Spirit of the Border. Zane Grey
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then went into the open air. She saw a number of canvas-covered wagons drawn up in front of the cabins; the vehicles were dusty and the wheels encrusted with yellow mud. The grizzled frontiersman who had smiled at Nell stood leaning on his gun, talking to three men, whose travel-stained and worn homespun clothes suggested a long and toilsome journey. There was the bustle of excitement incident to the arrival of strangers; to the quick exchange of greetings, the unloading of wagons and unharnessing of horses and oxen.
Nell looked here and there for her sister. Finally she saw her standing near her uncle while he conversed with one of the teamsters. The girl did not approach them; but glanced quickly around in search of someone else. At length she saw Joe unloading goods from one of the wagons; his back was turned toward her, but she at once recognized the challenge conveyed by the broad shoulders. She saw no other person; gave heed to nothing save what was to her, righteous indignation.
Hearing her footsteps, the young man turned, and, glancing at her admiringly, said:
“Good evening, miss.”
Nell had not expected such a matter-of-fact greeting from Joe. There was not the slightest trace of repentance in his calm face, and he placidly continued his labor.
“Aren’t you sorry you—you treated me so?” burst out Nell.
His coolness was exasperating. Instead of contrition and apology she had expected, and which was her due, he evidently intended to tease her, as he had done so often.
The young man dropped a blanket and stared.
“I don’t understand,” he said gravely. “I never saw you before.”
This was too much for quick-tempered Nell. She had had some vague idea of forgiving him, after he had sued sufficiently for pardon; but now, forgetting her good intentions in the belief that he was making sport of her when he should have pleaded for forgiveness, she swiftly raised her hand and slapped him smartly.
The red blood flamed to the young man’s face; as he staggered backward with his hand to his cheek, she heard a smothered exclamation behind her, and then the quick joyous barking of a dog.
When Nell turned she was amazed to see Joe standing beside the wagon, while a big white dog was leaping upon him. Suddenly she felt faint. Bewildered, she looked from Joe to the man she had just struck; but could not say which was the man who professed to love her.
“Jim! So you followed me!” cried Joe, starting forward and flinging his arms around the other.
“Yes, Joe, and right glad I am to find you,” answered the young man, while a peculiar expression of pleasure came over his face.
“It’s good to see you again! And here’s my old dog Mose! But how on earth did you know? Where did you strike my trail? What are you going to do out here on the frontier? Tell me all. What happened after I left—”
Then Joe saw Nell standing nearby, pale and distressed, and he felt something was amiss. He glanced quickly from her to his brother; she seemed to be dazed, and Jim looked grave.
“Nell, this is my brother Jim, the one I told you about. Jim, this is my friend, Miss Wells.”
“I am happy to meet Miss Wells,” said Jim, with a smile, “even though she did slap my face for nothing.”
“Slapped you? What for?” Then the truth dawned on Joe, and he laughed until the tears came into his eyes. “She took you for me! Ha, ha, ha! Oh, this is great!”
Nell’s face was now rosy red and moisture glistened in her eyes, but she tried bravely to stand her ground. Humiliation had taken the place of anger.
“I—I am sorry, Mr. Downs. I did take you for him. He—he has insulted me.” Then she turned and ran into the cabin.
Chapter II
Joe and Jim were singularly alike. They were nearly the same size, very tall, but so heavily built as to appear of medium height, while their gray eyes and, indeed, every feature of their clean-cut faces corresponded so exactly as to proclaim them brothers.
“Already up to your old tricks?” asked Jim, with his hand on Joe’s shoulder, as they both watched Nell’s flight.
“I’m really fond of her, Jim, and didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. But tell me about yourself; what made you come West?”
“To teach the Indians, and I was, no doubt, strongly influenced by your being here.”
“You’re going to do as you ever have—make some sacrifice. You are always devoting yourself; if not to me, to some other. Now it’s your life you’re giving up. To try to convert the redskins and influence me for good is in both cases impossible. How often have I said there wasn’t any good in me! My desire is to kill Indians, not preach to them, Jim. I’m glad to see you, but I wish you hadn’t come. This wild frontier is no place for a preacher.”
“I think it is,” said Jim, quietly.
“What of Rose—the girl you were to marry?”
Joe glanced quickly at his brother. Jim’s face paled slightly as he turned away.
“I’ll speak once more of her, and then, never again,” he answered. “You knew Rose better than I did. Once you tried to tell me she was too fond of admiration, and I rebuked you; but now I see that your wider experience of women had taught you things I could not then understand. She was untrue. When you left Williamsburg, apparently because you had gambled with Jewett and afterward fought him, I was not misled. You made the game of cards a pretence; you sought it simply as an opportunity to wreak your vengeance on him for his villainy toward me. Well, it’s all over now. Though you cruelly beat and left him disfigured for life, he will live, and you are saved from murder, thank God! When I learned of your departure I yearned to follow. Then I met a preacher who spoke of having intended to go West with a Mr. Wells, of the Moravian Mission. I immediately said I would go in his place, and here I am. I’m fortunate in that I have found both him and you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t kill Jewett; I certainly meant to. Anyway, there’s some comfort in knowing I left my mark on him. He was a sneaking, cold-blooded fellow, with his white hair and pale face, and always fawning round the girls. I hated him, and gave it to him good.” Joe spoke musingly and complacently as though it was a trivial thing to compass the killing of a man.
“Well, Jim, you’re here now, and there’s no help for it. We’ll go along with this Moravian preacher and his nieces. If you haven’t any great regrets for the past, why, all may be well yet. I can see that the border is the place for me. But now, Jim, for once in your life take a word of advice from me. We’re out in the frontier, where every man looks after himself. Your being a minister won’t protect you here where every man wears a knife and a tomahawk, and where most of them are desperadoes. Cut out that soft voice and most of your gentle ways, and be a little more like your brother. Be as kind as you like, and preach all you want to; but when some of these buckskin-legged frontiersmen try to walk all over you, as they will, take your own part in a way you have never taken it before. I had my lesson the first few days out with that wagon-train. It was a case of four fights; but I’m all right now.”
“Joe, I won’t run, if that’s what you mean,” answered Jim, with a laugh. “Yes, I understand that a new life begins here, and I am content. If I can find my work in it, and remain with you, I shall be happy.”
“Ah! old Mose! I’m glad to see you,” Joe cried to the big dog who came nosing round him. “You’ve brought this old fellow; did you bring the horses?”
“Look behind the wagon.”
With the dog bounding before him, Joe did as he was directed, and there found two horses tethered side by side. Little wonder that his eyes gleamed with delight. One was jet-black; the other iron-gray; and in every line the clean-limbed animals showed the thoroughbred. The black threw up his slim head and whinnied, with affection clearly shining in his soft, dark eyes as he recognized his master.
“Lance,