The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey
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at the tune, to the costly silks and satins of remembered days, and then to matters of more present interest, Helen spoke of Colonel Zane’s hint about Will and Betty.
“Isn’t Eb a terror? He’s the worst matchmatcher you ever saw,” declared the colonel’s good spouse.
“There’s no harm in that.”
“No, indeed; it’s a good thing, but he makes me laugh, and Betty, he sets her furious.”
“The colonel said he had designs on me.”
“Of course he has, dear old Eb! How he’d love to see you happily married. His heart is as big as that mountain yonder. He has given this settlement his whole life.”
“I believe you. He has such interest, such zeal for everybody. Only the other day he was speaking to me of Mr. Mordaunt, telling how sorry he was for the Englishman, and how much he’d like to help him. It does seem a pity a man of Mordaunt’s blood and attainments should sink to utter worthlessness.”
“Yes,’tis a pity for any man, blood or no, and the world’s full of such wrecks. I always liked that man’s looks. I never had a word with him, of course; but I’ve seen him often, and something about him appealed to me. I don’t believe it was just his handsome face; still I know women are susceptible that way.”
“I, too, liked him once as a friend,” said Helen feelingly. “Well, I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, he left Fort Henry yesterday. He came to say good-bye to me, and, except for his pale face and trembling hands, was much as he used to be in Virginia. Said he was going home to England, and wanted to tell me he was sorry—for—for all he’d done to make papa and me suffer. Drink had broken him, he said, and surely he looked a broken man. I shook hands with him, and then slipped upstairs and cried.”
“Poor fellow!” sighed Mrs. Zane.
“Papa said he left Fort Pitt with one of Metzar’s men as a guide.”
“Then he didn’t take the ‘little cuss,’ as Eb calls his man Case?”
“No, if I remember rightly papa said Case wouldn’t go.”
“I wish he had. He’s no addition to our village.”
Voices outside attracted their attention. Mrs. Zane glanced from the window and said: “There come Betty and Will.”
Helen went on the porch to see her cousin and Betty entering the yard, and Colonel Zane once again leaning on his spade.
“Gather any hickory-nuts from birch or any other kind of trees?” asked the colonel grimly.
“No,” replied Will cheerily, “the shells haven’t opened yet.”
“Too bad the frost is so backward,” said Colonel Zane with a laugh. “But I can’t see that it makes any difference.”
“Where are my leaves?” asked Helen, with a smile and a nod to Betty.
“What leaves?” inquired that young woman, plainly mystified.
“Why, the autumn leaves Will promised to gather with me, then changed his mind, and said he’d bring them.”
“I forgot,” Will replied a little awkwardly.
Colonel Zane coughed, and then, catching Betty’s glance, which had begun to flash, he plied his spade vigorously.
Betty’s face had colored warmly at her brother’s first question; it toned down slightly when she understood that he was not going to tease her as usual, and suddenly, as she looked over his head, it paled white as snow.
“Eb, look down the lane!” she cried.
Two tall men were approaching with labored tread, one half-supporting his companion.
“Wetzel! Jack! and Jack’s hurt!” cried Betty.
“My dear, be calm,” said Colonel Zane, in that quiet tone he always used during moments of excitement. He turned toward the bordermen, and helped Wetzel lead Jonathan up the walk into the yard.
From Wetzel’s clothing water ran, his long hair was disheveled, his aspect frightful. Jonathan’s face was white and drawn. His buckskin hunting coat was covered with blood, and the hand which he held tightly against his left breast showed dark red stains.
Helen shuddered. Almost fainting, she leaned against the porch, too horrified to cry out, with contracting heart and a chill stealing through her veins.
“Jack! Jack!” cried Betty, in agonized appeal.
“Betty, it’s nothin’,” said Wetzel.
“Now, Betts, don’t be scared of a little blood,” Jonathan said with a faint smile flitting across his haggard face.
“Bring water, shears an’ some linsey cloth,” added Wetzel, as Mrs. Zane came running out.
“Come inside,” cried the colonel’s wife, as she disappeared again immediately.
“No,” replied the borderman, removing his coat, and, with the assistance of his brother, he unlaced his hunting shirt, pulling it down from a wounded shoulder. A great gory hole gaped just beneath his left collar-bone.
Although stricken with fear, when Helen saw the bronzed, massive shoulder, the long, powerful arm with its cords of muscles playing under the brown skin, she felt a thrill of admiration.
“Just missed the lung,” said Mrs. Zane. “Eb, no bullet ever made that hole.”
Wetzel washed the bloody wound, and, placing on it a wad of leaves he took from his pocket, bound up the shoulder tightly.
“What made that hole?” asked Colonel Zane.
Wetzel lifted the quiver of arrows Jonathan had laid on the porch, and, selecting one, handed it to the colonel. The flint-head and a portion of the shaft were stained with blood.
“The Shawnee!” exclaimed Colonel Zane. Then he led Wetzel aside, and began conversing in low tones while Jonathan, with Betty holding his arm, ascended the steps and went within the dwelling.
Helen ran home, and, once in her room, gave vent to her emotions. She cried because of fright, nervousness, relief, and joy. Then she bathed her face, tried to rub some color into her pale cheeks, and set about getting dinner as one in a trance. She could not forget that broad shoulder with its frightful wound. What a man Jonathan must be to receive a blow like that and live! Exhausted, almost spent, had been his strength when he reached home, yet how calm and cool he was! What would she not have given for the faint smile that shone in his eyes for Betty?
The afternoon was long for Helen. When at last supper was over she changed her gown, and, asking Will to accompany her, went down the lane toward Colonel Zane’s cabin. At this hour the colonel almost invariably could be found sitting on his doorstep puffing a long Indian pipe, and gazing with dreamy eyes over the valley.
“Well, well, how sweet you look!” he said to Helen; then with a wink of his eyelid, “Hello, Willie, you’ll find Elizabeth inside with Jack.”
“How is he?” asked Helen eagerly, as Will with a laugh and a retort mounted the steps.
“Jack’s doing splendidly. He slept all day. I don’t think his injury amounts to much, at least not for such as him or Wetzel. It would have finished ordinary men. Bess says if complications don’t set in, blood-poison or something to start a fever, he’ll be up shortly. Wetzel believes the two of ’em will be on the trail inside of a week.”
“Did they find Brandt?” asked Helen in a low voice.
“Yes, they ran him to his hole, and, as might have been expected, it was Bing Legget’s camp. The Indians took Jonathan there.”
“Then Jack was captured?”
Colonel Zane related the events, as