easy position on the front of the ledge, where he could look below. Evidently the hunter was waiting for something. The dog slept on. It was the noonday hour, when the stillness of the forest almost matched that of midnight. The birds were more quiet than at any other time during daylight.
Wetzel reclined there with his head against the stone, and his rifle resting across his knees.
He listened now to the sounds of the forest. The soft breeze fluttering among the leaves, the rain-call of the tree frog, the caw of crows from distant hilltops, the sweet songs of the thrush and oriole, were blended together naturally, harmoniously.
But suddenly the hunter raised his head. A note, deeper than the others, a little too strong, came from far down the shaded hollow. To Wetzel’s trained ear it was a discord. He manifested no more than this attention, for the birdcall was the signal he had been awaiting. He whistled a note in answer that was as deep and clear as the one which had roused him.
Moments passed. There was no repetition of the sound. The songs of the other birds had ceased. Besides Wetzel there was another intruder in the woods.
Mose lifted his shaggy head and growled. The hunter patted the dog. In a few minutes the figure of a tall man appeared among the laurels down the slope. He stopped while gazing up at the ledge. Then, with noiseless step, he ascended the ridge, climbed the rocky ledge, and turned the corner of the stone to face Wetzel. The newcomer was Jonathan Zane.
“Jack, I expected you afore this,” was Wetzel’s greeting.
“I couldn’t make it sooner,” answered Zane. “After we left Williamson and separated, I got turned around by a band of several hundred redskins makin’ for the Village of Peace. I went back again, but couldn’t find any sign of the trail we’re huntin’. Then I makes for this meetin’ place. I’ve been goin’ for some ten hours, and am hungry.”
“I’ve got some bar ready cooked,” said Wetzel, handing Zane several strips of meat.
“What luck did you have?”
“I found Girty’s trail, an old one, over here some eighteen or twenty miles, an’ follered it until I went almost into the Delaware town. It led to a hut in a deep ravine. I ain’t often surprised, but I wus then. I found the dead body of that girl, Kate Wells, we fetched over from Fort Henry. Thet’s sad, but it ain’t the surprisin’ part. I also found Silvertip, the Shawnee I’ve been lookin’ fer. He was all knocked an’ cut up, deader’n a stone. There’d been somethin’ of a scrap in the hut. I calkilate Girty murdered Kate, but I couldn’t think then who did fer Silver, though I allowed the renegade might hev done thet, too. I watched round an’ seen Girty come back to the hut. He had ten Injuns with him, an’ presently they all made fer the west. I trailed them, but didn’t calkilate it’d be wise to tackle the bunch single-handed, so laid back. A mile or so from the hut I came across hoss tracks minglin’ with the moccasin-prints. About fifteen mile or from the Delaware town, Girty left his buckskins, an’ they went west, while he stuck to the hoss tracks. I was onto his game in a minute. I cut across country fer Beautiful Spring, but I got there too late. I found the warm bodies of Joe and thet Injun girl, Winds. The snake hed murdered them.”
“I allow Joe won over Winds, got away from the Delaware town with her, tried to rescue Kate, and killed Silver in the fight. Girty probably was surprised, an’ run after he had knifed the girl.”
“’Pears so to me. Joe had two knife cuts, an’ one was an old wound.”
“You say it was a bad fight?”
“Must hev been. The hut was all knocked in, an’ stuff scattered about. Wal, Joe could go some if he onct got started.”
“I’ll bet he could. He was the likeliest lad I’ve seen for many a day.”
“If he’d lasted, he’d been somethin’ of a hunter an’ fighter.”
“Too bad. But Lord! you couldn’t keep him down, no more than you can lots of these wild young chaps that drift out here.”
“I’ll allow he had the fever bad.”
“Did you hev time to bury them?”
“I hedn’t time fer much. I sunk them in the spring.”
“It’s a pretty deep hole,” said Zane, reflectively. “Then, you and the dog took Girty’s trail, but couldn’t catch up with him. He’s now with the renegade cutthroats and hundreds of riled Indians over there in the Village of Peace.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
A long silence ensued. Jonathan finished his simple repast, drank from the little spring that trickled under the stone, and, sitting down by the dog, smoothed out his long silken hair.
“Lew, we’re pretty good friends, ain’t we?” he asked, thoughtfully.
“Jack, you an’ the colonel are all the friends I ever hed, ’ceptin’ that boy lyin’ quiet back there in the woods.”
“I know you pretty well, and ain’t sayin’ a word about your runnin’ off from me on many a hunt, but I want to speak plain about this fellow Girty.”
“Wal?” said Wetzel, as Zane hesitated.
“Twice in the last few years you and I have had it in for the same men, both white-livered traitors. You remember? First it was Miller, who tried to ruin my sister Betty, and next it was Jim Girty, who murdered our old friend, as good an old man as ever wore moccasins. Wal, after Miller ran off from the fort, we trailed him down to the river, and I points across and says, ‘You or me?’ and you says, ‘Me.’ You was Betty’s friend, and I knew she’d be avenged. Miller is lyin’ quiet in the woods, and violets have blossomed twice over his grave, though you never said a word; but I know it’s true because I know you.”
Zane looked eagerly into the dark face of his friend, hoping perhaps to get some verbal assurance there that his belief was true. But Wetzel did not speak, and he continued:
“Another day not so long ago we both looked down at an old friend, and saw his white hair matted with blood. He’d been murdered for nothin’. Again you and me trailed a coward and found him to be Jim Girty. I knew you’d been huntin’ him for years, and so I says, ‘Lew, you or me?’ and you says, ‘Me.’ I give in to you, for I knew you’re a better man than me, and because I wanted you to have the satisfaction. Wal, the months have gone by, and Jim Girty’s still livin’ and carryin’ on. Now he’s over there after them poor preachers. I ain’t sayin’, Lew, that you haven’t more agin him than me, but I do say, let me in on it with you. He always has a gang of redskins with him; he’s afraid to travel alone, else you’d had him long ago. Two of us’ll have more chance to get him. Let me go with you. When it comes to a finish, I’ll stand aside while you give it to him. I’d enjoy seein’ you cut him from shoulder to hip. After he leaves the Village of Peace we’ll