shot the arrow. He was a magnificent savage.”
“He was indeed a great, and a bad Indian, one of the craftiest spies who ever stepped in moccasins; but he lies quiet now on the moss and the leaves. Bing Legget will never find another runner like that Shawnee. Let us go indoors.”
He led Helen into the large sitting-room where Jonathan lay on a couch, with Betty and Will sitting beside him. The colonel’s wife and children, Silas Zane, and several neighbors, were present.
“Here, Jack, is a lady inquiring after your health. Betts, this reminds me of the time Isaac came home wounded, after his escape from the Hurons. Strikes me he and his Indian bride should be about due here on a visit.”
Helen forgot every one except the wounded man lying so quiet and pale upon the couch. She looked down upon him with eyes strangely dilated, and darkly bright.
“How are you?” she asked softly.
“I’m all right, thank you, lass,” answered Jonathan.
Colonel Zane contrived, with inimitable skill, to get Betty, Will, Silas, Bessie and the others interested in some remarkable news he had just heard, or made up, and this left Jonathan and Helen comparatively alone for the moment.
The wise old colonel thought perhaps this might be the right time. He saw Helen’s face as she leaned over Jonathan, and that was enough for him. He would have taxed his ingenuity to the utmost to keep the others away from the young couple.
“I was so frightened,” murmured Helen.
“Why?” asked Jonathan.
“Oh! You looked so deathly—the blood, and that awful wound!”
“It’s nothin’, lass.”
Helen smiled down upon him. Whether or not the hurt amounted to anything in the borderman’s opinion, she knew from his weakness, and his white, drawn face, that the strain of the march home had been fearful. His dark eyes held now nothing of the coldness and glitter so natural to them. They were weary, almost sad. She did not feel afraid of him now. He lay there so helpless, his long, powerful frame as quiet as a sleeping child’s! Hitherto an almost indefinable antagonism in him had made itself felt; now there was only gentleness, as of a man too weary to fight longer. Helen’s heart swelled with pity, and tenderness, and love. His weakness affected her as had never his strength. With an involuntary gesture of sympathy she placed her hand softly on his.
Jonathan looked up at her with eyes no longer blind. Pain had softened him. For the moment he felt carried out of himself, as it were, and saw things differently. The melting tenderness of her gaze, the glowing softness of her face, the beauty, bewitched him; and beyond that, a sweet, impelling gladness stirred within him and would not be denied. He thrilled as her fingers lightly, timidly touched his, and opened his broad hand to press hers closely and warmly.
“Lass,” he whispered, with a huskiness and unsteadiness unnatural to his deep voice.
Helen bent her head closer to him; she saw his lips tremble, and his nostrils dilate; but an unutterable sadness shaded the brightness in his eyes.
“I love you.”
The low whisper reached Helen’s ears. She seemed to float dreamily away to some beautiful world, with the music of those words ringing in her ears. She looked at him again. Had she been dreaming? No; his dark eyes met hers with a love that he could no longer deny. An exquisite emotion, keen, strangely sweet and strong, yet terrible with sharp pain, pulsated through her being. The revelation had been too abrupt. It was so wonderfully different from what she had ever dared hope. She lowered her head, trembling.
The next moment she felt Colonel Zane’s hand on her chair, and heard him say in a cheery voice:
“Well, well, see here, lass, you mustn’t make Jack talk too much. See how white and tired he looks.”
CHAPTER XV
In forty-eight hours Jonathan Zane was up and about the cabin as though he had never been wounded; the third day he walked to the spring; in a week he was waiting for Wetzel, ready to go on the trail.
On the eighth day of his enforced idleness, as he sat with Betty and the colonel in the yard, Wetzel appeared on a ridge east of the fort. Soon he rounded the stockade fence, and came straight toward them. To Colonel Zane and Betty, Wetzel’s expression was terrible. The stern kindliness, the calm, though cold, gravity of his countenance, as they usually saw it, had disappeared. Yet it showed no trace of his unnatural passion to pursue and slay. No doubt that terrible instinct, or lust, was at white heat; but it wore a mask of impenetrable stone-gray gloom.
Wetzel spoke briefly. After telling Jonathan to meet him at sunset on the following day at a point five miles up the river, he reported to the colonel that Legget with his band had left their retreat, moving southward, apparently on a marauding expedition. Then he shook hands with Colonel Zane and turned to Betty.
“Good-bye, Betty,” he said, in his deep, sonorous voice.
“Good-bye, Lew,” answered Betty slowly, as if surprised. “God save you,” she added.
He shouldered his rifle, and hurried down the lane, halting before entering the thicket that bounded the clearing, to look back at the settlement. In another moment his dark figure had disappeared among the bushes.
“Betts, I’ve seen Wetzel go like that hundreds of times, though he never shook hands before; but I feel sort of queer about it now. Wasn’t he strange?”
Betty did not answer until Jonathan, who had started to go within, was out of hearing.
“Lew looked and acted the same the morning he struck Miller’s trail,” Betty replied in a low voice. “I believe, despite his indifference to danger, he realizes that the chances are greatly against him, as they were when he began the trailing of Miller, certain it would lead him into Girty’s camp. Then I know Lew has an affection for us, though it is never shown in ordinary ways. I pray he and Jack will come home safe.”
“This is a bad trail they’re taking up; the worst, perhaps, in border warfare,” said Colonel Zane gloomily. “Did you notice how Jack’s face darkened when his comrade came? Much of this borderman-life of his is due to Wetzel’s influence.”
“Eb, I’ll tell you one thing,” returned Betty, with a flash of her old spirit. “This is Jack’s last trail.”
“Why do you think so?”
“If he doesn’t return he’ll be gone the way of all bordermen; but if he comes back once more he’ll never get away from Helen.”
“Ugh!” exclaimed Zane, venting his pleasure in characteristic Indian way.
“That night after Jack came home wounded,” continued Betty, “I saw him, as he lay on the couch, gaze at Helen. Such a look! Eb, she has won.”
“I hope so, but I fear, I fear,” replied her brother gloomily. “If only he returns, that’s the thing! Betts, be sure he sees Helen before he goes away.”
“I shall try. Here he comes now,” said Betty.
“Hello, Jack!” cried the colonel, as his brother came out in somewhat of a hurry. “What have you got? By George! It’s that blamed arrow the Shawnee shot into you. Where are you going with it? What the deuce—Say—Betts, eh?”
Betty had given him a sharp little kick.
The borderman looked embarrassed. He hesitated and flushed. Evidently he would have liked to avoid his brother’s question; but the inquiry came direct. Dissimulation with him was impossible.
“Helen wanted this, an’ I reckon that’s where I’m goin’ with it,” he said finally, and walked away.
“Eb, you’re a stupid!” exclaimed Betty.
“Hang it! Who’d have thought he was going to give her that blamed, bloody arrow?”
As Helen ushered Jonathan,