The Spirit of the Border

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"Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has come
in place of the man you expected from Williamsburg."

The old minister arose, and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at
the new-comer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in his
quick scrutiny of the other's face, for his lips were wreathed with
a smile of welcome.

"Mr. Downs, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me.
I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who is young enough
to carry on the work when my days are done."

"I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in my
power," answered Jim, earnestly.

"We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers who
claim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fierce
savages Christianity; but I know it can be done, and my heart is in
the work. I have no fear; yet I would not conceal from you, young
man, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must be
great."

"I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the
redman. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature and
believe the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war,
and I want to help him into other paths."

Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs.
Wentz. The fur-trader's wife was glowing with pleasure. She held in
her hand several rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener,
a young woman, that the toys were for the children, having been
brought all the way from Williamsburg.

"Kate, where's Nell?" Joe asked of the girl.

"She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz."

Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow,
easy and consistent with her large, full, form. Her brown eyes and
hair contrasted sharply with Nell's. The greatest difference in the
sisters lay in that Nell's face was sparkling and full of the fire
of her eager young life, while Kate's was calm, like the unruffled
surface of a deep lake.

"That's Jim, my brother. We're going with you," said Joe.

"Are you? I'm glad," answered the girl, looking at the handsome
earnest face of the young minister.

"Your brother's like you for all the world," whispered Mrs. Wentz.

"He does look like you," said Kate, with her slow smile.

"Which means you think, or hope, that that is all," retorted Joe
laughingly. "Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God for
Jim!"

He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look at
him wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; never
until then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A
moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the children
who were playing with the trinkets; while Kate mused over the young
man's remark, and began studying his, half-averted face. She felt
warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he had
given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with
much of this wild and reckless boy's behavior. To Kate he had always
seemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet here
was proof that Master Joe loved his brother.

The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by a
low cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, and
then a husky voice:

"Hol' on, my purty lass."'

Joe took two long strides, and was on the door-step. He saw Nell
struggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster.

"I'll jes' hev' to kiss this lassie fer luck," he said in a tone of
good humor.

At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth,
the grizzled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell.

"Let me go!" cried Nell.

Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him, and was bending
his red, moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped his
neck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth
opened, his tongue protruded; his eyes seemed starting from their
sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flung
with a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in a heap on
the grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple.

"What's this?" cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up,
and arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman.

"It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn't hev' did better myself, and I
was comin' for that purpose," said the frontiersman. "Leffler was
tryin' to kiss the lass. He's been drunk fer two days. That little
girl's sweetheart kin handle himself some, now you take my word on
it."

"I'll agree Leff's bad when he's drinkin'," answered the fur-trader,
and to Joe he added, "He's liable to look you up when he comes
around."

"Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I'll kill him," Joe cried
in a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster,
and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance
was cutting, as if with the flash of cold gray steel. "Nell, I'm
sorry I wasn't round sooner," he said, apologetically, as if it was
owing to his neglect the affair had happened.

As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was the
third time he had injured a man because of her. She had on several
occasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had
always frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were inside
the building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly,
and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry with
him; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He
had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he
considered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet
and subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fear
because of his strength was mingled with her pride in it. Any other
girl would have been only too glad to have such a champion; she
would, too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud.

"Look here, Nell, you haven't spoken to me," Joe cried suddenly,
seeming to understand that she had not even heard what he said, so
engrossed had she been with her reflections. "Are you mad with me
yet?" he continued. "Why, Nell, I'm in--I love you!"

Evidently Joe thought such fact a sufficient reason for any act on
his part. His tender tone conquered Nell, and she turned to him with
flushed cheeks and glad eyes.

"I wasn't angry at all," she whispered, and then, eluding the arm he
extended, she ran into the other room.



Chapter III.

Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplating
two quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One
he recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour
that morning; the red son of the woods was wrapped in slumber. He
had placed under his head a many-hued homespun shirt which the young
preacher had given him; but while asleep his head had rolled off
this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attracting
the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had
found lodgment in Joe's fertile brain.

The other sleeper was a short, stout man whom Joe had seen several
times before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced in
his mind, and was the butt of the settlers' jokes, while the
children called him "Loorey." He, like the Indian, was sleeping off
the effects of the previous night's dissipation.

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an
expression on his face which told that he thought in them were great
possibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared
within the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveying
the village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a small
basket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simply
contained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as the Indians
used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the
fur-trader's wares.

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were
busy with their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckled
when there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the
Indians' gaudy shirt, and, lifting Loorey, slipped it around him,
shoved the latter's arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it in
front. He streaked the round face with red and white paint, and
then, dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the Indian's
head-dress, stuck it in Loorey's thick shock of hair. It was all
done in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went down
to the river.

Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf where Jeff
Lynn, the grizzled old frontiersman, busied himself with
preparations for the raft-journey down the Ohio. Lynn had been
employed to guide the missionary's party to Fort Henry, and, as the
brothers had acquainted him with their intention of accompanying the
travelers, he had constructed a raft for them and their horses.

Joe laughed when he saw the dozen two-foot logs fastened together,
upon which a rude shack had been erected for shelter. This slight
protection from sun and storm was all the brothers would have on
their long journey.

Joe noted, however, that the larger raft had been prepared with some
thought for the comfort of the girls. The floor of the little hut
was raised so that the waves which broke over the logs could not
reach it. Taking a peep into the structure, Joe was pleased to see
that Nell and Kate would be comfortable, even during a storm. A
buffalo robe and two red blankets gave to the interior a cozy, warm
look. He observed that some of the girls' luggage was already on
board.

"When'll we be off?" he inquired.

"Sun-up," answered Lynn, briefly.

"I'm glad of that. I like to be on the go in the early morning,"
said Joe, cheerfully.

"Most folks from over Eastways ain't in a hurry to tackle the
river," replied Lynn, eyeing Joe sharply.

"It's a beautiful river, and I'd like to sail on it from here to
where it ends, and then come back to go again," Joe replied, warmly.

"In a hurry to be a-goin'? I'll allow you'll see some slim red
devils, with feathers in their hair, slipping among the trees along
the bank, and mebbe you'll hear the ping which's made when whistlin'
lead hits. Perhaps you'll want to be back here by termorrer
sundown."

"Not I," said Joe, with his short, cool laugh.

The old frontiersman slowly finished his task of coiling up a rope
of wet cowhide, and then, producing a dirty pipe, he took a live
ember from the fire and placed it on the bowl. He sucked slowly at
the pipe-stem, and soon puffed out a great cloud of smoke. Sitting
on a log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long,
heavy limbs of the young man, with a keen appreciation of their
symmetry and strength. Agility, endurance and courage were more to a
borderman than all else; a new-comer on the frontier was always
"sized-up" with reference to these "points," and respected in
proportion to the measure in which he possessed them.

Old Jeff Lynn, riverman, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at his
pipe while he mused thus to himself: "Mebbe I'm wrong in takin' a
likin' to this youngster so sudden. Mebbe it's because I'm fond of
his sunny-haired lass, an' ag'in mebbe it's because I'm gettin' old
an' likes young folks better'n I onct did. Anyway, I'm kinder
thinkin, if this young feller gits worked out, say fer about twenty
pounds less, he'll lick a whole raft-load of wild-cats."

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put
together, and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. At
length he seated himself beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions;
to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, the
Indians--everything in connection with this wild life; but already
he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means
of closing their lips.

"Ever handle the long rifle?" asked Lynn, after a silence.

"Yes," answered Joe, simply.

"Ever shoot anythin'?" the frontiersman questioned, when he had
taken four or five puffs at his pipe.

"Squirrels."

"Good practice, shootin' squirrels," observed Jeff, after another
silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined.
"Kin ye hit one--say, a hundred yards?"

"Yes, but not every time in the head," returned Joe. There was an
apologetic tone in his answer.

Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowly
pursuing his line of thought. After Joe's last remark he returned
his pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco-pouch. He tore off
a large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then he
held out the little buckskin sack to Joe.

"Hev' a chaw," he said.

To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a borderman's guarantee of
friendliness toward that person.

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a little
nearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly
this was the borderman's way of oiling up his conversational
machinery. At all events, he commenced to talk.

"Yer brother's goin' to preach out here, ain't he? Preachin' is all
right, I'll allow; but I'm kinder doubtful about preachin' to
redskins. Howsumever, I've knowed Injuns who are good fellows, and
there's no tellin'. What are ye goin' in fer--farmin'?"

"No, I wouldn't make a good farmer."

"Jest cum out kinder wild like, eh?" rejoined Jeff, knowingly.

"I wanted to come West because I was tired of tame life. I love the
forest; I want to fish and hunt; and I think I'd like to--to see
Indians."

"I kinder thought so," said the old frontiersman, nodding his head
as though he perfectly understood Joe's case. "Well, lad, where
you're goin' seein' Injuns ain't a matter of choice. You has to see
'em, and fight 'em, too. We've had bad times for years out here on
the border, and I'm thinkin' wuss is comin'. Did ye ever hear the
name Girty?"

"Yes; he's a renegade."

"He's a traitor, and Jim and George Girty, his brothers, are p'isin
rattlesnake Injuns. Simon Girty's bad enough; but Jim's the wust.
He's now wusser'n a full-blooded Delaware. He's all the time on the
lookout to capture white wimen to take to his Injun teepee. Simon
Girty and his pals, McKee and Elliott, deserted from that thar fort
right afore yer eyes. They're now livin' among the redskins down
Fort Henry way, raisin' as much hell fer the settlers as they kin."

"Is Fort Henry near the Indian towns?" asked Joe.

"There's Delawares, Shawnees and Hurons all along the Ohio below
Fort Henry."

"Where is the Moravian Mission located?"

"Why, lad, the Village of Peace, as the Injuns call it, is right in
the midst of that Injun country. I 'spect it's a matter of a hundred
miles below and cross-country a little from Fort Henry."

"The fort must be an important point, is it not?"

"Wal, I guess so. It's the last place on the river," answered Lynn,
with a grim smile. "There's only a stockade there, an' a handful of
men. The Injuns hev swarmed down on it time and ag'in, but they hev
never burned it. Only such men as Colonel Zane, his brother Jack,
and Wetzel could hev kept that fort standin' all these bloody years.
Eb Zane's got but a few men, yet he kin handle 'em some, an' with
such scouts as Jack Zane and Wetzel, he allus knows what's goin' on
among the Injuns."

"I've heard of Colonel Zane. He was an officer under Lord Dunmore.
The hunters here speak often of Jack Zane and Wetzel. What are
they?"

"Jack Zane is a hunter an' guide. I knowed him well a few years
back. He's a quiet, mild chap; but a streak of chain-lightnin' when
he's riled. Wetzel is an Injun-killer. Some people say as how he's
crazy over scalp-huntin'; but I reckon that's not so. I've seen him
a few times. He don't hang round the settlement 'cept when the
Injuns are up, an' nobody sees him much. At home he sets round
silent-like, an' then mebbe next mornin' he'll be gone, an' won't
show up fer days or weeks. But all the frontier knows of his deeds.
Fer instance, I've hearn of settlers gettin' up in the mornin' an'
findin' a couple of dead and scalped Injuns right in front of their
cabins. No one knowed who killed 'em, but everybody says 'Wetzel.'
He's allus warnin' the settlers when they need to flee to the fort,
and sure he's right every time, because when these men go back to
their cabins they find nothin' but ashes. There couldn't be any
farmin' done out there but fer Wetzel."

"What does he look like?" questioned Joe, much interested.

"Wetzel stands straight as the oak over thar. He'd hev' to go
sideways to git his shoulders in that door, but he's as light of
foot an' fast as a deer. An' his eyes--why, lad, ye kin hardly look
into 'em. If you ever see Wetzel you'll know him to onct."

"I want to see him," Joe spoke quickly, his eyes lighting with an
eager flash. "He must be a great fighter."

"Is he? Lew Wetzel is the heftiest of 'em all, an' we hev some as
kin fight out here. I was down the river a few years ago and joined
a party to go out an' hunt up some redskins as had been reported.
Wetzel was with us. We soon struck Injun sign, and then come on to a
lot of the pesky varmints. We was all fer goin' home, because we had
a small force. When we started to go we finds Wetzel sittin'
calm-like on a log. We said: 'Ain't ye goin' home?' and he replied,
'I cum out to find redskins, an' now as we've found 'em, I'm not
goin' to run away.' An' we left him settin' thar. Oh, Wetzel is a
fighter!"

"I hope I shall see him," said Joe once more, the warm light, which
made him look so boyish, still glowing in his face.

"Mebbe ye'll git to; and sure ye'll see redskins, an' not tame ones,
nuther."

At this moment the sound of excited voices near the cabins broke in
on the conversation. Joe saw several persons run toward the large
cabin and disappear behind it. He smiled as he thought perhaps the
commotion had been caused by the awakening of the Indian brave.

Rising to his feet, Joe went toward the cabin, and soon saw the
cause of the excitement. A small crowd of men and women, all
laughing and talking, surrounded the Indian brave and the little
stout fellow. Joe heard some one groan, and then a deep, guttural
voice:

"Paleface--big steal--ugh! Injun mad--heap mad--kill paleface."

After elbowing his way into the group, Joe saw the Indian holding
Loorey with one hand, while he poked him on the ribs with the other.
The captive's face was the picture of dismay; even the streaks of
paint did not hide his look of fear and bewilderment. The poor
half-witted fellow was so badly frightened that he could only groan.

"Silvertip scalp paleface. Ugh!" growled the savage, giving Loorey
another blow on the side. This time he bent over in pain. The
bystanders were divided in feeling; the men laughed, while the women
murmured sympathetically.

"This's not a bit funny," muttered Joe, as he pushed his way nearly
to the middle of the crowd. Then he stretched out a long arm that,
bare and brawny, looked as though it might have been a blacksmith's,
and grasped the Indian's sinewy wrist with a force that made him
loosen his hold on Loorey instantly.

"I stole the shirt--fun--joke," said Joe. "Scalp me if you want to
scalp anyone."

The Indian looked quickly at the powerful form before him. With a
twist he slipped his arm from Joe's grasp.

"Big paleface heap fun--all squaw play," he said, scornfully. There
was a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left the
group.

"I'm afraid you've made an enemy," said Jake Wentz to Joe. "An
Indian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded your
joke. Silvertip has been friendly here because he sells us his
pelts. He's a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows!"

By this time Jim and Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wentz and the girls had joined
the group. They all watched Silvertip get into his canoe and paddle
away.

"A bad sign," said Wentz, and then, turning to Jeff Lynn, who joined
the party at that moment, he briefly explained the circumstances.

"Never did like Silver. He's a crafty redskin, an' not to be
trusted," replied Jeff.

"He has turned round and is looking back," Nell said quickly.

"So he has," observed the fur-trader.

The Indian was now several hundred yards down the swift river, and
for an instant had ceased paddling. The sun shone brightly on his
eagle plumes. He remained motionless for a moment, and even at such
a distance the dark, changeless face could be discerned. He lifted
his hand and shook it menacingly.

"If ye don't hear from that redskin ag'in Jeff Lynn don't know
nothin'," calmly said the old frontiersman.



Chapter IV.

As the rafts drifted with the current the voyagers saw the settlers
on the landing-place diminish until they had faded from indistinct
figures to mere black specks against the green background. Then came
the last wave of a white scarf, faintly in the distance, and at
length the dark outline of the fort was all that remained to their
regretful gaze. Quickly that, too, disappeared behind the green
hill, which, with its bold front, forces the river to take a wide
turn.

The Ohio, winding in its course between high, wooded bluffs, rolled
on and on into the wilderness.

Beautiful as was the ever-changing scenery, rugged gray-faced cliffs
on one side contrasting with green-clad hills on the other, there
hovered over land and water something more striking than beauty.
Above all hung a still atmosphere of calmness--of loneliness.

And this penetrating solitude marred somewhat the pleasure which
might have been found in the picturesque scenery, and caused the
voyagers, to whom this country was new, to take less interest in the
gaily-feathered birds and stealthy animals that were to be seen on
the way. By the forms of wild life along the banks of the river,
this strange intruder on their peace was regarded with attention.
The birds and beasts evinced little fear of the floating rafts. The
sandhill crane, stalking along the shore, lifted his long neck as
the unfamiliar thing came floating by, and then stood still and
silent as a statue until the rafts disappeared from view.
Blue-herons feeding along the bars, saw the unusual spectacle, and,
uttering surprised "booms," they spread wide wings and lumbered away
along the shore. The crows circled above the voyagers, cawing in not
unfriendly excitement. Smaller birds alighted on the raised poles,
and several--a robin, a catbird and a little brown wren--ventured
with hesitating boldness to peck at the crumbs the girls threw to
them. Deer waded knee-deep in the shallow water, and, lifting their
heads, instantly became motionless and absorbed. Occasionally a
buffalo appeared on a level stretch of bank, and, tossing his huge
head, seemed inclined to resent the coming of this stranger into his
domain.

All day the rafts drifted steadily and swiftly down the river,
presenting to the little party ever-varying pictures of densely
wooded hills, of jutting, broken cliffs with scant evergreen growth;
of long reaches of sandy bar that glistened golden in the sunlight,
and over all the flight and call of wildfowl, the flitting of
woodland songsters, and now and then the whistle and bellow of the
horned watchers in the forest.

The intense blue of the vault above began to pale, and low down in
the west a few fleecy clouds, gorgeously golden for a fleeting
instant, then crimson-crowned for another, shaded and darkened as
the setting sun sank behind the hills. Presently the red rays
disappeared, a pink glow suffused the heavens, and at last, as gray
twilight stole down over the hill-tops, the crescent moon peeped
above the wooded fringe of the western bluffs.

"Hard an' fast she is," sang out Jeff Lynn, as he fastened the rope
to a tree at the head of a small island. "All off now, and' we'll
hev' supper. Thar's a fine spring under yon curly birch, an' I
fetched along a leg of deer-meat. Hungry, little 'un?"

He had worked hard all day steering the rafts, yet Nell had seen him
smiling at her many times during the journey, and he had found time
before the early start to arrange for her a comfortable seat. There
was now a solicitude in the frontiersman's voice that touched her.

"I am famished," she replied, with her bright smile. "I am afraid I
could eat a whole deer."

They all climbed the sandy slope, and found themselves on the summit
of an oval island, with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded by
birches. Bill, the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at once
swung his axe upon a log of driftwood. Mr. Wells and Jim walked to
and fro under the birches, and Kate and Nell sat on the grass
watching with great interest the old helmsman as he came up from the
river, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he had
given them. Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after laying
out the few utensils, he addressed himself to Joe:

"I'll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by bad
cuttin' and cookin'. You're slicin' it too thick. See--thar! Now
salt good, an' keep outen the flame; on the red coals is best."

With a sharpened stick Jeff held the thin slices over the fire for a
few moments. Then he laid them aside on some clean white-oak chips
Bill's axe had provided. The simple meal of meat, bread, and
afterward a drink of the cold spring water, was keenly relished by
the hungry voyagers. When it had been eaten, Jeff threw a log on the
fire and remarked: