Betty Zane

Z >> Zane Grey >> Betty Zane


"I? Indeed not. But how refreshing. You must have been strongly
impressed to see and remember all you have told me."

"Betty Zane, I remember so well because he is just the man you
described one day when we were building castles and telling each
other what kind of a hero we wanted."

"Girls, do not talk such nonsense," interrupted the Colonel's wife
who was perturbed by the colloquy in the other room. She had seen
those ominous signs before. "Can you find nothing better to talk
about?"

Meanwhile Colonel Zane and his companions were earnestly discussing
certain information which had arrived that day. A friendly Indian
runner had brought news to Short Creek, a settlement on the river
between Fort Henry and Fort Pitt of an intended raid by the Indians
all along the Ohio valley. Major McColloch, who had been warned by
Wetzel of the fever of unrest among the Indians--a fever which broke
out every spring--had gone to Fort Pitt with the hope of bringing
back reinforcements, but, excepting the young soldier, who had
volunteered to return with him, no help could he enlist, so he
journeyed back post-haste to Fort Henry.

The information he brought disturbed Captain Boggs, who commanded
the garrison, as a number of men were away on a logging expedition
up the river, and were not expected to raft down to the Fort for two
weeks.

Jonathan Zane, who had been sent for, joined the trio at this
moment, and was acquainted with the particulars. The Zane brothers
were always consulted where any question concerning Indian craft and
cunning was to be decided. Colonel Zane had a strong friendly
influence with certain tribes, and his advice was invaluable.
Jonathan Zane hated the sight of an Indian and except for his
knowledge as a scout, or Indian tracker or fighter, he was of little
use in a council. Colonel Zane informed the men of the fact that
Wetzel and he had discovered Indian tracks within ten miles of the
Fort, and he dwelt particularly on the disappearance of Wetzel.

"Now, you can depend on what I say. There are Wyandots in force on
the war path. Wetzel told me to dig for the Fort and he left me in a
hurry. We were near that cranberry bog over at the foot of Bald
mountain. I do not believe we shall be attacked. In my opinion the
Indians would come up from the west and keep to the high ridges
along Yellow creek. They always come that way. But of course, it is
best to know surely, and I daresay Lew will come in to-night or
to-morrow with the facts. In the meantime put out some scouts back
in the woods and let Jonathan and the Major watch the river."

"I hope Wetzel will come in," said the Major. "We can trust him to
know more about the Indians than any one. It was a week before you
and he went hunting that I saw him. I went to Fort Pitt and tried to
bring over some men, but the garrison is short and they need men as
much as we do. A young soldier named Clarke volunteered to come and
I brought him along with me. He has not seen any Indian fighting,
but he is a likely looking chap, and I guess will do. Captain Boggs
will give him a place in the block house if you say so."

"By all means. We shall be glad to have him," said Colonel Zane.

"It would not be so serious if I had not sent the men up the river,"
said Captain Boggs, in anxious tones. "Do you think it possible they
might have fallen in with the Indians?"

"It is possible, of course, but not probable," answered Colonel
Zane. "The Indians are all across the Ohio. Wetzel is over there and
he will get here long before they do."

"I hope it may be as you say. I have much confidence in your
judgment," returned Captain Boggs. "I shall put out scouts and take
all the precaution possible. We must return now. Come, Lydia."

"Whew! What an awful night this is going to be," said Colonel Zane,
when he had closed the door after his guests' departure. "I should
not care to sleep out to-night."

"Eb, what will Lew Wetzel do on a night like this?" asked Betty,
curiously.

"Oh, Lew will be as snug as a rabbit in his burrow," said Colonel
Zane, laughing. "In a few moments he can build a birch bark shack,
start a fire inside and go to sleep comfortably."

"Ebenezer, what is all this confab about? What did my brother tell
you?" asked Mrs. Zane, anxiously.

"We are in for more trouble from the Wyandots and Shawnees. But,
Bessie, I don't believe it will come soon. We are too well protected
here for anything but a protracted siege."

Colonel Zane's light and rather evasive answer did not deceive his
wife. She knew her brother and her husband would not wear anxious
faces for nothing. Her usually bright face clouded with a look of
distress. She had seen enough of Indian warfare to make her shudder
with horror at the mere thought. Betty seemed unconcerned. She sat
down beside the dog and patted him on the head.

"Tige, Indians! Indians!" she said.

The dog growled and showed his teeth. It was only necessary to
mention Indians to arouse his ire.

"The dog has been uneasy of late," continued Colonel Zane "He found
the Indian tracks before Wetzel did. You know how Tige hates
Indians. Ever since he came home with Isaac four years ago he has
been of great service to the scouts, as he possesses so much
intelligence and sagacity. Tige followed Isaac home the last time he
escaped from the Wyandots. When Isaac was in captivity he nursed and
cared for the dog after he had been brutally beaten by the redskins.
Have you ever heard that long mournful howl Tige gives out sometimes
in the dead of night?"

"Yes I have, and it makes me cover up my head," said Betty.

"Well, it is Tige mourning for Isaac," said Colonel Zane

"Poor Isaac," murmured Betty.

"Do you remember him? It has been nine years since you saw him,"
said Mrs. Zane.

"Remember Isaac? Indeed I do. I shall never forget him. I wonder if
he is still living?"

"Probably not. It is now four years since he was recaptured. I think
it would have been impossible to keep him that length of time,
unless, of course, he has married that Indian girl. The simplicity
of the Indian nature is remarkable. He could easily have deceived
them and made them believe he was content in captivity. Probably, in
attempting to escape again, he has been killed as was poor Andrew."

Brother and sister gazed with dark, sad eyes into the fire, now
burned down to a glowing bed of coals. The silence remained unbroken
save for the moan of the rising wind outside, the rattle of hail,
and the patter of rain drops on the roof.



CHAPTER II.

Fort Henry stood on a bluff overlooking the river and commanded a
fine view of the surrounding country. In shape it was a
parallelogram, being about three hundred and fifty-six feet in
length, and one hundred and fifty in width. Surrounded by a stockade
fence twelve feet high, with a yard wide walk running around the
inside, and with bastions at each corner large enough to contain six
defenders, the fort presented an almost impregnable defense. The
blockhouse was two stories in height, the second story projecting
out several feet over the first. The thick white oak walls bristled
with portholes. Besides the blockhouse, there were a number of
cabins located within the stockade. Wells had been sunk inside the
inclosure, so that if the spring happened to go dry, an abundance of
good water could be had at all times.

In all the histories of frontier life mention is made of the forts
and the protection they offered in time of savage warfare. These
forts were used as homes for the settlers, who often lived for weeks
inside the walls.

Forts constructed entirely of wood without the aid of a nail or
spike (for the good reason that these things could not be had) may
seem insignificant in these days of great nasal and military
garrisons. However, they answered the purpose at that time and
served to protect many an infant settlement from the savage attacks
of Indian tribes. During a siege of Fort Henry, which had occurred
about a year previous, the settlers would have lost scarcely a man
had they kept to the fort. But Captain Ogle, at that time in charge
of the garrison, had led a company out in search of the Indians.
Nearly all of his men were killed, several only making their way to
the fort.

On the day following Major McColloch's arrival at Fort Henry, the
settlers had been called in from their spring plowing and other
labors, and were now busily engaged in moving their stock and the
things they wished to save from the destructive torch of the
redskin. The women had their hands full with the children, the
cleaning of rifles and moulding of bullets, and the thousand and one
things the sterner tasks of their husbands had left them. Major
McColloch, Jonathan and Silas Zane, early in the day, had taken
different directions along the river to keep a sharp lookout for
signs of the enemy. Colonel Zane intended to stay in his oven house
and defend it, so he had not moved anything to the fort excepting
his horses and cattle. Old Sam, the negro, was hauling loads of hay
inside the stockade. Captain Boggs had detailed several scouts to
watch the roads and one of these was the young man, Clarke, who had
accompanied the Major from Fort Pitt.

The appearance of Alfred Clarke, despite the fact that he wore the
regulation hunting garb, indicated a young man to whom the hard work
and privation of the settler were unaccustomed things. So thought
the pioneers who noticed his graceful walk, his fair skin and smooth
hands. Yet those who carefully studied his clearcut features were
favorably impressed; the women, by the direct, honest gaze of his
blue eyes and the absence of ungentle lines in his face; the men, by
the good nature, and that indefinable something by which a man marks
another as true steel.

He brought nothing with him from Fort Pitt except his horse, a
black-coated, fine limbed thoroughbred, which he frankly confessed
was all he could call his own. When asking Colonel Zane to give him
a position in the garrison he said he was a Virginian and had been
educated in Philadelphia; that after his father died his mother
married again, and this, together with a natural love of adventure,
had induced him to run away and seek his fortune with the hardy
pioneer and the cunning savage of the border. Beyond a few months'
service under General Clark he knew nothing of frontier life; but he
was tired of idleness; he was strong and not afraid of work, and he
could learn. Colonel Zane, who prided himself on his judgment of
character, took a liking to the young man at once, and giving him a
rifle and accoutrements, told him the border needed young men of
pluck and fire, and that if he brought a strong hand and a willing
heart he could surely find fortune. Possibly if Alfred Clarke could
have been told of the fate in store for him he might have mounted
his black steed and have placed miles between him and the frontier
village; but, as there were none to tell, he went cheerfully out to
meet that fate.

On this is bright spring morning he patrolled the road leading along
the edge of the clearing, which was distant a quarter of a mile from
the fort. He kept a keen eye on the opposite side of the river, as
he had been directed. From the upper end of the island, almost
straight across from where he stood, the river took a broad turn,
which could not be observed from the fort windows. The river was
high from the recent rains and brush heaps and logs and debris of
all descriptions were floating down with the swift current. Rabbits
and other small animals, which had probably been surrounded on some
island and compelled to take to the brush or drown, crouched on
floating logs and piles of driftwood. Happening to glance down the
road, Clarke saw a horse galloping in his direction. At first he
thought it was a messenger for himself, but as it neared him he saw
that the horse was an Indian pony and the rider a young girl, whose
long, black hair was flying in the wind.

"Hello! I wonder what the deuce this is? Looks like an Indian girl,"
said Clarke to himself. "She rides well, whoever she may be."

He stepped behind a clump of laurel bushes near the roadside and
waited. Rapidly the horse and rider approached him. When they were
but a few paces distant he sprang out and, as the pony shied and
reared at sight of him, he clutched the bridle and pulled the pony's
head down. Looking up he encountered the astonished and bewildered
gaze from a pair of the prettiest dark eyes it had ever been his
fortune, or misfortune, to look into.

Betty, for it was she, looked at the young man in amazement, while
Alfred was even more surprised and disconcerted. For a moment they
looked at each other in silence. But Betty, who was scarcely ever at
a loss for words, presently found her voice.

"Well, sir! What does this mean?" she asked indignantly.

"It means that you must turn around and go back to the fort,"
answered Alfred, also recovering himself.

Now Betty's favorite ride happened to be along this road. It lay
along the top of the bluff a mile or more and afforded a fine
unobstructed view of the river. Betty had either not heard of the
Captain's order, that no one was to leave the fort, or she had
disregarded it altogether; probably the latter, as she generally did
what suited her fancy.

"Release my pony's head!" she cried, her face flushing, as she gave
a jerk to the reins. "How dare you? What right have you to detain
me?"

The expression Betty saw on Clarke's face was not new to her, for
she remembered having seen it on the faces of young gentlemen whom
she had met at her aunt's house in Philadelphia. It was the slight,
provoking smile of the man familiar with the various moods of young
women, the expression of an amused contempt for their imperiousness.
But it was not that which angered Betty. It was the coolness with
which he still held her pony regardless of her commands.

"Pray do not get excited," he said. "I am sorry I cannot allow such
a pretty little girl to have her own way. I shall hold your pony
until you say you will go back to the fort."

"Sir!" exclaimed Betty, blushing a bright-red. "You--you are
impertinent!"

"Not at all," answered Alfred, with a pleasant laugh. "I am sure I
do not intend to be. Captain Boggs did not acquaint me with full
particulars or I might have declined my present occupation: not,
however, that it is not agreeable just at this moment. He should
have mentioned the danger of my being run down by Indian ponies and
imperious young ladies."

"Will you let go of that bridle, or shall I get off and walk back
for assistance?" said Betty, getting angrier every moment.

"Go back to the fort at once," ordered Alfred, authoritatively.
"Captain Boggs' orders are that no one shall be allowed to leave the
clearing."

"Oh! Why did you not say so? I thought you were Simon Girty, or a
highwayman. Was it necessary to keep me here all this time to
explain that you were on duty?"

"You know sometimes it is difficult to explain," said Alfred,
"besides, the situation had its charm. No, I am not a robber, and I
don't believe you thought so. I have only thwarted a young lady's
whim, which I am aware is a great crime. I am very sorry. Goodbye."

Betty gave him a withering glance from her black eyes, wheeled her
pony and galloped away. A mellow laugh was borne to her ears before
she got out of hearing, and again the red blood mantled her cheeks.

"Heavens! What a little beauty," said Alfred to himself, as he
watched the graceful rider disappear. "What spirit! Now, I wonder
who she can be. She had on moccasins and buckskin gloves and her
hair tumbled like a tomboy's, but she is no backwoods girl, I'll bet
on that. I'm afraid I was a little rude, but after taking such a
stand I could not weaken, especially before such a haughty and
disdainful little vixen. It was too great a temptation. What eyes
she had! Contrary to what I expected, this little frontier
settlement bids fair to become interesting."

The afternoon wore slowly away, and until late in the day nothing
further happened to disturb Alfred's meditations, which consisted
chiefly of different mental views and pictures of red lips and black
eyes. Just as he decided to return to the fort for his supper he
heard the barking of a dog that he had seen running along the road
some moments before. The sound came from some distance down the
river bank and nearer the fort. Walking a few paces up the bluff
Alfred caught sight of a large black dog running along the edge of
the water. He would run into the water a few paces and then come out
and dash along the shore. He barked furiously all the while. Alfred
concluded that he must have been excited by a fox or perhaps a wolf;
so he climbed down the steep bank and spoke to the dog. Thereupon
the dog barked louder and more fiercely than ever, ran to the water,
looked out into the river and then up at the man with almost human
intelligence.

Alfred understood. He glanced out over the muddy water, at first
making out nothing but driftwood. Then suddenly he saw a log with an
object clinging to it which he took to be a man, and an Indian at
that. Alfred raised his rifle to his shoulder and was in the act of
pressing the trigger when he thought he heard a faint halloo.
Looking closer, he found he was not covering the smooth polished
head adorned with the small tuft of hair, peculiar to a redskin on
the warpath, but a head from which streamed long black hair.

Alfred lowered his rifle and studied intently the log with its human
burden. Drifting with the current it gradually approached the bank,
and as it came nearer he saw that it bore a white man, who was
holding to the log with one hand and with the other was making
feeble strokes. He concluded the man was either wounded or nearly
drowned, for his movements were becoming slower and weaker every
moment. His white face lay against the log and barely above water.
Alfred shouted encouraging words to him.

At the bend of the river a little rocky point jutted out a few yards
into the water. As the current carried the log toward this point,
Alfred, after divesting himself of some of his clothing, plunged in
and pulled it to the shore. The pallid face of the man clinging to
the log showed that he was nearly exhausted, and that he had been
rescued in the nick of time. When Alfred reached shoal water he
slipped his arm around the man, who was unable to stand, and carried
him ashore.

The rescued man wore a buckskin hunting shirt and leggins and
moccasins of the same material, all very much the worse for wear.
The leggins were torn into tatters and the moccasins worn through.
His face was pinched with suffering and one arm was bleeding from a
gunshot wound near the shoulder.

"Can you not speak? Who are you?" asked Clarke, supporting the limp
figure.

The man made several efforts to answer, and finally said something
that to Alfred sounded like "Zane," then he fell to the ground
unconscious.

All this time the dog had acted in a most peculiar manner, and if
Alfred had not been so intent on the man he would have noticed the
animal's odd maneuvers. He ran to and fro on the sandy beach; he
scratched up the sand and pebbles, sending them flying in the air;
he made short, furious dashes; he jumped, whirled, and, at last,
crawled close to the motionless figure and licked its hand.

Clarke realized that he would not be able to carry the inanimate
figure, so he hurriedly put on his clothes and set out on a run for
Colonel Zane's house. The first person whom he saw was the old negro
slave, who was brushing one of the Colonel's horses.

Sam was deliberate and took his time about everything. He slowly
looked up and surveyed Clarke with his rolling eyes. He did not
recognize in him any one he had ever seen before, and being of a
sullen and taciturn nature, especially with strangers, he seemed in
no hurry to give the desired information as to Colonel Zane's
whereabouts.

"Don't stare at me that way, you damn nigger," said Clarke, who was
used to being obeyed by negroes. "Quick, you idiot. Where is the
Colonel?"

At that moment Colonel Zane came out of the barn and started to
speak, when Clarke interrupted him.

"Colonel, I have just pulled a man out of the river who says his
name is Zane, or if he did not mean that, he knows you, for he
surely said 'Zane.'"

"What!" ejaculated the Colonel, letting his pipe fall from his
mouth.

Clarke related the circumstances in a few hurried words. Calling Sam
they ran quickly down to the river, where they found the prostrate
figure as Clarke had left it, the dog still crouched close by.

"My God! It is Isaac!" exclaimed Colonel Zane, when he saw the white
face. "Poor boy, he looks as if he were dead. Are you sure he spoke?
Of course he must have spoken for you could not have known. Yes, his
heart is still beating."

Colonel Zane raised his head from the unconscious man's breast,
where he had laid it to listen for the beating heart.

"Clarke, God bless you for saving him," said he fervently. "It shall
never be forgotten. He is alive, and, I believe, only exhausted, for
that wound amounts to little. Let us hurry."

"I did not save him. It was the dog," Alfred made haste to answer.

They carried the dripping form to the house, where the door was
opened by Mrs. Zane.

"Oh, dear, another poor man," she said, pityingly. Then, as she saw
his face, "Great Heavens, it is Isaac! Oh! don't say he is dead!"

"Yes, it is Isaac, and he is worth any number of dead men yet," said
Colonel Zane, as they laid the insensible man on the couch. "Bessie,
there is work here for you. He has been shot."

"Is there any other wound beside this one in his arm?" asked Mrs.
Zane, examining it.

"I do not think so, and that injury is not serious. It is lose of
blood, exposure and starvation. Clarke, will you please run over to
Captain Boggs and tell Betty to hurry home! Sam, you get a blanket
and warm it by the fire. That's right, Bessie, bring the whiskey,"
and Colonel Zane went on giving orders.

Alfred did not know in the least who Betty was, but, as he thought
that unimportant, he started off on a run for the fort. He had a
vague idea that Betty was the servant, possibly Sam's wife, or some
one of the Colonel's several slaves.

Let us return to Betty. As she wheeled her pony and rode away from
the scene of her adventure on the river bluff, her state of mind can
be more readily imagined than described. Betty hated opposition of
any kind, whether justifiable or not; she wanted her own way, and
when prevented from doing as she pleased she invariably got angry.
To be ordered and compelled to give up her ride, and that by a
stranger, was intolerable. To make it all the worse this stranger
had been decidedly flippant. He had familiarly spoken to her as "a
pretty little girl." Not only that, which was a great offense, but
he had stared at her, and she had a confused recollection of a gaze
in which admiration had been ill disguised. Of course, it was that
soldier Lydia had been telling her about. Strangers were of so rare
an occurrence in the little village that it was not probable there
could be more than one.

Approaching the house she met her brother who told her she had
better go indoors and let Sam put up the pony. Accordingly, Betty
called the negro, and then went into the house. Bessie had gone to
the fort with the children. Betty found no one to talk to, so she
tried to read. Finding she could not become interested she threw the
book aside and took up her embroidery. This also turned out a
useless effort; she got the linen hopelessly twisted and tangled,
and presently she tossed this upon the table. Throwing her shawl
over her shoulders, for it was now late in the afternoon and growing
chilly, she walked downstairs and out into the Yard. She strolled
aimlessly to and fro awhile, and then went over to the fort and into
Captain Bogg's house, which adjoined the blockhouse. Here she found
Lydia preparing flax.

"I saw you racing by on your pony. Goodness, how you can ride! I
should be afraid of breaking my neck," exclaimed Lydia, as Betty
entered.

"My ride was spoiled," said Betty, petulantly.

"Spoiled? By what--whom?"

"By a man, of course," retorted Betty, whose temper still was high.
"It is always a man that spoils everything."

"Why, Betty, what in the world do you mean? I never heard you talk
that way," said Lydia, opening her blue eyes in astonishment.

"Well, Lyde, I'll tell you. I was riding down the river road and
just as I came to the end of the clearing a man jumped out from
behind some bushes and grasped Madcap's bridle. Imagine! For a
moment I was frightened out of my wits. I instantly thought of the
Girtys, who, I have heard, have evinced a fondness for kidnapping
little girls. Then the fellow said he was on guard and ordered me,
actually commanded me to go home."

"Oh, is that all?" said Lydia, laughing.

"No, that is not all. He--he said I was a pretty little girl and
that he was sorry I could not have my own way; that his present
occupation was pleasant, and that the situation had its charm. The
very idea. He was most impertinent," and Betty's telltale cheeks
reddened again at the recollection.