The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey
Читать онлайн книгу.
lay revealed under the glory of the clear light.
Absorbed in this contemplation Helen remained a long time gazing with dreamy ecstasy at the moonlit valley until a slight chill disturbed her happy thoughts. She knew she was not alone. Trembling, she stood up to see, easily recognizable in the moonlight, the tall buckskin-garbed figure of Jonathan Zane.
“Well, sir,” she called, sharply, yet with a tremor in her voice.
The borderman came forward and stood in front of her. Somehow he appeared changed. The long, black rifle, the dull, glinting weapons made her shudder. Wilder and more untamable he looked than ever. The very silence of the forest clung to him; the fragrance of the grassy plains came faintly from his buckskin garments.
“Evenin’, lass,” he said in his slow, cool manner.
“How did you get here?” asked Helen presently, because he made no effort to explain his presence at such a late hour.
“I was able to walk.”
Helen observed, with a vaulting spirit, one ever ready to rise in arms, that Master Zane was disposed to add humor to his penetrating mysteriousness. She flushed hot and then paled. This borderman certainly possessed the power to vex her, and, reluctantly she admitted, to chill her soul and rouse her fear. She strove to keep back sharp words, because she had learned that this singular individual always gave good reason for his odd actions.
“I think in kindness to me,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “you might tell me why you appear so suddenly, as if you had sprung out of the ground.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Father is in bed; so is Mabel, and Will has not yet come home. Why?”
“Has no one else been here?”
“Mr. Brandt came, as did some others; but wishing to be alone, I did not see them,” replied Helen in perplexity.
“Have you seen Brandt since?”
“Since when?”
“The night I watched by the lilac bush.”
“Yes, several times,” replied Helen. Something in his tone made her ashamed. “I couldn’t very well escape when he called. Are you surprised because after he insulted me I’d see him?”
“Yes.”
Helen felt more ashamed.
“You don’t love him?” he continued.
Helen was so surprised she could only look into the dark face above her. Then she dropped her gaze, abashed by his searching eyes. But, thinking of his question, she subdued the vague stirrings of pleasure in her breast, and answered coldly:
“No, I do not; but for the service you rendered me I should never have answered such a question.”
“I’m glad, an’ hope you care as little for the other five men who were here that night.”
“I declare, Master Zane, you seem exceedingly interested in the affairs of a young woman whom you won’t visit, except as you have come tonight.”
He looked at her with his piercing eyes.
“You spied upon my guests,” she said, in no wise abashed now that her temper was high. “Did you care so very much?”
“Care?” he asked slowly.
“Yes; you were interested to know how many of my admirers were here, what they did, and what they said. You even hint disparagingly of them.”
“True, I wanted to know,” he replied; “but I don’t hint about any man.”
“You are so interested you wouldn’t call on me when I invited you,” said Helen, with poorly veiled sarcasm. It was this that made her bitter; she could never forget that she had asked this man to come to see her, and he had refused.
“I reckon you’ve mistook me,” he said calmly.
“Why did you come? Why do you shadow my friends? This is twice you have done it. Goodness knows how many times you’ve been here! Tell me.”
The borderman remained silent.
“Answer me,” commanded Helen, her eyes blazing. She actually stamped her foot. “Borderman or not, you have no right to pry into my affairs. If you are a gentleman, tell me why you came here?”
The eyes Jonathan turned on Helen stilled all the angry throbbing of her blood.
“I come here to learn which of your lovers is the dastard who plotted the abduction of Mabel Lane, an’ the thief who stole our hosses. When I find the villain I reckon Wetzel an’ I’ll swing him to some tree.”
The borderman’s voice rang sharp and cold, and when he ceased speaking she sank back upon the step, shocked, speechless, to gaze up at him with staring eyes.
“Don’t look so, lass; don’t be frightened,” he said, his voice gentle and kind as it had been hard. He took her hand in his. “You nettled me into replyin’. You have a sharp tongue, lass, and when I spoke I was thinkin’ of him. I’m sorry.”
“A horse-thief and worse than murderer among my friends!” murmured Helen, shuddering, yet she never thought to doubt his word.
“I followed him here the night of your company.”
“Do you know which one?”
“No.”
He still held her hand, unconsciously, but Helen knew it well. A sense of his strength came with the warm pressure, and comforted her. She would need that powerful hand, surely, in the evil days which seemed to darken the horizon.
“What shall I do?” she whispered, shuddering again.
“Keep this secret between you an’ me.”
“How can I? How can I?”
“You must,” his voice was deep and low. “If you tell your father, or any one, I might lose the chance to find this man, for, lass, he’s desperate cunnin’. Then he’d go free to rob others, an’ mebbe help make off with other poor girls. Lass, keep my secret.”
“But he might try to carry me away,” said Helen in fearful perplexity.
“Most likely he might,” replied the borderman with the smile that came so rarely.
“Oh! Knowing all this, how can I meet any of these men again? I’d betray myself.”
“No; you’ve got too much pluck. It so happens you are the one to help me an’ Wetzel rid the border of these hell-hounds, an’ you won’t fail. I know a woman when it comes to that.”
“I—I help you and Wetzel?”
“Exactly.”
“Gracious!” cried Helen, half-laughing, half-crying. “And poor me with more trouble coming on the next boat.”
“Lass, the colonel told me about the Englishman. It’ll be bad for him to annoy you.”
Helen thrilled with the depth of meaning in the low voice. Fate surely was weaving a bond between her and this borderman. She felt it in his steady, piercing gaze; in her own tingling blood.
Then as her natural courage dispelled all girlish fears, she faced him, white, resolute, with a look in her eyes that matched his own.
“I will do what I can,” she said.
CHAPTER VII
Westward from Fort Henry, far above the eddying river, Jonathan Zane slowly climbed a narrow, hazel-bordered, mountain trail. From time to time he stopped in an open patch among the thickets and breathed deep of the fresh, wood-scented air, while his keen gaze swept over the glades near by, along the wooded hillsides, and above at the timber-strewn woodland.
This June morning in the wild forest