The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey
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and the flames proved to be from pine cones burning in the yard of Helen Sheppard. He remembered then that she was entertaining some of the young people.
The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jonathan made certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and he knew his eyesight too well not to trust to it absolutely. Advancing nearer the yard, he heard the murmur of voices in gay conversation, and soon saw figures moving about under the trees.
No doubt was in his mind but that the man who gave the signal to warn the Indians, was one of Helen Sheppard’s guests.
Jonathan had walked across the street then down the path, before he saw the colonel coming from the opposite direction. Halting under a maple he waited for his brother to approach.
“I didn’t meet any one. Did you lose him?” whispered Colonel Zane breathlessly.
“No; he’s in there.”
“That’s Sheppard’s place. Do you mean he’s hiding there?”
“No!”
Colonel Zane swore, as was his habit when exasperated. Kind and generous man that he was, it went hard with him to believe in the guilt of any of the young men he had trusted. But Jonathan had said there was a traitor among them, and Colonel Zane did not question this assertion. He knew the borderman. During years full of strife, and war, and blood had he lived beside this silent man who said little, but that little was the truth. Therefore Colonel Zane gave way to anger.
“Well, I’m not so damned surprised! What’s to be done?”
“Find out what men are there?”
“That’s easy. I’ll go to see George and soon have the truth.”
“Won’t do,” said the borderman decisively. “Go back to the barn, an’ look after the hosses.”
When Colonel Zane had obeyed Jonathan dropped to his hands and knees, and swiftly, with the agile movements of an Indian, gained a corner of the Sheppard yard. He crouched in the shade of a big plum tree. Then, at a favorable opportunity, vaulted the fence and disappeared under a clump of lilac bushes.
The evening wore away no more tediously to the borderman, than to those young frontiersmen who were whispering tender or playful words to their partners. Time and patience were the same to Jonathan Zane. He lay hidden under the fragrant lilacs, his eyes, accustomed to the dark from long practice, losing no movement of the guests. Finally it became evident that the party was at an end. One couple took the initiative, and said good night to their hostess.
“Tom Bennet, I hope it’s not you,” whispered the borderman to himself, as he recognized the young fellow.
A general movement followed, until the merry party were assembled about Helen near the front gate.
“Jim Morrison, I’ll bet it’s not you,” was Jonathan’s comment. “That soldier Williams is doubtful; Hart an’ Johnson being strangers, are unknown quantities around here, an’ then comes Brandt.”
All departed except Brandt, who remained talking to Helen in low, earnest tones. Jonathan lay very quietly, trying to decide what should be his next move in the unraveling of the mystery. He paid little attention to the young couple, but could not help overhearing their conversation.
“Indeed, Mr. Brandt, you frontiersmen are not backward,” Helen was saying in her clear voice. “I am surprised to learn that you love me upon such short acquaintance, and am sorry, too, for I hardly know whether I even so much as like you.”
“I love you. We men of the border do things rapidly,” he replied earnestly.
“So it seems,” she said with a soft laugh.
“Won’t you care for me?” he pleaded.
“Nothing is surer than that I never know what I am going to do,” Helen replied lightly.
“All these fellows are in love with you. They can’t help it any more than I. You are the most glorious creature. Please give me hope.”
“Mr. Brandt, let go my hand. I’m afraid I don’t like such impulsive men.”
“Please let me hold your hand.”
“Certainly not.”
“But I will hold it, and if you look at me like that again I’ll do more,” he said.
“What, bold sir frontiersman?” she returned, lightly still, but in a voice which rang with a deeper note.
“I’ll kiss you,” he cried desperately.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I though? You don’t know us border fellows yet. You come here with your wonderful beauty, and smile at us with that light in your eyes which makes men mad. Oh, you’ll pay for it.”
The borderman listened to all this love-making half disgusted, until he began to grow interested. Brandt’s back was turned to him, and Helen stood so that the light from the pine cones shone on her face. Her eyes were brilliant, otherwise she seemed a woman perfectly self-possessed. Brandt held her hand despite the repeated efforts she made to free it. But she did not struggle violently, or make an outcry.
Suddenly Brandt grasped her other hand, pulling her toward him.
“These other fellows will kiss you, and I’m going to be the first!” he declared passionately.
Helen drew back, now thoroughly alarmed by the man’s fierce energy. She had been warned against this very boldness in frontiersmen; but had felt secure in her own pride and dignity. Her blood boiled at the thought that she must exert strength to escape insult. She struggled violently when Brandt bent his head. Almost sick with fear, she had determined to call for help, when a violent wrench almost toppled her over. At the same instant her wrists were freed; she heard a fierce cry, a resounding blow, and then the sodden thud of a heavy body falling. Recovering her balance, she saw a tall figure beside her, and a man in the act of rising from the ground.
“You?” whispered Helen, recognizing the tall figure as Jonathan’s.
The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping his hand inside his hunting frock. Brandt sprang nimbly to his feet, and with a face which, even in the dim light, could be seen distorted with fury, bent forward to look at the stranger. He, too, had his hand within his coat, as if grasping a weapon; but he did not draw it.
“Zane, a lighter blow would have been easier to forget,” he cried, his voice clear and cutting. Then he turned to the girl. “Miss Helen, I got what I deserved. I crave your forgiveness, and ask you to understand a man who was once a gentleman. If I am one no longer, the frontier is to blame. I was mad to treat you as I did.”
Thus speaking, he bowed low with the grace of a man sometimes used to the society of ladies, and then went out of the gate.
“Where did you come from?” asked Helen, looking up at Jonathan.
He pointed under the lilac bushes.
“Were you there?” she asked wonderingly. “Did you hear all?”
“I couldn’t help hearin’.”
“It was fortunate for me; but why—why were you there?”
Helen came a step nearer, and regarded him curiously with her great eyes now black with excitement.
The borderman was silent.
Helen’s softened mood changed instantly. There was nothing in his cold face which might have betrayed in him a sentiment similar to that of her admirers.
“Did you spy on me?” she asked quickly, after a moment’s thought.
“No,” replied Jonathan calmly.
Helen gazed in perplexity at this strange man. She did not know how to explain it; she was irritated, but did her best to conceal it. He had no interest in her, yet had hidden