The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey
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had a chance? Wetzel would never have taken our trail alone. Now they’ve beat me out of the girl, and as sure as death will round us up here.”
“You don’t believe they’ll rush us here?” asked Legget.
“They’re too keen to take foolish chances, but something will be done we don’t expect. Zane was a prisoner here; he had a good look at this place, and you can gamble he’ll remember.”
“Zane must hev gone back to Fort Henry with the girl.”
“Mark what I say, he’ll come back!”
“Wal, we kin hold this place against all the men Eb Zane may put out.”
“He won’t send a man,” snapped Brandt passionately. “Remember this, Legget, we’re not to fight against soldiers, settlers, or hunters; but bordermen—understand—bordermen! Such as have been developed right here on this bloody frontier, and nowhere else on earth. They haven’t fear in them. Both are fleet as deer in the woods. They can’t be seen or trailed. They can snuff a candle with a rifle ball in the dark. I’ve seen Zane do it three times at a hundred yards. And Wetzel! He wouldn’t waste powder on practicing. They can’t be ambushed, or shaken off a track; they take the scent like buzzards, and have eyes like eagles.”
“We kin slip out of here under cover of night,” suggested Legget.
“Well, what then? That’s all they want. They’d be on us again by sunset. No! we’ve got to stand our ground and fight. We’ll stay as long as we can; but they’ll rout us out somehow, be sure of that. And if one of us pokes his nose out to the daylight, it will be shot off.”
“You’re sore, an’ you’ve lost your nerve,” said Legget harshly. “Sore at me ’cause I got sweet on the girl. Ho! ho!”
Brandt shot a glance at Legget which boded no good. His strong hands clenched in an action betraying the reckless rage in his heart. Then he carefully removed his hunting coat, and examined his wound. He retied the bandage, muttering gloomily, “I’m so weak as to be light-headed. If this cut opens again, it’s all day for me.”
After that the inmates of the hut were quiet. The huge outlaw bowed his shaggy head for a while, and then threw himself on a pile of hemlock boughs. Brandt was not long in seeking rest. Soon both were fast asleep. Two of the savages passed out with cat-like step, leaving the door open. The fire had burned low, leaving a bed of dead coals. Outside in the dark a waterfall splashed softly.
The darkest hour came, and passed, and paled slowly to gray. Birds began to twitter. Through the door of the cabin the light of day streamed in. The two Indian sentinels were building a fire on the stone hearth. One by one the other savages got up, stretched and yawned, and began the business of the day by cooking their breakfast. It was, apparently, every one for himself.
Legget arose, shook himself like a shaggy dog, and was starting for the door when one of the sentinels stopped him. Brandt, who was now awake, saw the action, and smiled.
In a few moments Indians and outlaws were eating for breakfast roasted strips of venison, with corn meal baked brown, which served as bread. It was a somber, silent group.
Presently the shrill neigh of a horse startled them. Following it, the whip-like crack of a rifle stung and split the morning air. Hard on this came an Indian’s long, wailing death-cry.
“Hah!” exclaimed Brandt.
Legget remained immovable. One of the savages peered out through a little port-hole at the rear of the hut. The others continued their meal.
“Whistler’ll come in presently to tell us who’s doin’ thet shootin’,” said Legget. “He’s a keen Injun.”
“He’s not very keen now,” replied Brandt, with bitter certainty. “He’s what the settlers call a good Indian, which is to say, dead!”
Legget scowled at his lieutenant.
“I’ll go an’ see,” he replied and seized his rifle.
He opened the door, when another rifle-shot rang out. A bullet whistled in the air, grazing the outlaw’s shoulder, and imbedded itself in the heavy door-frame.
Legget leaped back with a curse.
“Close shave!” said Brandt coolly. “That bullet came, probably, straight down from the top of the cliff. Jack Zane’s there. Wetzel is lower down watching the outlet. We’re trapped.”
“Trapped,” shouted Legget with an angry leer. “We kin live here longer’n the bordermen kin. We’ve meat on hand, an’ a good spring in the back of the hut. How’er we trapped?”
“We won’t live twenty-four hours,” declared Brandt.
“Why?”
“Because we’ll be routed out. They’ll find some way to do it, and we’ll never have another chance to fight in the open, as we had the other night when they came after the girl. From now on there’ll be no sleep, no time to eat, the nameless fear of an unseen foe who can’t be shaken off, marching by night, hiding and starving by day, until—! I’d rather be back in Fort Henry at Colonel Zane’s mercy.”
Legget turned a ghastly face toward Brandt. “Look a here. You’re takin’ a lot of glee in sayin’ these things. I believe you’ve lost your nerve, or the lettin’ out of a little blood hes made you wobbly. We’ve Injuns here, an’ ought to be a match fer two men.”
Brandt gazed at him with a derisive smile.
“We kin go out an’ fight these fellars,” continued Legget. “We might try their own game, hidin’ an’ crawlin’ through the woods.”
“We two would have to go it alone. If you still had your trusty, trained band of experienced Indians, I’d say that would be just the thing. But Ashbow and the Chippewa are dead; so are the others. This bunch of redskins here may do to steal a few horses; but they don’t amount to much against Zane and Wetzel. Besides, they’ll cut and run presently, for they’re scared and suspicious. Look at the chief; ask him.”
The savage Brandt indicated was a big Indian just coming into manhood. His swarthy face still retained some of the frankness and simplicity of youth.
“Chief,” said Legget in the Indian tongue. “The great paleface hunter, Deathwind, lies hid in the woods.”
“Last night the Shawnee heard the wind of death mourn through the trees,” replied the chief gloomily.
“See! What did I say?” cried Brandt. “The superstitious fool! He would begin his death-chant almost without a fight. We can’t count on the redskins. What’s to be done?”
The outlaw threw himself upon the bed of boughs, and Legget sat down with his rifle across his knees. The Indians maintained the same stoical composure. The moments dragged by into hours.
“Ugh!” suddenly exclaimed the Indian at the end of the hut.
Legget ran to him, and acting upon a motion of the Indian’s hand, looked out through the little port-hole.
The sun was high. He saw four of the horses grazing by the brook; then gazed scrutinizingly from the steep waterfall, along the green-stained cliff to the dark narrow cleft in the rocks. Here was the only outlet from the inclosure. He failed to discover anything unusual.
The Indian grunted again, and pointed upward.
“Smoke! There’s smoke risin’ above the trees,” cried Legget. “Brandt, come here. What’s thet mean?”
Brandt hurried, looked out. His face paled, his lower jaw protruded, quivered, and then was shut hard. He walked away, put his foot on a bench and began to lace his leggings.
“Wal?” demanded Legget.
“The game’s up! Get ready to run and be shot at,” cried Brandt with a hiss of passion.
Almost as he spoke the roof of