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« Cornell University 
 
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 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924005634633 
 
The Last Trail 
 
The Last Trail 
 
 By ZANE GREY 
 
 yjRIANGLE/ 
 VBGOK 
 
 ,^,\(Uli''<'l(),„^^ 
 
 
 ^^//, 
 
 AUG 2 9 1985 
 
 '''.. 
 
 .:lilM:5':> '^ 
 
 Philadetphia !-«- E.. 
 
 
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 .\V>«.>jtA.i-'»<>>' 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 „ Triangle Books is a series published by 
 The Blakiston Company, 1012 Walnut St., Philadelphia 5, Pa. 
 
 '/ III \ ■ ■-: 
 
 s 
 ) • PRINTED AND BOUND IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 ; •*! 
 
The Last Trail 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 Twilight of a certain summer day, many years ago, shaded 
 softly down over the wild Ohio valley bringing keen anxiety to 
 a traveler on the lonely river trail. He had expected to reach 
 Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a wel- 
 come end to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the 
 wilderness; but the swift, on-coming dusk made it imperative to 
 halt. The narrow, forest-skirted trail, difficult to follow in broad 
 daylight, apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods. His 
 guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his 
 services were no longer needed; his teamster was new to the 
 frontier, and, altogether, the situation caused him much un- 
 easiness. 
 
 "I wouldn't so much mind another night in camp, if the guide 
 had not left us," he said in a low tone to the teamster. 
 
 That worthy shook his shaggy head, and growled while he 
 began unhitching the horses. 
 
 "Uncle," said a young man, who had clambered out from the 
 wagon, "we must be within a few miles of Fort Henry." 
 
 "How d'ye know we're near the fort?" interrupted the team- 
 ster, "or safe, either, fer thet matter ? I don't know this country." 
 
 "The guide assured me we could easily make Fort Henry 
 by sundown." 
 
 "Thet guide! I tell ye, Mr. Sheppard " 
 
 "Not so loud. Do not alarm my daughter,'' cautioned the man 
 who had been called Sheppard. 
 
^ THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Did ye notice any thin' queer about thet guide?" asked the 
 teamster, lowering his voice. "Did ye see how oneasy he was 
 last night? Did it strike ye he left us in a hurry, kind of ex- 
 cited like, in spite of his offhand manner?" 
 
 "Yes, he acted odd, or so it seemed to me," replied Sheppard. 
 "How about you. Will?" 
 
 "Now that I think of it, I believe he was queer. He behaved 
 like a man who expected somebody, or feared something might 
 happen. I fancied, however, that it was simply the manner of 
 a woodsman." 
 
 "Wal, I hev my opinion," said the teamster, in a gruff whisper. 
 "Ye was in a hurry to be a-goin', an' wouldn't take no advice. 
 The fur-trader at Fort Pitt didn't give this guide Jenks no good 
 send off. Said he wasn't well-known rovmd Pitt, 'cept he could 
 handle a knife some." 
 
 "What is your opinion?" asked Sheppard, as the teamster 
 paused. 
 
 "Wal, the valley below Pitt is full of renegades, outlaws an' 
 hoss-thieves. The redskins ain't so bad as they used to be, but 
 these white fellers are vsoisser'n ever. This guide Jenks might be 
 in with them, that's all. Mebbe I'm wrong. I hope so. The way 
 he left us looks bad." 
 
 "We won't borrow trouble. If we have come all this way with- 
 out seeing either Indian or outlaw — ^in fact, without incident — ^I 
 feel certain we can perform the remainder of the journey in 
 safety." Then Mr. Sheppard raised his voice. "Here, Helen, you 
 lazy girl, come out of that wagon. We want some supper. Will, 
 you gather some firewood, and we'll soon give this gloomy little 
 glen a more cheerful aspect." 
 
 As Mr. Sheppard turned toward the canvas-covered wagon a 
 girl leaped lightly down beside him. She was nearly as tall as he. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 3 
 
 "Is this Fort Henry? ".she asked, cheerily, beginning to dance 
 around him. "Where's the inn? I'm so hungry. How glad I am 
 to get out of that wagon! I'd Hke to run. Isn't this a lonesome, 
 lovely spot?" 
 
 A camp-fire soon crackled with hiss and sputter, and fragrant 
 wood-smoke filled the air. Steaming kettle, and savory steaks 
 of venison cheered the hungry travelers, making them forget 
 for the time the desertion of their guide and the fact that they 
 might be lost. The last glow faded entirely out of the western 
 sky. Night enveloped the forest, and the little glade was a 
 bright spot in the gloom. 
 
 The flickering light showed Mr. Sheppard to be a well-pre- 
 served old man with gray hair and ruddy, kindly face. The 
 nephew had a boyish, frank expression. The girl was a spendid 
 specimen of womanhood. Her large, laughing eyes were as dark 
 as the shadows beneath the trees. 
 
 Suddenly a quick start on Helen's part interrupted the merry 
 flow of conversation. She sat bolt upright with half-averted face. 
 
 "Ckiusin, what is the matter?" asked Will, quickly. 
 
 Helen remained motionless. 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Sheppard sharply. 
 
 "I heard a footstep," she whispered, pointing with trembling 
 finger toward the impenetrable blackness beyond the camp-fire. 
 
 All could hear a soft patter on the leaves. Then distinct foot- 
 falls broke the silence. 
 
 The tired teamster raised his shaggy head and glanced fear- 
 fully around the glade. Mr. Sheppard and Will gazed doubt- 
 fully toward the foliage; but Helen did not change her position. 
 The travelers appeared stricken by the silence and solitude of 
 the place. The faint hum of insects, and the low moan of the 
 night wind, seemed accentuated by the almost painful stillness. 
 
4 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "A panther, most likely," suggested Sheppard, in a voice 
 which he intended should be reassuring. "I saw one to-day 
 slinking along the trail." 
 , "I'd better get my gun from the wagon," said Will. 
 
 "How dark and wild it is here!" exclaimed Helen nervously. 
 "I believe I was frightened. Perhaps I fancied it — there! Again 
 — Hsten. Ah!" 
 
 Two tall figures emerged from the darkness into the circle of 
 light, and with swift, supple steps gained the camp-fire before 
 any of the travelers had time to move. They were Indians, and 
 the brandishing of their tomahawks proclaimed that they were 
 hostile. 
 
 "Ughl" grunted the taller savage, as he looked down upon the 
 defenseless, frightened group. 
 
 As the menacing figures stood in the glare of the fire gazing 
 at the party with shifty eyes, they presented a frightful appear- 
 ance. Fierce lineaments, all the more so because of bars of paint, 
 the hideous, shaven heads adorned with tufts of hair holding a 
 single feather, sinewy, copper-colored limbs suggestive of action 
 and endurance, the general aspect of untamed ferocity, appalled 
 the travelers and chilled their blood. 
 
 Grunts and chuckles manifested the satisfaction with which 
 the Indians fell upon the half-finished supper. They caused it 
 to vanish with astonishing celerity, and resembled wolves rather 
 than human beings in their greediness. 
 
 Helen looked timidly around as if hoping to see those who 
 would aid, and the savages Regarded her with ill humor. A 
 movement on the part of any member of the group caused 
 muscular hands to steal toward the tomahawks. 
 
 Suddenly the larger savage clutched his companion's knee. 
 Then lifting his hatchet, shook it with a significant gesture in 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 5 
 
 Sheppard's face, at the same time putting a finger on his lips 
 to enjoin silence. Both Indians became statuesque in their im- 
 mobility. They crouched in an attitude of listening, with heads 
 bent on one side, nostrils dilated, and mouths open. 
 
 One, two, three moments passed. The silence of the forest 
 appeared to be unbroken; but ears as keen as those of a deer 
 had detected some sound. The larger savage dropped noise- 
 lessly to the ground, where he lay stretched out with his ear 
 to the ground. The other remained immovable; only his beady 
 eyes gave signs of life, and these covered every point. 
 
 Finally the big savage rose silently, pointed down the dark 
 trail, and strode out of the circle of light. His companion fol- 
 lowed close at his heels. The two disappeared in the black 
 shadows like specters, as silently as they had come. 
 
 "Well!" breathed Helen. 
 
 "I am immensely relieved!" exclaimed Will. 
 
 "What do you make of such strange behavior?" Sheppard 
 asked of the teamster. 
 
 "I 'spect they got wind of somebody; most likely thet guide, 
 an '11 be back again. If they ain't, it's because they got switched 
 off by some signs or tokens, skeered, perhaps, by the scent of 
 the wind." 
 
 Hardly had he ceased speaking when again the circle of light 
 was invaded by stalking forms. 
 
 "I thought so! Here comes the skulkin' varmints," whispered 
 the teamster. 
 
 But he was wrong. A deep, calm voice spoke the single word: 
 "Friends." 
 
 Two men in the brown garb of woodsmen approached. One 
 approached the travelers; the other remained in the background, 
 leaning upon a long, black rifle. 
 
6 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Thus exposed to the glare of the flames, the foremost woods- 
 man presented a singularly picturesque figure. His costume was 
 the fringed buckskins of the border. Fully six feet tall, this 
 lithe-limbed young giant had something of the wild, free grace 
 of the Indian in his posture. 
 
 He surveyed the wondering travelers with dark, grave eyes. 
 
 "Did the reddys do any mischief.?" he asked. 
 
 "No, they didn't harm us," replied Sheppard. "They ate our 
 supper, and slipped off into the woods without so much as 
 touching one of us. But, indeed, sir, we are mighty glad to see 
 you." 
 
 Will echoed this sentiment, and Helen's big eyes were fastened 
 upon the stranger in welcome and wonder. 
 
 "We saw your fire blazin' through the twilight, an' came up 
 just in time to see the Injuns make off." 
 
 "Might they not hide in the bushes and shoot us?" asked 
 Will, who had listened to many a border story at Fort Pitt. "It 
 seems as if we'd make good targets in this light." 
 
 The gravity of the woodsman's face relaxed. 
 
 "You will pursue them?" asked Helen. 
 
 "They've melted into the night-shadows long ago," he re- 
 plied. "Who was your guide?" 
 
 "I hired him at Fort Pitt. He left us suddenly this morning. 
 A big man, with black beard and bushy eyebrows. A bit of his 
 ear had been shot or cut out," Sheppard replied. 
 
 "Jenks, one of Bing Legget's border-hawks." 
 
 "You have his name right. And who may Bing Legget be?" 
 
 "He's an outlaw. Jenks has been tryin' to lead you into a 
 trap. Likely he expected those Injuns to show up a day or two 
 ago. Somcthin' went wrong with the plan, I reckon. Mebbe he 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 7 
 
 was waitin' for five Shawnees, an' mebbe he'll never see three 
 of 'em again." 
 
 Something suggestive, cold, and grim, in the last words did 
 not escape the listeners. 
 
 "How far are we from Fort Henry?" asked Sheppard. 
 
 "Eighteen miles as a crow flies; longer by trail." 
 
 "Treachery!" exclaimed the old man. "We were no more than 
 that this morning. It is indeed fortunate that you found us. I 
 take it you are from Fort Henry, and will guide us there? I 
 am an old friend of Colonel Zane's. He will appreciate any kind- 
 ness you may show us. Of course you know him?" 
 
 "I am Jonathan Zane." 
 
 Sheppard suddenly realized that he was facing the most cele- 
 brated scout on the border. In Revolutionary times Zane's fame 
 had extended even to the far Atlantic Colonies. 
 
 "And your companion?" asked Sheppard with keen interest. 
 He guessed what might be told. Border lore coupled Jonathan 
 Zane with a strange and terrible character, a border Nemesis, a 
 mysterious, shadowy, elusive man, whom few pioneers ever saw, 
 but of whom all knew. 
 
 "Wetzel," answered Zane. 
 
 With one accord the travelers gazed curiously at Zane's silent 
 companion. In the dim background of the glow cast by the 
 fire, he stood a gigantic figure, dark, quiet, and yet with some- 
 thing intangible in his shadowy outline. 
 
 Suddenly he appeared to merge into the gloom as if he really 
 were a phantom. A warning, "Hist!" came from the bushes. 
 
 With one swift kick Zane scattered the camp-fire. 
 
 The travelers waited with bated breaths. They could hear 
 nothing save the beating of their own hearts; they could not 
 even see each other. 
 
8 THE LAST -niAIL 
 
 "Better go to sleep," came in Zane's calm voice. What a relief 
 it was! "We'll keep watch, an' at daybreak guide you to Fort 
 Henry." 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Colonel zane, a rugged, stalwart pioneer, with a strong, dark 
 face, sat listening to his old friend's dramatic story. At its close 
 a genial smile twinkled in his fine dark eyes. 
 
 "Well, well, Sheppard, no doubt it was a thrilling adventure 
 to you," he said. "It might have been a little more interesting, 
 and doubtless would, had I not sent Wetzel and Jonathan to 
 look you up." 
 
 "You did? How on earth did you know I was on the border.? 
 I counted much on the surprise I should give you." 
 
 "My Indian runners leave Fort Pitt ahead of any travelers, 
 and acquaint me with particulars." 
 
 "I remembered a fleet-looking Indian who seemed to be ask- 
 ing for information about us, when we arrived at Fort Pitt. I 
 am sorry I did not take the fur-trader's advice in regard to the 
 guide. But I was in such a hurry to come, and didn't feel able 
 to bear the expense of a raft or boat that we might come by 
 river. My nephew brought considerable gold, and I all my earthly 
 possessions." 
 
 "All's well that ends well," replied Colonel Zane cheerily. 
 "But we must thank Providence that Wetzel and Jonathan came 
 up in the nick of time." 
 
 "Indeed, yes. I'm not likely to forget those fierce savages. How 
 they slipped ofl into the darkness! I wonder if Wetzel pursued 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 9 
 
 them ? He disappeared last night, and we did not see him again. 
 In fact we hardly had a fair look at him. I question if I should 
 recognize him now, unless by his great stature." 
 
 "He was ahead of Jonathan on the trail. That is Wetzel's 
 way. In times of danger he is seldom seen, yet is always near. 
 But come, let us go out and look around. I am running up a 
 log cabin which will come in handy for you." 
 
 They passed out into the shade of pine and maples. A wind- 
 ing path led down a gentle slope. On the hillside under a 
 spreading tree a throng of bearded pioneers, clad in faded buck- 
 skins and wearing white-ringed coonskin caps, were erecting 
 a log cabin. 
 
 "Life here on the border is keen, hard, invigorating," said 
 Colonel Zane. "I tell you, George Sheppard, in spite of your 
 gray hair and your pretty daughter, you have come out West 
 because you want to live among men who do things." 
 
 "Colonel, I won't gainsay I've still got hot blood," replied 
 Sheppard; "but I came to Fort Henry for land. My old home 
 in Williamsburg has fallen into ruin together with the fortunes 
 of my family. I brought my daughter and my nephew because I 
 wanted them to take root in new soil." 
 
 "Well, George, right glad we are to have you. Where are your 
 sons? I remember them, though 'tis sixteen long years since I 
 left old Williamsburg." 
 
 "Gone. The Revolution took my sons. Helen is the last of 
 the family." 
 
 "Well, well, indeed that's hard. Independence has cost you 
 colonists as big a price as border-freedom has us pioneers. Come, 
 old friend, forget the past, A new life begins for you here, and 
 it will be one which gives you much. See, up goes a cabin; that 
 will soon be your home."^ 
 
10 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Sheppard's eye marked the sturdy pioneers and a fast dimin- 
 ishing pile of white-oak logs. 
 
 "Ho-heave!" cried a brawny foreman. 
 
 A dozen stout shoulders sagged beneath a well-trimmed log. 
 
 "Ho-heave!" yelled the foreman. 
 
 "See, up she goes," cried the colonel, "and to-morrow night 
 she'll shed rain." 
 
 They walked down a sandy lane bounded on the right by a 
 wide, green clearing, and on the left by a line of chestnuts and 
 maples, outposts of the thick forests beyond. 
 
 "Yours is a fine site for a house," observed Sheppard, taking 
 in the clean-trimmed field that extended up the hillside, a brook 
 that splashed clear and noisy over the stones to tarry in a little 
 grass-bound lake which forced water through half-hollowed 
 logs into a spring house. 
 
 "I think so; this is the fourth time I've put up a cabin on this 
 land," replied the colonel. 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "The redskins are keen to burn things." 
 
 Sheppard laughed at the pioneer's reply. "It's not difficult, 
 Colonel Zane, to understand why Fort Henry has stood all these 
 years, with you as its leader. Certainly the location for your 
 cabin is the finest in the settlement. What a view!" 
 
 High upon a bluff overhanging the majestic, slow-winding 
 Ohio, the colonel's cabin afforded a commanding position from 
 which to view the picturesque valley. Sheppard's eye first caught 
 the outline of the huge, bold, time-blackened fort which frowned 
 protectingly over surrounding log-cabins; then he saw the wide- 
 sweeping river with its verdant islands, golden, sandy bars, and 
 willow-bordered shores, while beyond, rolling pastures of wavy 
 
THE LAST TRAIL H 
 
 grass merging into green forests that swept upward with slow 
 swell until lost in the dim purple of distant mountains. 
 
 "Sixteen years ago I came out of the thicket upon yonder 
 bluff, and saw this valley. I was deeply impressed by its beauty, 
 but more by its wonderful promise." 
 
 "Were you alone?" 
 
 "I and my dog. There had been a few white men before me 
 on the river; but I was the first to see this glorious valley from 
 the bluff. Now, George, I'll let you have a hundred acres of 
 well-cleared land. The soil is so rich you can raise two crops ia 
 one season. With some stock, and a few good hands, you'll soon 
 be a busy man." 
 
 "I didn't expect so much land; I can't well afford to pay for 
 it." 
 
 "Talk to me of payment when the farm yields an income. Is 
 this young nephew of yours strong and willing?" 
 
 "He is, and has gold enough to buy a big farm." 
 
 "Let him keep his money, and make a comfortable home for 
 some good lass. Wc marry our young people early out here. 
 And your daughter, George, is she fitted for this hard border 
 life?" 
 
 "Never fear for Helen." 
 
 "The brunt of this pioneer work falls on our women. God 
 bless them, how heroic they've beeii! The life here is rough 
 for a man, let alone a woman. But it is a man's game. We need 
 girls, girls who will bear strong men. Yet I am always saddened 
 when I see one come out on the border." 
 
 "I think I knew what I was bringing Helen to, and she didn't 
 flinch," said Sheppard, somewhat surprised at the tone in which 
 the colonel spoke. 
 
 "No one knows imtil he has lived on the border. Well, well, 
 
12 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 all this is discouraging to you. Ah! here is Miss Helen with my 
 sister." 
 
 The colonel's fine, dark face lost its sternness, and brightened 
 with a smile. 
 
 "I hope you rested well after your long ride." 
 
 "I am seldom tired, and I have been made most comfortable. 
 I thank you and your sister," replied the girl, giving Colonel 
 Zane her-hand, and including both him and his sister in her 
 grateful glance. 
 
 The colonel's sister was a slender, handsome young woman, 
 whose dark beauty showed to most effective advantage by the 
 contrast with her companion's fair skin, golden hair, and blue 
 eyes. 
 
 Beautiful as was Helen Sheppard, it was her eyes that held 
 Colonel Zane irresistibly. They were unusually large, of a dark 
 purple-blue that changed, shaded, shadowed with her every 
 thought. 
 
 "Come, let us walk," Colonel Zane said abruptly, and, witii 
 Mr. Sheppard, followed the girls down the path. He escorted 
 . them to the fort, showed a long room with little squares cut in 
 the rough-hewn logs, many bullet holes, fire-charred timbers, 
 and dark stains, terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism 
 which the defense of that rude Itructure had cost. 
 
 Under Helen's eager questioning Colonel Zane yielded to his 
 weakness for story-telling, and recited the history of the last 
 siege of Fort Henry; how the. renegade Girty swooped down 
 upon the settlement with hundreds of Indians and British 
 soldiers; how for three days of whistling bullets, flaming arrows, 
 screeching demons, fire, smoke, and attack following attack, 
 the brave defenders stood at their posts, there to die before 
 yielding. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I3 
 
 "Grand!" breathed Helen, and her eyes glowed. "It was then 
 Betty Zane ran with the powder? Oh! I've heard the story," 
 
 "Let my sister tell you of that," said the colonel, smiling. 
 
 "You! Was it you?" And Helen's eyes glowed brighter with 
 the light of youth's glory in great deeds. 
 
 "My sister has been wedded and widowed since then," said 
 Colonel Zane, reading in Helen's earnest scrutiny of his sister's 
 calm, sad face a wonder if this quiet woman could be the fear- 
 less and famed Elizabeth Zane. 
 
 Impulsively Helen's hand closed softly over her companion's. 
 Out of the girlish sympathetic action a warm friendship was 
 born, 
 
 "I imagine things do happen here," said Mr. Sheppard, hop- 
 ing to hear more from Colonel Zane. 
 
 The colonel smiled grimly. 
 
 "Every summer during fifteen years has been a bloody one 
 on the border. The sieges of Fort Henry, and Crawford's de- 
 feat, the biggest things we ever knew out here, are matters of 
 history; of course you are familiar with them. But the number- 
 less Indian forays and attacks, the women who have been car- 
 ried into captivity by renegades, the murdered farmers, in fact, 
 ceaseless war never long directed at any point, but carried on 
 the entire length of the river, are matters known only to the 
 pioneers. Within five miles of Fort Henry I can show you where 
 the laurel bushes grow three feet high over the ashes of two 
 settlements, and many a clearing where some unfortunate pio- 
 neer had staked his claim and thrown up a log cabin, only to 
 die fighting for his wife and children. Between here and Fort 
 Pitt there is only one settlement, Yellow Creek, and most of its 
 inhabitants are survivors of abandoned villages farther up the 
 river. Last summer we had the Moravian Massacre, the black- 
 
14 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 est, most inhuman deed ever committeed. Since then Simon 
 Girty and his' bloody redskins have lain low." 
 
 "You must always have had a big force," said Sheppard. 
 
 "We've managed always to be strong enough, though there 
 -never were a large number of men here. During the last siege 
 I had only forty in the fort, counting men, women and boys. 
 But I had pioneers and women who could handle a rifle, and 
 the best bordermen on the frontier." 
 
 "Do you make a distinction between pioneers and border- 
 men?" asked Sheppard. 
 
 "Indeed, yes. I am a pioneer; a borderman is an Indian hunter, 
 or scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam and 
 John McCoUock, Bill Metzar, and John and Martin Wetzel, 
 all of whom are dead. Not one saved his scalp. Fort Henry is 
 growing; it has pioneers, rivermen, soldiers, but only two 
 bordermen. Wetzel and Jonathan are the only ones we have left 
 of those great men," 
 
 "They must be old," mused Helen, with a dreamy glow still 
 In her eyes. 
 
 "Well, Miss Helen, not in years, as you mean. Life here is 
 old in experience; few pioneers, and no bordermen, live to a 
 great age. Wetzel is about forty, and my brother Jonathan still 
 a young man; but both are old in border lore." 
 
 Earnestly, as a man who loves his subject. Colonel Zane told 
 his listeners of these two most prominent characters of the 
 border. Sixteen years previously, when but boys in years, they 
 had cast in their lot with his, and journeyed over the Virginian 
 Mountains, Wetzel to devote his life to the vengeful calling he 
 had chosen, and Jonathan to give rein to an adventurous spirit 
 and love of the wilds. By some wonderful chance, by cunning, 
 woodcraft, or daring, both men had lived through the years of 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 15 
 
 border warfare which had brought to a close the careers of all 
 their contemporaries. 
 
 For many years Wetzel preferred solitude to companionship; 
 he roamed the wilderness in pursuit of Indians, his life-long 
 foes, and seldom appeared at the settlement except to bring 
 news of an intended raid of the savages. Jonathan also spent 
 much time alone in the woods, or scouting along the river. But 
 of late years a friendship had ripened between the two border- 
 men. Mutual interest had brought them together on the trail 
 of a noted renegade, and when, after many long days of patient 
 watching and persistent tracking, the outlaw paid an awful 
 penalty for his bloody deeds, these lone and silent men were 
 friends. 
 
 Powerful in build, fleet as deer, fearless and tireless, Wetzel's 
 peculiar bloodhound sagacity, ferocity, and implacability, bal- 
 anced by Jonathan's keen intelligence and judgment caused 
 these bordermen to become the bane of redmeii and renegades. 
 Their fame increased with each succeeding summer, until now 
 the people of the settlement looked upon wonderful deeds of 
 strength and of woodcraft as a matter of course, rejoicing in 
 the power and skill with which these men weire endowed. 
 
 By common consent the pioneers attributed any mysterious 
 deed, from the finding of a fat turkey on a cabin doorstep, to 
 the discovery of a savage scalped and pulled from his ambush 
 near a settler's spring, to Wetzel and Jonathan. All the more 
 did they feel sure of this conclusion because the bordermen 
 never spoke of their deeds. Sometimes a pioneer living on the 
 outskirts of the settlement would be awakened in the morn- 
 ing by a single rifle shot, and on peering out would see a dead 
 Indian lying almost across his doorstep, while beyond, in the 
 dim, gray mist, a tall figure stealing away. Often in the tvnlight 
 
l6 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 on a summer evening, while fondling his children and enjoy- 
 ing his smoke after a hard day's labor in the fields, this same 
 settler would see the tall, dark figure of Jonathan Zane step 
 noiselessly out of a thicket, and learn that he must take his 
 family and flee at once to the fort for safety. When a settler 
 was murdered, his children carried into captivity by Indians, 
 and the wife given over to the power of some brutal, renegade, 
 tragedies wofully frequent on the border, Wetzel and Jonathan 
 took the trail alone. Many a white woman was returned alive 
 and, sometimes, unharmed to her relatives; more than one 
 maiden lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, 
 while almost numberless were the bones of brutal .redmen lying 
 in the deep and gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, 
 silent, ghastly reminders of the stern justice meted out by these 
 two heroes. 
 
 "Such are my two bordermen, Miss Sheppard. The fort there, 
 and all these cabins, would be only black ashes, save for them, 
 and as for us, ©ur wives and children — God only knows." 
 
 "Haven't they wives and children, too.'" asked Helen. 
 
 "No," answered Colonel Zancj with his genial smile. "Such 
 joys are not f«r bordermen." 
 
 "Why not? Fine men like them deserve happiness," declared 
 Helenr 
 
 "It is necessary we have such," said the colonel simply, "and 
 they cannot be bordermen unless free as the air blows. Wetzel 
 and Jonathan have never had sweethearts. I believe Wetzel 
 loved a lass once; but he was an Indian-killer whose hands were 
 red with blood. He silenced his heart, and kept to his chosen, 
 lonely life. Jonathan does not seem to realize that women exist 
 to charm, to please, to be loved and married. Once we twitted 
 him about his brothers doing their duty by the border, where- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I7 
 
 upon he flashed out: 'My life is the border's: my sweetheart 
 is the North Star!'" 
 
 Helen dreamily watched the dancing, dimpling waves that 
 broke on the stones of the river shore. All unconscious of the 
 powerful impression the colonel's recital had made upon her, 
 she was feeling the greatness of the lives of these bordermen, 
 and the glory it would now be for her to share with others the 
 pride in their protection. 
 
 "Say, Sheppard, look here," said Colonel Zane, on the return 
 to his cabin, "that girl of yours has a pair of eyes. I can't forget 
 the way they flashed! They'll cause more trouble here among 
 my garrison than would a swarm of redskins." 
 
 "No! You don't mean it! Out here in this wilderness?" queried 
 Sheppard doubtfully. 
 
 "Well, I do." 
 
 "O Lord! What a time I've had with that girl! There uas 
 one man especially, back home, who made our lives miserable. 
 He was rich and well born; but Helen would have none of him. 
 He got around me, old fool that I am! Practically stole what 
 was left of my estate, and gambled it away when Helen said 
 she'd die before giving herself to him. It was partly on his 
 account that I brought her away. Then there were a lot of moon- 
 eyed beggars after her all the time, and she's young and full of 
 fire. I hoped I'd marry her to some farmer out here, and end 
 my days in peace." 
 
 "Peace? With eyes like those? Never on this green earth," 
 and Colonel Zane laughed as he slapped his friend on the 
 shoulder. "Don't worry, old fellow. You can't help her having 
 those changing dark-blue eyes any more than you can help be- 
 ing proud of them. They have won me, already, susceptible old 
 backwoodsman! I'll help you with this spirited young lady. 
 
l8 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 I've had experience, Sheppard, and don't you forget it. First, 
 m)' sister, a Zane all through, which is saying enough. Then as 
 sweet and fiery a little Indian princess as ever stepped in a 
 beaded nioccasin, and since, more than one beautiful, impulsive 
 creature. Being in authority, I suppose it's natural that all the 
 work, from keeping the garrison ready against an attack, to 
 straightening out love affairs, should fall upon me. I'll take the 
 care off your shoulders; I'll keep these young dare-devils from 
 killing each other over Miss Helen's favors. I certainly — Hello! 
 There are strangers at the gate. Something's up.". 
 
 Half a dozen rough-looking men had appeared from round 
 the corner of the cabin, and halted at the gate, 
 
 "Bill Elsing, and some of his men from Yellow Creek," said 
 Colonel Zane, as he went toward the group. 
 
 "Hullo, Kurnel," was the greeting of the foremost, evidently 
 the leader. "We've lost six head of bosses over our way, an' are 
 out lookin' 'em up." 
 
 "The deuce you have! Say, this horse-stealing business is 
 getting interesting. What did you come in for?" 
 
 "Wal, we meets Jonathan on the ridge about sunup, an' he 
 sent us back lickety-cut. Said he had two of the bosses corralled, 
 an' mebbe Wetzel could git the others." 
 
 "That's strange," replied Colonel Zane thoughtfully. 
 
 " 'Pears to me Jack and Wetzel hev some redskins treed, an' 
 didn't want us to spile the fun. Mebbe there wasn't scalps 
 enough to go round. Anyway, we come in, an' we'll hang up 
 here to-day." 
 
 "Bill, who's doing this horse-stealing?" 
 
 "Damn if I know. It's a mighty pert piece of work. I've a 
 mind it's some slick white fellar, with Injuns backin' him." 
 
 Helen noted, wkea she was once more indoors, that Colonel 
 
THE LAST TRAIL ig 
 
 Zane's wife appeared worried. Her usual placid expression was 
 gone. She put off the playful overtures of her two bright boys 
 with unusual indifference, and turned to her husband with 
 anxious questioning as to whether the strangers brought news 
 of Indians. Upon being assured that such was not the case, she 
 looked relieved, and explained to Helen that she had seen armed 
 men come so often to consult the colonel regarding dangerous 
 missions and expeditions, that the sight of a stranger caused her 
 unspeakable dread. 
 
 "I am accustomed to danger, yet I can never control my fears 
 for my husband and children," said Mrs. Zane. "The older I grow 
 the more of a coward I am. Oh! this border life is sad for wo- 
 men. Only a little while ago my brother Samuel McCoUoch was 
 shot and scalped right here on the river bank. He was going to 
 the spring for a bucket of water. I lost another brother in al- 
 most the same way. Every day during the summer a husband 
 and a father fall victim to some murderous Indian. My husband 
 will go in the same way some day. The border claims them all." 
 
 "Bessie, you must not show your fears to our new friend. 
 And, Miss Helen, don't believe she's the coward she would 
 make out," said the colonel's sister smilingly. 
 
 "Betty is right, Bess, don't frighten her," said Colonel Zane. 
 "I'm afraid I talked too much to-day. But, Miss Helen, you were 
 so interested, and are such a good listener, that I couldn't re- 
 frain. Once for all let me say that you will no doubt see stirring 
 life here; but there is little danger of its affecting you. To be 
 sure I think you'll have troubles; but not with Indians or out- 
 laws." 
 
 He winked at his wife and sister. At first Helen did not 
 understand his sally, but then she blushed red all over her fair 
 face. 
 
20 THE LAST TILML 
 
 Some time after that, while unpacking her belongings, she 
 heard the clatter of horses' hoofs on the rocky road, accom- 
 panied by loud voices. Running to the window, she saw a group 
 of men at the gate. 
 
 "Miss Sheppard, will you come out?" called Colonel Zane's 
 sister from the door. "My brother Jonathan has returned." 
 
 Helen joined Betty at the door, and looked over her shoulder. 
 
 "Wal, Jack, ye got two on 'em, anyways," drawled a voice 
 which she recognized as that of Elsing's. 
 
 A man, lithe and supple, slipped from the back of one of the 
 horses, and, giving the halter to Elsing with a single word, 
 turned and entered the gate. Colonel Zane met him there. 
 
 "Well, Jonathan, what's up?" 
 
 "There's hell to pay," was the reply, and the speaker's voice 
 rang clear and sharp. 
 
 Colonel Zane laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and thus 
 they stood for a moment, singularly alike, and yet the sturdy 
 pioneer was, somehow, far different from the dark-haired 
 borderman. 
 
 "I thought we'd trouble in store from the look on your face," 
 said the colonel calmly. "I hope you haven't very bad news on 
 the first day, for our old friends from Virginia." 
 
 "Jonathan," cried Betty when he did not answer the colonel. 
 At her call he half turned, and his dark eyes, steady, strained 
 like those of a watching deer, sought his sister's face. 
 
 "Betty, old Jake Lane was murdered by horse thieves yester- 
 day, and Mabel Lane is gone." 
 
 "Oh!" gasped Betty; but she said nothing more. 
 
 Colonel Zane cursed inaudibly. 
 
 "You know, Eb, I tried to keep Lane in the settlement for 
 Mabel's sake. But he wanted to work that farm. I believe horse- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 21 
 
 Stealing wasn't as much of an object as the girl. Pretty women 
 are bad for the border, or any other placcj I guess. Wetzel has 
 taken the trail, and I came in because I've serious suspicions — 
 I'll explain to you alone." 
 
 The borderman bowed gravely to Helen, with a natural grace, 
 and yet a manner that sat awkwardly upon him. The girl, 
 slightly flushed, and somewhat confused by this meeting with 
 the man around whom her romantic imagination had already 
 woven a story, stood in the doorway after giving him a fleeting 
 glance, the fairest, sweetest picture of girlish beauty ever seen. 
 
 The men went into the house; but their voices came dis- 
 tinctly through the door. 
 
 "Eb, if Blng Lcgget or Girty ever see that big-eyed lass, they'll 
 have her even if Fort Henry has to be burned, an' in case they 
 do get her, Wetzel an' 111 have taken our last trail." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Supper over, Colonel Zane led his guests to a side porch, where 
 they were soon joined by Mrs. Zane and Betty. The host's two 
 boys, Noah and Sammy, who had preceded them, were now 
 astride the porch-rail and, to judge by their antics, were riding 
 wild Indian mustangs. 
 
 "It's quite cool," said Colonel Zane; "but I want you to see 
 the sunset in the valley. A good many of your future neighbors 
 may come over to-night for a word of welcome. It's the border 
 custom." 
 
 He was about to seat himself by the side of Mr. Sheppard, 
 
23 THi; LAST TRAIL 
 
 on a rustic bench, when a Negro maid appeared in the doorway 
 carrying a smiling, black-eyed baby. Colonel Zanc took the child 
 and, holding it aloft, said with fatherly pride: 
 
 "This is Rebecca Zane, the first girl baby born to the Zanes, 
 and destined to be the belle of the border." 
 
 "May I have her?" asked Helen softly, holding out her arms. 
 She took the child, and placed it upon her knee where its look 
 of solemnity soon changed to one of infantile delight. 
 
 "Here come Nell and Jim," said Mrs. Zane, pointing toward 
 ' the fort. 
 
 "Yes, and there comes my brother Silas with his wife, too," 
 added Colonel Zane. "The first couple are James Douns, our 
 young minister, and Nell, his wife. They came out here a year 
 or so ago. James had a brother Joe, the finest young fellow who 
 ever caught the border fever. He Was killed by one of the 
 Girtys. His was a wonderful story, and some day you shall hear 
 about the parson and his wife." 
 
 "What's the border fever?" asked Mr. Sheppard. 
 
 "It's what brought you out here," replied Colonel Zane with 
 a hearty laugh. 
 
 Helen gazed with interest at the couple now coming into the 
 yard, and when they gained the porch she saw that the man 
 was big and tall, with a frank, manly bearing, while his wife 
 was a slender little woman with bright, sunny hair, and a sweet, 
 smiling face. They greeted Helen and her father cordially. 
 
 Next came Silas Zane, a typical bronzed and bearded pioneer, 
 with his buxom wife. Presently a little group of villagers joined 
 the party. They were rugged men, clad in faded buckskins, and 
 sober-faced women who wore dresses of plain gray linsey. They 
 welcomed the newcomers with simple, homely courtesy. Then 
 six young frontiersmen appeared from around a corner of the 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 23 
 
 cabin, advancing hesitatingly. To Helen they all looked alike, 
 tall, awkward, with brown faces and big hands. When Colonel 
 Zane cheerily cried out to them, they stumbled forward with 
 evident embarrassment, each literally crushing Helen's hand in 
 his horny palm. Afterward they leaned on the rail and stole 
 glances at her. 
 
 Soon a large number of villagers were on the porch or in the 
 yard. After paying their respects to Helen and her father they 
 took part in a general conversation. Two or three girls, the 
 latest callers, were surrounded by half a dozen young fellows, 
 and their laughter sounded high above the hum of voices. 
 
 Helen gazed upon this company with mingled feelings of re- 
 lief and pleasure. She had been more concerned regarding the 
 young people with whom her lot might be cast, than the dangers 
 of which others had told. She knew that on the border there 
 was no distinction o£ rank. Though she came of an old family, 
 and, during her girlhood, had been surrounded by refinement, 
 even luxury, she had accepted cheerfully the reverses of fortune, 
 and was determined to curb the pride which had been hers. It 
 was necessary she should have friends. Warm-hearted, impul- 
 sive and loving, she needed to have around her those in .whom 
 she could confide. Therefore it was with sincere pleasure she 
 understood how groundless were her fears and knew that if she 
 did not find good, true friends the fault would be her own. 
 She saw at a glance that the colonel's widowed sister was her 
 equal, perhaps her superior, in education and breeding, while 
 Nellie Douns was as well-bred and gracious a little lady as she 
 had ever met. Then, the other girls, too, were charming, with 
 frank wholesomeness and freedom. 
 
 Concerning the young men, of whom there were about a 
 dozen, Helen had hardly arrived at a conclusion. She liked the 
 
24 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 ruggedness, the signs o£ honest worth which clung to them. 
 Despite her youth, she had been much sought after because of 
 her personal attractions, and had thus added experience to the 
 natural keen intuition all women possess. The glances of several 
 of the men, particularly the bold regard of one Roger Brandt, 
 whom Colonel Zane introduced, she had seen before, and learned 
 to dislike. On the whole, however, she was delighted with the 
 prospect of new friends and future prosperity, and she felt 
 even greater pleasure in the certainty that her father shared 
 her gratification. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware that the conversation had ceased. 
 She looked up to see the tall, lithe form of Jonathan Zane as 
 he strode across the porch. She could see that a certain con- 
 straint had momentarily fallen upon the company. It was an 
 involuntary acknowledgment of the borderman's presence, of 
 a presence that worked on all alike with a subtle, strong mag- 
 netism. 
 
 "Ah, Jonathan, come out to see the sunset? It's unusually fine 
 to-night," said Colonel Zane. 
 
 With hardly more than a perceptible bow to those present, 
 the borderman took a seat near the rail, and, leaning upon it, 
 directed his gaze westward. 
 
 Helen sat so near she could have touched him. She was con- 
 scious of the same strange feeling, and impelling sense of 
 power, which had come upon hei' so strongly at first sight of 
 him. More than that, a lively interest had been aroused in her: 
 This borderman was to her a new and novel character. She was 
 amused at learning that here was a young man absolutely in- 
 diiferent to the charms of the opposite sex, and although 
 hardly admitting such a thing, she believed it would be possible 
 to win him from his indifference. On raising her eyelids, it was 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 2$ 
 
 with the unconcern which a woman feigns when suspecting 
 she is being regarded with admiring eyes. But Jonathan Zane 
 might not have known of her presence, for all the attention he 
 paid her. Therefore, having a good opportunity to gaze at this 
 borderman of daring deeds, Helen regarded him closely. 
 
 He was clad from head to foot in smooth, soft buckskin which 
 fitted well his povrerful frame. Beaded moccasins, leggings 
 bound high above the knees, hunting coat laced and fringed, 
 all had the neat, tidy appearance due to good care. He wore no 
 weapons. His hair fell in a raven mass over his shoulders. His 
 profile was regular, with a long, straight nose, strong chin, and 
 eyes black as night. They were now fixed intently on the valley. 
 The whole face gave an impression of serenity, of calmness. 
 
 Helen was wondering if the sad, almost stern, tranquillity 
 of that face ever changed, when the baby cooed and held out 
 its chubby little hands. Jonathan's smile, which came quickly, 
 accompanied by a warm light in the eyes, relieved Helen of an 
 unaccountable repugnance she had begun to feel toward the 
 borderman. That smile, brief as a flash, showed his gentle kind- 
 ness and told that he was not a creature who had set himself 
 apart from human life and love. 
 
 As he took little Rebecca, one of his hands touched Helen's. 
 If he had taken heed of the contact, as any ordinary man might 
 well have, she would, perhaps, have thought nothing about it, 
 but because he did not appear to realize that her hand had 
 been almost inclosed in his, she could not help again feeling 
 his singular personality. She saw that this man had absolutely 
 no thought of her. At the moment this did not awaken resent- 
 ment, for with all her fire and pride she was not vain; but 
 amusement gave place to a respect which came involuntarily. 
 
 Little Rebecca presently manifested the faithlessness peculiar 
 
26 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 to her sex, and had no sooner been taken upon Jonathan's 
 knee than she cried out to go back to Helen. 
 
 "Girls are uncommon coy critters," said he, with a grave smile 
 in his eyes. He handed back the child, and once more was ab- 
 sorbed in the setting sun. 
 
 Helen looked down the valley to behold the most beautiful 
 spectacle she had ever seen. Between the hills far to the west, 
 the sky flamed with a red and gold light. The sun was poised 
 above the river, and the shimmering waters merged into a ruddy 
 horizon. Long rays of crimson fire crossed the smooth waters.. 
 A few purple clouds above caught the refulgence, until aided by 
 the delicate rose and blue space beyond, they became many hued 
 ships sailing on a rainbow sea. Each second saw a gorgeous 
 transformation. Slowly the sun dipped into the golden flood; 
 one by one the clouds changed from crimson to gold, from 
 gold to rose, and then to gray; slowly all the tints faded until» 
 as the sun slipped out of sight, the brilliance gave way to the 
 soft afterglow of warm lights. These in turn slowly toned dowa 
 into gray twilight. 
 
 Helen retired to her room soon afterward, and, being im- 
 usually thoughtful, sat down by the window. She reviewed the 
 events of this first day of her new life on the border. Her im- 
 pressions had been so many, so varied, that she wanted to dis- 
 tinguish them. First she felt glad, with a sweet, warm thank- 
 fulness, that her father seemed so happy, so encouraged by the 
 outlook. Breaking old ties had been, she knew, no child's play 
 for him. She realized also that it had been done solely because 
 there had been nothing left to offer her in the old home, and in 
 a new one were hope and possibilities. Then she was relieved 
 at getting away from the attentions of a man whose persistence 
 had been most annoying to her. From thoughts of her father,. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL VJ 
 
 and the old life, she came to her new friends of the present. She 
 was so grateful for their kindness. She certainly would do all in 
 her power to win and keep their esteem. 
 
 Somewhat of a surprise was it to her, that she reserved for 
 Jonathan Zane the last and most prominent place in her medi- 
 tations. She suddenly asked herself how she regarded this fight- 
 ing bordcrman. She recalled her unbounded enthusiasm for the 
 man as Colonel Zane had told of him; then her first glimpse, 
 and her surprise and admiration at the lithe-limbed young giant; 
 then incredulity, amusement, and respect followed in swift 
 order, after which an unaccountable coldness that was almost 
 resentment. Helen was forced to admit that she did not know 
 how-to regard him, but surely he was a man, throughout every 
 inch of his superb frame, and one who took life seriously, with 
 neither thought nor time for the opposite sex. And this last 
 brought a blush to her cheek, for she distinctly remembered 
 she had expected, if not admiration, more than passing notice 
 irom this hero of the border. 
 
 Presently she took a little mirror from a table near where she 
 sat. Holding it to catch the fast-fading light, she studied her 
 face seriously. 
 
 "Helen Sheppard, I think on the occasion of your arrival in a 
 
 new country a little plain talk will be wholesome. Somehow or 
 
 other, perhaps because of a crowd of idle men back there in the 
 
 colonies, possibly from your own iriisguided fancy, you imagined 
 
 you were fair to look at. It is well to be undeceived." 
 
 Scorn spoke in Helen's voice. She was angry because of hav- 
 
 ( ing been interested in a man, and allowed that interest to be- 
 
 \ tray her into a girlish expectation that he would treat her as 
 
 • all other men had. The mirror, even in the dim light, spoke 
 
 ! more truly than she, for it caught the golden tints of her lux- 
 
28 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 uriant hair, the thousand beautiful shadows in her great, dark 
 eyes, the white glory of a face fair as a star, and the sweUing 
 butUne ef neck and shoulders. 
 
 With a sudden fiery impetuosity she flung the glass to the 
 floor, where it was braken into ^several pieces. 
 
 "How foolisk ©f me! What a temper I have!" she exclaimed 
 repentantly. "I'm glad I have another glass. Wouldn't Mr. 
 Jonathan Zane, borderman, Indian fighter, hero of a hundred 
 battles and never a sweetheart, be flattered ? No, most decidedly 
 he wouldn't. He never looked at me. I don't think I expected 
 that; I'm sure I didn't want it; but still he might have — Oh! 
 what am I thinking, and he a stranger?" 
 
 Before Helen lost herself in slumber on that eventful evening, 
 she vowed to ignore the borderman; assured herself that she did 
 not want to see him again, and, rather inconsistently, that she 
 
 would cure him of his indifference. 
 
 ***** *- 
 
 When Colonel Zane's guests had retired, and the villagers 
 were gone to their homes, he was free to consult with Jonathan. ^ 
 
 "Well, Jack," he said, "I'm ready to hear about the horse 
 thieves." 
 
 "Wetzel makes it out the man who's runnin' this hoss-stealin' , 
 is located right here in Fort Henry," answered the borderman. , 
 
 The colonel had lived too long on the frontier to show sur- 
 prise; he hummed a tune while the genial expression faded 
 slowly from his face. 
 
 "Last count there were one hundred and ten men at the fort," , 
 he replied thoughtfully. "I know over a hundred, and can trust 
 them. There are some new fellows on the boats, and several 
 strangers hanging round Metzar's." 
 
 * Tears to Lew an' me that this fellar is a slick customer, an' 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 29 
 
 one who's been here long enough to know our hosses an' where 
 we keep them." 
 
 "I see. Like Miller, who fooled us all, even Betty, when he 
 stole our powder and then sold us to Girty," rejoined Colonel 
 Zane grimly. 
 
 "Exactly, only this fellar is slicker an' more desperate than 
 Miller." 
 
 "Right you are, Jack, for the man who is trusted and betrays 
 us, must be desperate. Does he realizcwhat he'll get if we ever 
 find out, or is he underrating us?" 
 
 "He knows all right, an' is matchin' his cunnin' against our'n." 
 
 "Tell me what you and Wetzel learned." 
 
 The borderman proceeded to relate the events that had oc- 
 curred during a recent tramp in the forest with Wetzel. While 
 returning from a hunt in a swamp several miles over the ridge, 
 back of Fort Henry, they ran across the trail of three Indians. 
 They followed this until darkness set in, when both laid down 
 to rest and wait for the early dawn, that time most propitious 
 for taking the savage by surprise. On resuming the trail they 
 found that other Indians had joined the party they were track- 
 ing. To the bordermen this was significant of some unusual 
 activity directed toward the settlement. Unable to learn any- 
 thing definite from the moccasin traces, they hurried up on the 
 trail to find that the Indians had halted. 
 
 Wetzel and Jonathan saw from their covert that the savages 
 had a woman prisoner. A singular feature about it all was that 
 the Indians remained in the same place all day, did not light a 
 camp-fire, and kept a sharp lookout. The bordermen crept up 
 as dose as safe, and remained on watch during the day and 
 night. 
 
 Early next morning, when the air was fading from black to 
 
3© THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 gray, the silence was broken by the snapping o£ twigs and a 
 tremor of the ground. The bordermen believed another com- 
 pany of Indians was approaching; but they soon saw it was a 
 single white man leading a number of horses. He departed be- 
 fore daybreak. Wetzel and Jonathan could not get a clear view 
 of him owing to the dim light; but they heard his voice, and 
 afterwards found the imprint of his moccasins. They did, how- 
 ever, recognize the six horses as belonging to settlers in Yellow 
 Creek. 
 
 While Jonathan and Wetzel were consulting as to what it 
 was best to do, the party of Indians divided, four going directly 
 west, and the others north. Wetzel immediately took the trail 
 of the larger party with the prisoner and four of the horses. 
 Jonathan caught two of the animals which the Indians had 
 turned loose, and tied them in the forest. He. then started after 
 the three Indians who had gone northward. 
 
 "Well?" Colonel Zane said impatiently, when Jonathan hesi- 
 tated in his story. 
 
 "One got away," he said reluctantly. "I barked him as he was 
 runnin' like a streak through the bushes, an' judged that he was 
 hard hit. I got the bosses, an' turned back on the trail of the 
 white man." 
 
 "Where did it end.?" 
 
 "In that hard-packed path near the blacksmith shop. An' the 
 fellar steps as light as an Injun." 
 
 "He's here, then, sure as you're born. We've lost no horses yet, 
 but last week old Sam heard a noise in the barn, and on going 
 there foxuid Betty's mare out of her stall." 
 
 "Some one as knows the lay of the land had been after her," 
 suggested Jonathan. 
 
 "You can bet on that. We've got to find him before we lose 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 3! 
 
 all the fine horse-flesh we own. Where do these stolen animals 
 go? Indians would steal any kind; but this thief takes only the 
 best." 
 
 "I'm to meet Wetzel on the ridge soon, an' then we'll know, 
 for he's goin' to find out where the bosses are taken." 
 
 "That'll help some. On the way back you found where the 
 white girl had been taken from. Murdered father, burned cabin, 
 the^^sual deviltry." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Poor Mabel! Do you think this white thief had anything to 
 do with carrying her away?" 
 
 "No. Wetzel says that's Bing Legget's work. The Shawnees 
 were members of his gang." 
 
 "Well, Jack, what'U I do?" 
 
 "Keep quiet an' wait," was the borderman's answer. 
 
 Colonel Zane, old pioneer and frontiersman though he was, 
 shuddered as he went to his room. His brother's dark look, and 
 his deadly calmness, were significant. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 To THOSE few who saw Jonathan Zane in the village, it seemed 
 as if he was in his usual quiet and dreamy state. The people were 
 accustomed to his silence, and long since learned that what little 
 time he spent in the settlement was not given to sociability. In 
 the morning he sometimes lay with Colonel Zane's dog, Chief, 
 by the side of a spring under an elm tree, and in the afternoon 
 strolled aimlessly along the river bluff, or on the hillside. At 
 
32 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 night he sat on his brother's porch smokiiig a long Indian pipe. 
 Since that day, now a week past, when he had returned with 
 the stolen horses, his movements and habits were precisely what 
 would have been expected of an unsuspicious borderman. 
 
 In reality, however, Jonathan was not what he seemed. He 
 knew all that was going on in the settlement. Hardly a bird 
 could have entered the clearing unobserved. 
 
 At night, after all the villagers were in bed, he stole cautiously 
 about the stockade, silencing with familiar word the bristling 
 watch-hounds, and went from barn to barn, ending his stealthy 
 tramp at the corral where Colonel Zane kept his thoroughbreds. 
 
 But all this scouting by night availed nothing. No unusual 
 event occurred, not even the barking of a dog, a suspicious 
 rustling among the thickets, or whistling of a night-hawk had 
 been heard. , 
 
 Vainly the borderman strained ears to catch some low night- 
 ^ signal given by waiting Indians to the white traitor within the 
 settlement. By day there was even less to attract the sharp-eyed 
 watcher. The clumsy river boats, half raft, half sawn lumber, 
 drifted down the Ohio on their first and last voyage, discharged 
 their cargoes of grain, Uquor, or merchandise, and were broken 
 up. Their crews came back on the long overland journey to Fort 
 Pitt, there to man another craft. The garrison at the fort per- 
 formed their customary duties; the pioneers tilled the fields; the 
 blacksmith scattered sparks, the wheelwright worked industri- 
 ously at his bench, and the housewives attended to their many 
 cares. No strangers arrived at Fort Henry. The quiet life of the 
 village was uninterrupted. • 
 
 Near sunset of a long day Jonathan strolled down the sandy, 
 well-trodden path toward Metzar's inn. He did not drink, and 
 consequently seldom visited the rude, dark, ill-smelling bar-room. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 33 
 
 When occasion demanded his presence there, he was evidently 
 not welcome. The original owner, a sturdy soldier and pioneer, 
 came to Fort Henry when Colonel Zane founded the settlement, 
 and had been killed during Girty's last attack. His successor, 
 another Metzar, was, according to Jonathan's belief, as bad as the 
 whiskey he dispensed. More than one murder had been com- 
 mitted at the inn; countless fatal knife and tomahawk fights had 
 stained red the hard clay floor; and more than one desperate 
 character had been harbored there. Once Colonel Zane sent 
 Wetzel there to invite a thief and outlaw^ to quit the settlement, 
 with the not unexpected result that it became necessary the 
 robber be carried out. 
 
 Jonathan thought of the bad name the place bore all over 
 the frontier, and wondered if Metzar could tell anything about 
 the horse-thieves. When the borderman bent his tall frame to 
 enter the low-studded door he fancied he saw a dark figure dis- 
 appear into a room just behind the bar. A i oughly-clad, heavily- 
 bearded man turned hastily at the same moment. 
 
 "Hullo," he said grufSy. 
 
 "H'^re you, Metzar. I just dropped in to see if I could make 
 a trade for your sorrel mare," replied Jonathan. Being well aware 
 that the innkeeper would not part with his horse, the borderman 
 had made this announcement as his reason for entering the bar- 
 room. 
 
 "Nope, I'll allow you can't," replied Metzar. 
 
 As he turned to go, Jonathan's eyes roamed around the bar- 
 room. Several strangers of shiftless aspect bleared at him. 
 
 "They wouldn't steal a pumpkin," muttered Jonathan to him- 
 self as he left the inn. Then he added suspiciously, "Metzar was 
 talkin' to some one, an' 'peared uneasy. I never liked Metzar. 
 He'll bear watchin'." 
 
34 THE LASr TRAIL 
 
 The borderman passed on down the path thinking of what he 
 had heard against Metzar. The colonel had said that the man 
 was prosperous for an innkeeper who took pelts, grain or meat 
 in exchange for rum. The village gossips disliked him because 
 he was unmarried, taciturn, and did not care for their company. 
 Jonathan reflected also on the fact that Indians were frequently 
 coming to the inn, and this made him distrustful of the pro- 
 prietor. It was true that Colonel Zane had red-skinned visitors, 
 but there was always good reason for their coming. Jonathan 
 had seen, during the Revolution, more than one trusted man 
 proven to be a traitor, and the conviction settled" upon him that 
 some quiet scouting would show up the innkeeper as aiding the 
 horse-thieves if not actually in league with them. 
 
 "Good evening, Jonathan Zane." 
 
 This greeting in a woman's clear voice brought Jonathan out 
 from his reveries. He glanced up to see Helen Sheppard stand- 
 ing in the doorway of her father's cabin. 
 
 "Evenin', miss," he said with a bow, and would have passed 
 on. 
 
 "Wait," she cried, and stepped out of the door. 
 
 He waited by the gate with a manner which showed that such 
 a summons was novel to him. 
 
 Helen, piqued at his curt greeting, had asked him to wait 
 without any idea of what she would say. Coming slowly down 
 the path she felt again a subtle awe of this borderman. Regret- 
 ting her impulsiveness, she lost confidence. 
 
 Gaining the gate she looked up intending to speak; but was 
 unable to do so as she saw how cold and grave was his face, 
 and how piercing were his eyes. She flushed slightly, and then, 
 conscious of an embarrassment new and strange to her, blushed 
 rosy red, making, as it seemed to her, a stupid remark about the 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 35 
 
 sunset. When he took her words literally, and said the sunset 
 was fine, she felt guilty of deceitfulness. Whatever Helen's faults, 
 and they were many, she was honest, and because of not having 
 looked at the sunset, but only wanting him to see her as did 
 other men, the innocent ruse suddenly appeared mean and tri- 
 fling. 
 
 Then, with a woman's quick intuition, she understood that 
 coquetries were lost on this borderman, and, with a smile, got 
 the better of her embarrassment and humiliation by telling the' 
 truth. 
 
 "I wanted to ask a favor of you, and I'm a little afraid." 
 
 She spoke with girlish shyness, which increased as he stared 
 at her. 
 
 "Why — why do you look at me so?" 
 
 "There's a lake oyer yonder which the Shawnees say is haunted 
 by a woman they killed," he replied quietly. "You'd do for her 
 spirit, so white an' beautiful in the silver moonlight.'' 
 
 "So my white dress makes me look ghostly," she answered 
 lightly, though deeply conscious of surprise and pleasure at such 
 an unexpected reply from him. This borderman might be full of 
 surprises. "Such a time as I had bringing my dresses out here! 
 I don't know when I can wear them. This is the simplest one." 
 
 "An' it's mighty new an' bewilderin' for the border," he replied 
 with a smile in his eyes. 
 
 "When these are gone I'll get no more except linsey ones," 
 she said brightly, yet her eyes shone with a wistful uncertainty 
 of the future. 
 
 "Will you be happy here?" 
 
 "I am happy. I have always wanted to be of some use in the 
 world. I assure you. Master Zane, I am not the butterfly I seem, 
 I have worked hard all day, that is, until your sister Betty came 
 
36 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 over. All the girls have helped me fix up the cabin until it's more 
 comfortable than I ever dreamed one could be on the frontier. 
 Father is well content here, and that makes me happy. I haven't 
 had time for forebodings. The young men of Fort Henry have 
 been — vi^ell, attentive; in fact, they've been here all the time." 
 
 She laughed a little at this last remark, and looked demurely 
 at him. - , 
 
 "It's a frontier custom," he said. 
 
 "Oh, indeed? Do all the young men call often and stay late?" 
 
 "They do." 
 
 "You didn't," she retorted. "You're the only one wha hasn't 
 been to see me." 
 
 "I do not Vi^ait on the girls," he replied with a grave smile. 
 
 "Oh, you don't? Do you expect them to wait on you?" she 
 asked, feeling, now she had made this silent man talk, once more 
 at her ease. 
 
 "I am a borderman," replied Jonathan. There was a certain 
 dignity or sadness in his answer which reminded Helen of 
 Colonel Zane's portrayal of a borderman's life. It struck her 
 keenly. Here was this young giant standing erect and handsome 
 before her, as rugged as one of the ash trees of his beloved 
 forest. Who could tell when his strong life might be ended by 
 an Indian's hatchet? 
 
 "For you, then, is there no such thing as friendship?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "On the border men arc serious." 
 
 This recalled his sister's conversation regarding the attentions 
 of the young men, that they would follow her, fight for her, and 
 give her absolutely no peace until one of them had carried her 
 to his cabin a bride. 
 
 She could not carry on the usual conventional conversation 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 37 
 
 with this borderman, but remained silent for a time. She realized 
 more keenly than ever before how different he was from other 
 men, and watched closely as he stood gazing out over the river. 
 Perhaps something she had said caused him to think of the many 
 pleasures and joys he missed. But she could not be certain what 
 was in his mind. She was not accustomed to impassive faces and 
 cold eyes with unlit fires in their dark depths. More likely he was 
 thinking of matters nearer to his wild, free life; of his companion 
 Wetzel somewhere out beyond those frowning hills. Then she 
 remembered that the colonel had told her of his brother's love 
 for nature in all its forms; how he watched the shades of evening 
 fall; lost himself in contemplation of the last copper glow flush- 
 ing the western sky, or became absorbed in the bright stars. 
 Possibly he had forgotten her presence. Darkness was rapidly 
 stealing down upon them. The evening, tranquil and gray, crept 
 over them with all its mystery. He was a part of it. She could not 
 hope to understand him; but saw clearly that his was no common 
 personality. She wanted to speak, to voice a sympathy strong 
 within her; but she did not know what to say to this border- 
 man. 
 
 "If what your sister tells me of the border is true, I may soon 
 need a friend," she said, after weighing well her words. She 
 faced him modestly yet bravely, and looked him straight in the 
 eyes. Because he did not reply she spoke again. 
 
 "I mean such a friend as you or Wetzel." 
 
 "You may count on both," he replied. 
 
 "Thank you," she said softly, giving him her hand. "I shall 
 not forget. One more thing. Will you break a borderman's cus- 
 tom, for my sake?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Come to see me when you are in the settlement?" 
 
38 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Helen said this in a low voice with just a sob in her breath; 
 but she met his gaze fairly. Her big eyes were all aglow, alight 
 with girlish appeal, and yet proud with a woman's honest de- 
 mand for fair exchange. Promise was there, too, could he but read 
 it, of wonderful possibilities. 
 
 "No," he answered gently. 
 
 Helen was not prepared for such a rebuff. She was interested 
 in him, and not ashamed to show it. She feared only that he 
 might misunderstand her; but to refuse her proffered ^iendship, 
 that was indeed unexpected. Rude she thought it was, while from 
 brow to curving throat her fair skin crimsoned. Then her face 
 grew pale as the moonlight. Hard on her resentment ha^ surged 
 the swell of some new emotion strong and sweet. He refused her 
 friendship because he did not dare accept it; because his life was 
 not his own; because he was a borderman. 
 
 While they stood thus, Jonathan looking perplexed and 
 troubled, feeling he had hurt her, but knowing not what to 
 say, and Helen with a warm softness in her eyes, the stalwart 
 figure of a man loomed out of the gathering darkness. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Helen! Good evening," he said. 
 
 "Is it you, Mr. Brandt?" asked Helen. "Of course you knpw 
 Mr. Zane." / 
 
 Brandt acknowledged Jonathan's bow with an awkwardness 
 which had certainly been absent in his greeting to Helen. He 
 started slightly when she spoke the bordcrman's name. 
 
 A brief pause ensued. 
 
 "Good night," said Jonathan, and left them. 
 
 He had noticed Brandt's gesture of surprise, slight though it 
 was, and was thinking about it as he walked away. Brandt may 
 have been astonished at finding a borderman talking to a girl, 
 and certainly, as far as Jonathan was concerned, the incident 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 39 
 
 was without precedent. But, on the other hand, Brandt may 
 have had another reason, and Jonathan tried to study out what 
 it might be. 
 
 He gave but Httle thought to Helen. That she might like him 
 exceedingly well, did not come into his mind. He remembered 
 his sister Betty's gossip regarding Helen and her admirers, and 
 particularly Roger Brandt; but felt no great concern; he had no 
 curiosity to know more of her. He admired Helen because she 
 was beautiful, yet the feeling was much the same he might have 
 experienced for a graceful deer, a fuU-foliaged tree, or a dark 
 mossy-stoned bend in a murmuring brook. The girl's face and 
 figure, perfect and alluring as they were, had not awakened 
 him from his indifference. 
 
 On arriving at his brother's home, he found the colonel and 
 Betty sitting on the porch. 
 
 "Eb, who is this Brandt.'" he asked. 
 
 "Roger Brandt? He's a French-Canadian; came here from 
 Detroit a year ago. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I want to know more about him." 
 
 Colonel Zane reflected a moment, first as to this unusual re- 
 quest from Jonathan, and secondly in regard to what little he 
 really did know of Roger Brandt. 
 
 "Well, Jack, I caii't tell you much; nothing of him before he 
 showed up here. He says he has been a pioneer, hunter, scout, 
 soldier, trader — everything. When he came to the fort we 
 needed men. It was just after Girty's siege, and all the cabins 
 had been burned. Brandt seemed honest, and was a good fel- 
 low. Besides, he had gold. He started the river barges, which 
 came from Fort Pitt. He has surely done the settlement good 
 service, and has prospered. I never talked a dozen times to him, 
 and even then, not for long. He appears to like the young peo- 
 
40 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 pie, which is only natural. That's all I know; Betty might tell 
 you more, for he tried to be attentive to her." 
 
 "Did he, Betty.?" Jonathan asked. 
 
 "He followed me until! showed him I didn't care for com- 
 pany," answered Betty. 
 
 "What kind of a man is he.''" 
 
 "Jack, I know nothing against him, although I never fancied 
 him. He's better educated than the majority of frontiersmen; 
 he's good-natured and agreeable, and the people like him." 
 
 "Why don't you.?" 
 
 Betty looked surprised at his blunt question,- and then said 
 with a laugh: "I never tried to reason why; but since you have 
 spoken I believe my dislike was instinctive." 
 ' After Betty had retired to her room the brothers remained on 
 the porch smoking. 
 
 "Betty's pretty keen. Jack. I never knew her to misjudge a 
 man. Why this sudden interest in Roger Brandt?" 
 
 The borderman puffed his pipe in silence. 
 
 "Say, Jack," Colonel Zane said suddenly, "do you connect 
 Brandt in any way with this horse-stealing?" 
 
 "No more than some, an' less than others," replied Jonathan 
 curtly. 
 
 Nothing more was said for a time. To the brothers this hour of 
 early dusk brought the same fullness of peace. From gray twi- 
 light to gloomy dusk quiet reigned. The insects of night chirped 
 .and chorused with low, incessant hum. From out the darkness 
 came the peeping of frogs. 
 
 Suddenly the borderman straightened up, and, removing the 
 pipe from his mouth, turned his ear to the faint breeze, while 
 at the same time one hand closed on the colonel's knee with a 
 warning clutch. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 4I 
 
 Colonel Zane knew what that clutch signified. Some faint 
 noise, too low for ordinary ears, had roused the borderman. 
 The colonel hstened, but heard nothing save the familiar eve- 
 ning sounds. 
 
 "Jack, what'd you hear.!*" he whispered. 
 
 "Somethin' back of the barn," replied Jonathan, slipping 
 noiselessly off the steps, lying at full length with his ear close 
 to the ground. "Where's the dog?" he asked. 
 
 "Chief must have gone with Sam. The old nigger sometimes 
 goes at this hour to see his daugliter." 
 
 Jonathan lay on the grass several moments; then suddenly 
 he arose much as a bent sapling springs to place. 
 
 "I hear footsteps. Get the rifles," he said in a fierce whisper. 
 
 "Damn! There is some one in the barn." 
 
 "No; they're outside. Hurry, but softlyi" 
 
 Colonel Zane had but just risen to his feet, when Mrs. Zane 
 came to the door and called him by name. 
 
 Instantly from somewhere in the darkness overhanging the 
 road, came a low, warning whistle. 
 
 "A signal!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. 
 
 "Quick, Eb! Look toward Metzar's light. One, two, three, 
 shadows — Injuns I " 
 
 "By the Lord Harry! Now they're gone; but I couldn't mis- 
 take those round heads and bristling feathers." 
 
 "Shawnees!" said the borderman, and his teeth shut hard 
 like steel on flint. 
 
 "Jack, they were after the horses, and some one was on the 
 lookout! By God! right under our noses!" 
 
 "Hurry," cried Jonathan, pulling his brother off the porch. 
 
 Colonel Zane followed the borderman out of the yard, into 
 the road, and across the grassy square. 
 
42 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "We might find the one who gave the signal," said the colonel. 
 "He was near at hand, and couldn't have passed the house." 
 
 Colonel Zane was correct, for whoever had whistled would 
 be forced to take one of two ways of escape; either down the 
 straight road ahead, or over the high stockade fence of the fort. 
 
 "There he goes," whispered Jonathan. 
 
 "Where.? I caa't see a blamed thing." 
 
 "Go across the square, run around the fort, an' head him off 
 on the road. Don't try to stop him for he'll have weapons, just 
 find out who he is." 
 
 "I see him now," replied Colonel Zane, as he hurried oil into 
 the darkness. 
 
 During a few moments Jonathan kept in view the shadow he 
 had seen first come out of the gloom by the stockade, and thence 
 pass swiftly dowa the road. He followed swiftly, silently. Pres- 
 ently a light beyond threw a glare across the road. He thought 
 he was approaching a yard where there was a fire, and the 
 flames proved to be from pine cones burning in the yard of 
 Helen Sheppard. He remembered then that she was entertain- 
 ing some of the young people. 
 
 The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jona- 
 than made certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and 
 he knew his eyesight too well not to trust to it absolutely. Ad- 
 vancing nearer the yard, he heard the murmur of voices in gay 
 conversation, and soon saw figures moving about under the 
 trees. 
 
 No doubt was in his mind but that the man who gave the 
 signal to warn the Indians, was one of Helen Sheppard's guests. 
 
 Jonathan had walked across the street then down the path, 
 before he saw the colonel coming from the opposite direction. 
 Halting under a maple he waited for his brother to approach. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 43 
 
 "I didn't meet any one. Did you lose him?" whispered Colonel 
 Zane breathlessly. 
 
 "No; he's in there." 
 
 "That's Sheppard's place. Do you mean he's hiding there?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 Colonel Zane swore, as was his habit when exasperated. Kind 
 and generous man that he was, it went hard with him to be- 
 lieve in the guilt of any of the young men he had trusted. But 
 Jonathan had said there was a traitor among them, and Colonel 
 Zane did not question this assertion. He knew the borderman. 
 During years full of strife, and war, and blood had he lived be- 
 side this silent man who said little, but that little was the truth. 
 Therefore Colonel Zane gave way to anger. 
 
 "Well, I'm not so damned surprised! What's to be done?" 
 
 "Find out what men are there?" 
 
 "That's easy. I'll go to see George and soon have the truth." 
 
 "Won't do," said the borderman decisively. "Go back to the 
 barn, an' look after the bosses." 
 
 When Colonel Zane had obeyed Jonathan dropped to his 
 hands and knees, and swiftly, with the agile movements of an 
 Indian, gained a corner of the Sheppard yard. He crouched in 
 the shade of a big plum tree. Then, at a favorable opportunity, 
 vaulted the fence and disappeared under a clump of lilac bushes. 
 
 The evening wore away no more tediously to the borderman, 
 than to those young frontiersmen who were whispering tender 
 or playful words to their partners. Time and patience were the 
 same to Jonathan Zane. He lay hidden under the fragrant lilacs, 
 his eyes, accustomed to the dark from long practice, losing no 
 movement of the guests. Finally it became evident that the 
 party was at an end. One couple took the initiative, and said 
 good night to their hostess. 
 
44 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Tom Bennet, I hope it's not you," whispered the borderman 
 to himself, as he recognized the young fellow. 
 
 A general movement followed, until the merry party were 
 assembled about Helen near the front gate. 
 
 "Jim Morrison, I'll bet it's not you," was Jonathan's comment. 
 "That soldier Williams is doubtful; Hart an' Johnson being 
 strangers, are unknown quantities around here, an' then comes 
 Brandt." 
 
 All departed except Brandt, who remained talking to Helen 
 in low, earnest tones. Jonathan lay very quietly, trying to decide 
 what should be his next move in the unraveling of the mystery. 
 He paid little attention to the young couple, but could not help 
 overhearing their conversation. 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Brandt, you frontiersmen are not backward," 
 Helen was saying in her clear voice, "I am surprised to learn 
 that you love me upon such short acquaintance, and am sorry, 
 too, for I hardly know whether I even so much as like you." 
 
 "I love you. We men of the border do things rapidly," he 
 replied earnestly, 
 
 "So it seems," she said with a soft laugh. 
 
 "Won't you care for me?" he pleaded, 
 
 "Nothing is surer than that I never know what I am going 
 to do," Helen repUed lightly. 
 
 "All these fellows are in love with you. They can't help it 
 any more than I. You are the most glorious creature. Please 
 give me hope," 
 
 "Mr. Brandt, let go my hand. I'm afraid I don't Hke such im- 
 pulsive men." 
 
 "Please, let me hold your hand." 
 
 "Certainly not," 
 
 "But I will hold it, and if you look at me like that again I'll 
 do more," he said. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 45 
 
 "What, bold sir frontiersman?" she returned, lightly still, but 
 in a voice which rang with a deeper note. 
 
 "I'll kiss you," he cried desperately. 
 
 "You wouldn't dare." 
 
 "Wouldn't I though? You don't know us border fellows yet. 
 You come here with your wonderful beauty, and smile at us 
 ^^'ith that light in your eyes which makes men mad. Oh, you'll 
 pay for it." 
 
 The borderman listened to all this love-making half disgusted, 
 until he began to grow interested. Brandt's back was turned to 
 him, and Helen stood so that the light from the pine cones 
 shone on her face. Her eyes were brilliant, otherwise she 
 seemed a woman perfectly self-possessed. Brandt held her hand 
 despite the repeated efforts she made to free it. But she did not 
 struggle violently, or make an outcry. 
 
 Suddenly Brandt grasped her other hand, pulling her toward 
 him. 
 
 "These other fellows will kiss you, and I'm going to be the 
 first!" he declared passionately. 
 
 Helen drew back, now thoroughly alarmed by the man's 
 fierce energy. She had been warned against this very boldness 
 in frontiersmen; but had felt secure in her own pride and dig- 
 nity. Her blood boiled at the 'thought that she must exert 
 strength to escape insult. She struggled violently when Brandt 
 bent his head. Almost sick with fear, she had determined to 
 call for help, when a violent wrench almost toppled her over. 
 At the same instant her wrists were freed; she heard a fierce 
 cry, a resounding blow, and then the sodden thud of a heavy 
 body falling. Recovering her balance, she saw a tall figure be- 
 side her, and a man in the act of rising from the ground. 
 
 "You?" whispered Helen, recognizing the tall figure as 
 Jonathan's. 
 
46 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping 
 his hand inside his hunting fcock. Brandt sprang nimbly to his 
 feet, and with a face which, even in the dim light, could be seen 
 distorted with fury, bent forward to look at the stranger. He, 
 too, had his hand within his coat, as if grasping a weapon; but 
 he did not draw it. 
 
 "Zane, a lighter blow would have been easier to forget," he 
 cried, his voice clear and cutting. Then he turned to the girl. 
 "Miss Helen, I got what I deserved. I crave your forgiveness, 
 and ask you to understand a man who was once a gentleman. 
 If I am one no longer, the frontier is to blame, I was mad to 
 treat you as I did." 
 
 Thus speaking, he bowed low with the grace of a man some- 
 times used to the society of ladies, and then went out of the 
 gate. 
 
 "Where did you come from?" asked Helen, looking up at 
 Jonathan. 
 
 He pointed under the lilac bushes. 
 
 "Were you there?" she asked wonderingly. "Did you hear all?" 
 
 "I couldn't help hearin'." 
 
 "It was fortunate for me; but why — why were you there?" 
 
 Helen came a step nearer, and regarded him curiously with 
 her great eyes now black with excitement. 
 
 The borderman was silent. 
 
 Helen's softened mood changed instantly. There was nothing 
 in his cold face which might have betrayed in him a sentiment 
 similar to that of her admirers. 
 
 "Did you spy on me?" she asked quickly, after a moment's 
 thought. 
 
 "No," replied Jonathan calmly. 
 
 Helen gazed in perplexity at this strange man. She did not 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 47 
 
 know how to explain it; she was irritated, but did her best to 
 conceal it. He had no interest in her, yet had hidden under the 
 lilacs in her yard. She was grateful because he had saved her 
 from annoyance, yet could not fathom his reason for being so 
 near. 
 
 "Did you come here to see me?" she asked, forgetting her 
 vexation. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What for, then?" 
 
 "I reckon I won't say," was the quiet, deliberate refusal. 
 
 Helen stamped her foot in exasperation. 
 
 "Be careful that I do not put a wrong construction on your 
 strange action," said she coldly. "If you have reasons, you might 
 trust me. If you are only " 
 
 "Sh-s-sh!" he breathed, grasping her wrist, and holding it 
 firmly in his powerful hand. The whole attitude of the man had 
 altered swiftly, subtly. The listlessness was gone. His lithe body 
 became rigid as he leaned forward, his head toward the ground, 
 and turned slightly in a manner that betokened intent listening. 
 
 Helen trembled as she felt his powerful frame quiver. What- 
 ever had thus changed him, gave her another glimpse of his 
 complex personality. It seemed to her incredible that with one 
 whispered exclamation this man could change from cold in- 
 difference to a fire and force so strong as to dominate her. 
 
 Statue-like she remained listening; but hearing no sound,; 
 and thrillingly conscious of the hand on her arm. 
 
 Far up on the hillside an owl hooted dismally, and an in- 
 stant later, faint and far away, came an answer so low as to be 
 almost indistinct. 
 
 The borderman raised himself erect as he released her. 
 
 "It's only an owl," she said in relief. 
 
48 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 His eyes gleamed like stars. 
 
 "It's Wetzel, an' it means Injuns!" 
 
 Then he was gone into the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 In the misty morning twilight Colonel Zane, fully armed, paced 
 to and fro before his cabin, on guard. All night he had, main- 
 tained a watch. He had not considered it necessary to send his 
 family into the fort, to which they had often been compelled to 
 flee. On the previous night Jonathan had come swiftly back to 
 the cabin, and, speaking but two words, seized his weapons and 
 vanished into the black night. The words were "Injunsl Wet- 
 zel!" and there were none others with more power to affect 
 hearers on the border. The colonel believed that Wetzel had 
 signaled to Jonathan. 
 
 V On the west a deep gully with precipitous sides separated the 
 settlement from a high, wooded bluff. Wetzel often returned 
 from his journeying by this difEcult route. He had no doubt 
 seen Indian signs, and had communicated the intelligence to 
 Jonathan by their system of night-bird calls. Th? nearness of 
 the mighty hunter reassured Colonel Zane. 
 
 When the colonel returned from 'his chase of the previous 
 night, he went directly to the stable, there to find that the In- 
 dians had made off with a thoroughbred, and Betty's pony. 
 Colonel Zane was furious, not on account of the value of the 
 horses, but because Bess was his favorite bay, and Betty loved 
 nothing more than her pony Madcap. To have such a march 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 49 
 
 Stolen on him after he had heard and seen the thieves was in- 
 deed hard. High time it was that these horse thieves be run to 
 earth. No Indian had planned these marauding expeditions. 
 An intelligent white man was at the bottom of the thieving, 
 and he should pay for his treachery. 
 
 The colonel's temper, however, soon cooled. He reaHzed after 
 thinking over the matter, that he was fortunate it passed off 
 without bloodshed. Very likely the intent had been to get all 
 his horses, perhaps his neighbor's as well, and it had been partly 
 frustrated by Jonathan's keen sagacity. These Shawnees, white 
 leader or not, would never again run such risks. 
 
 "It's like a skulking Shawnee," muttered Colonel Zane, "to 
 slip down here under cover of early dusk, when no one but an 
 Indian hunter could detect him. I didn't look for trouble, 
 especially so soon after the lesson we gave Girty and his damned 
 English and redskins. It's lucky Jonathan was here. I'll go back 
 to the old plan of stationing scouts at the outposts until snow 
 flies." 
 
 While Colonel Zane talked to himself and paced the path he 
 had selected to patrol, the white mists cleared, and a rosy hue 
 followed the brightening in the east. The birds ceased twitter- 
 ing to break into gay songs, and the cock in the barnyard gave 
 one final clarion-voiced salute to the dawn. The rose in the east 
 deepened into rich red, and then the sun peeped over the east- 
 ern hilltops to drench the valley with glad golden light. 
 
 A blue smoke curling lazily from the stone chimney of his 
 cabin, showed that Sam had made the kitchen fire, and a little 
 later a rich, savory odor gave pleasing evidence that his wife 
 was cooking breakfast. 
 
 "Any sign of Jack.?" a voice called from the open door, and 
 Betty appeared. 
 
50 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Nary sign." 
 
 "Of the Indians, then?" 
 
 "Well, Betts, they left you a token of their regard," and Colonel 
 Zane smiled as he took a broken halter from the fence. 
 
 "Madcap?" cried Betty. 
 
 "Yes, they've taken Madcap and Bess." 
 
 "Oh, the villains! Poor pony," exclaimed Betty indignantly. 
 "Eb, I'll coax Wetzel to fetch the pony home if he has to kill 
 every Shavirnee in the valley." 
 
 "Now you're talking, Betts," Colonel Zane replied. "If you 
 could get Lew to do that much, you'd be blessed from one end 
 of the border to the other." 
 
 He walked up the road; then back, keeping a sharp lookout 
 on all sides, and bestowing a particularly keen glance at the 
 hillside across the ravine, but could see no sign of the border- 
 men. As it was now broad daylight he felt convinced that fur- 
 ther watch was unnecessary, and went in to breakfast. When 
 he came out again the villagers were astir. The sharp strokes' 
 of axes rang out on the clear morning air, and a mellow anvil- 
 clang pealed up from the blacksmith shop. Colonel Zane found 
 his brother Silas and Jim Douns near the gate. 
 
 "Morning, boys," he cried cheerily. 
 
 "Any gUmpse of Jack or Lew?" asked Silas. 
 
 "No; but I'm expectihg one of 'em any moment." 
 
 "How about the Indians?" asked Douns. "Silas roused me 
 out last night; but didn't stay long enough to say more than 
 'Indians.' " 
 
 "I don't know much more than Silas. I saw several of the red 
 devils who stole the horses; but how many, where they've gone, 
 or what we're to expect, I can't say. We've got to wait for Jack 
 or Lew. Silas, keep the garrison in readiness at the fort, and 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 5I 
 
 don't allow a man, soldier or farmer, to leave the clearing until 
 further orders. Perhaps there were only three of those Shawnecs, 
 and then again the woods might have been full of them. I take 
 it something's amiss, or Jack and Lew would be in by now." 
 
 "Here come Sheppard and his girl," said Silas, pointing down 
 the lane. " 'Pears George is some excited." 
 
 Colonel Zane had much the same idea as he saw Sheppard 
 and his daughter. The old man appeared in a hurry, which was 
 sufficient reason to believe him anxious or alarmed, and Helen, 
 looked pale. 
 
 "Ebenezer, what's this I hear about Indians?" Sheppard asked 
 excitedly. "What with Helen's story about the foft being be- 
 sieged, and this brother of yours routing honest people from 
 their beds, I haven't had a wink of sleep. What's up? Where 
 are the redskins.?" 
 
 "Now, George, be easy," said Colonel Zane calmly. "And you, 
 Helen, mustn't be frightened. There's no danger. We did have 
 a visit from Indians last night; but they hurt no one, and got 
 only two horses." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so relieved that it's not worse," said Helen. 
 
 "It's bad enough, Helen," Betty cried, her black eyes flashing, 
 "my pony Madcap is gone." 
 
 "Colonel Zane, come here quick!" cried Douns, who stood 
 near the gate. 
 
 With one leap Colonel Zane was at the gate, and, following 
 with his eyes the direction indicated by Douns' trembling finger, 
 he saw two tall, brown figures striding down the lane. One 
 carried two rifles, and the other a long bundle wrapped in a 
 blanket. 
 
 "It's Jack and Wetzel," whispered Colonel -Zane to Jim. 
 "They've got the girl, and by God! from the way that bundle 
 
52 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 hangs, I think she's dead. Here," he added, speaking loudly, 
 "you women get into the house." ^ 
 
 Mrs. Zane, Betty and Helen stared. 
 
 "Go into the h»use!" he cried, authoritatively. 
 
 Without a protest the three women obeyed. 
 
 At that moment Nellie Douns came across the lan^; Sam 
 shuffled out from the backyard, and Sheppard arose from his 
 seat on the steps. They joined Colonel Zane, Silas and Jim at 
 the gate. 
 
 "I wondered what kept you so late," Colonel Zane said to 
 Jonathan, as he and his companion came up. "You've fetched 
 Mabel, and she's — " The good man could say no more. If he 
 should live an hundred years on the border amid savage mur- 
 derers, he would still be tender-hearted. Just now he believed 
 the giant bordcrman by the side of Jonathan held a dead, girl, 
 one whom he had danced, when a child, upon his knee. 
 
 "Mabel, an' jest alive," replied Jonathan. 
 
 "By God! I'm glad!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. "Here, Lew, 
 give her to me." 
 
 Wetzel relinquished his burden to the colonel. 
 
 "Lew, any bad Indian sign.?" asked Colonel Zane as he turned 
 to go into the house. 
 
 The borderman shook his head. 
 
 "Wait for me," added the colonel. 
 
 He carried the girl to that apartment in the cabin which 
 served the purpose of a sitting-room, and laid her on a couch. 
 He gently removed the folds of the blanket, disclosing to view 
 a fragile, white-faced girl. 
 
 "Bess, hurry, hurry!" he screamed to his wife, and as she came 
 running in, followed no less hurriedly by Betty, Helen and 
 Nellie, he continued, "Here's Mabel Lane, alive, poor child; 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 53 
 
 but in sore need of help. First see whether she has any bodily 
 injury. If a bullet must be cut out, or a knife-wound sewed up, 
 it's better she remaifted unconscious. Betty, run for Bess's instru- 
 ments, and bring brandy and water. Lively now!" Then he gave 
 vent to an oath and left the room. 
 
 Helen, her heart throbbing wildly, went to the side of Mrs. 
 Zane, who was kneeling by the couch. She saw a delicate girl, 
 not over eighteen years old, with a face that would have been 
 beautiful but for the set lips, the closed eyelids, and an expres- 
 sion of intense pain. 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" breathed Helen. 
 
 "Nell, hand me the scissors," said Mrs. Zane, "and help me 
 take off this dress. Why, it's wet, but, thank goodness! 'tis not 
 with blood. I know that slippery touch too well. There, that's 
 right. Betty, give me a spoonful of brandy. Now heat a blanket, 
 and get one of your linsey gowns for this poor child." 
 
 Helen watched Mrs. Zane as if fascinated. The colonel's wife 
 continued to talk while with deft fingers she forced a few drops 
 of brandy between the girl's closed teeth. Then with the adroit- 
 ness of a skilled surgeon, she made the examination. Helen 
 had heard of this pioneer woman's skill in setting broken bones 
 and treating injuries, and when she looked from the calm face 
 to the steady fingers, she had no doubt as to the truth of what 
 had been told. 
 
 "Neither bullet wound, cut, bruise, nor broken bone," said 
 Mrs. Zane. "It's fear, starvation, and the terrible shock." 
 
 She rubbed Mabel's hands while gazing at her pale face. Then 
 she forced more brandy between the tightly-closed lipsr She was 
 rewarded by ever so faint a color tinging the wan cheeks, to be 
 followed by a fluttering of the eyelids. Then the eyes opened 
 wide. They were large, soft, dark and humid with agony. 
 
54 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Helea could not bear their gaze. She saw the shadow o£ death, 
 and o£ worse than death. She looked away, while in her heart 
 rose a storm of passionate fury at the brutes who had made of 
 this tender girl a wreck. 
 
 The room was full of women now, sober-faced matrons and 
 grave-eyed girls, yet all wore the same expression, not alone of 
 anger, nor fear, nor pity, but of all combined. 
 
 Helen instinctively felt that this was one of the trials of 
 border endurance, and she knew from the sterner faces of the 
 maturer women that such a trial was familiar. Despite all she 
 had been told, the shock and pain were too great, and she went 
 out of the room sobbing. 
 
 She almost fell over the broad back of Jonathan Zane who 
 Was sitting on the steps. Near him stood Colonel Zane talking 
 with a tall man clad in faded buckskin. 
 
 "Lass, you shouldn't have stayed," said Colonel Zane kindly. 
 
 "It'si — ^hurt — ^me— here," said Helen, placing her hand over 
 her heart. 
 
 "Yes, I know, I know; of course it has," he replied, taking 
 her hand. "But be brave, Helen, bear up, bear up. Oh! this 
 border is a stern place! Do not think of that poor girl. Come, 
 let me introduce Jonathan's friend, Wetzel!" 
 
 Helen looked up and held out her hand. She saw a very tall 
 man with extremely broad shoulders, a mass of raven-black 
 hair, and a white face. He stepped forward, and took her hand 
 in his huge, horny palm, pressing it, he stepped back without 
 speaking. Colonel Zane talked to her in a soothing voice; but 
 she failed to hear what he said. This Wetzel, this Indian-hunter 
 whom she had heard called "Deathwind of the Border," this 
 companion, guide, teacher of Jonathan Zane, this borderman of 
 wonderful deeds, stood before her. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 55 
 
 Helen saw a cold face, deathly in its pallor, lighted by eyes 
 sloe-black but like glinting steel. Striking as were these features, 
 they failed to fascinate as did the strange tracings which ap- 
 parently showed through the white, drawn skin. This first re- 
 pelled, then drew her with wonderful force. Suffering, of fire, 
 and frost, and iron was written there, and, stronger than all, so 
 potent as to cause fear, could be read the terrible purpose of this 
 man's tragic life. 
 
 "You avenged her I Oh! I know you did!" cried Helen, her 
 whole heart leaping with a blaze to her eyes. 
 
 She was answered by a smile, but such a smile! Kindly it 
 broke over the stern face, giving a glimpse of a heart still warm 
 beneath that steely cold. Behind it, too, there was something 
 fateful, something deadly. 
 
 Helen knew, though the borderman spoke not, that some- 
 where among the grasses of the broad plains, or on the moss 
 of the wooded hills, lay dead the perpetrators of this outrage, 
 their still faces bearing the ghastly stamp of Deathwind. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Happier days than she had hoped for, dawned upon Helen aftar 
 the first touch of border sorrow. Mabel Lane did not die. Helen 
 and Betty nursed the stricken girl tenderly, weeping for very 
 joy when signs of improvement appeared. She had remained 
 silent for several days, always with that haunting fear in her 
 eyes, and then gradually came a change. Tender care and nurs- 
 ing had due effect in banishing die dark shadow. One morning 
 
<y6 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 after a long sleep she awakened with a bright smile, and from 
 that time her improvement was rapid. 
 
 Helen wanted Mabel to live with her. The girl's position was 
 pitiable. Homeless, fatherless, with not a relative on the border, 
 yet so brave, so patient that she aroused all the sympathy in 
 Helen's breast. Village gossip was in substance, that Mabel had 
 given her love to a young frontiersman, by name Alex Bennet, 
 who had an affection for her, so it was said, but as yet had made 
 no choice between her and the other lasses of the settlement. 
 What effect Mabel's terrible experience might have on this 
 lukewarm lover, Helen could not even guess; but she was not 
 hopeful as to the future. Colonel Zane and Betty approved of 
 Helen's plan to persuade Mabel to live with her, and the latter's . 
 faint protestations they silenced by claiming she could be of great 
 assistance in the management of the house, therefore it was 
 settled. 
 
 Finally the day came when Mabel was ready to go with Helen. 
 Betty had given her a generous supply of clothing, for all her 
 belongings had been destroyed when the cabin was burned. 
 With Helen's strong young arm around her she voiced her grati- 
 tude to Betty and Mrs. Zane and started toward the Sheppard 
 hom?. 
 
 From the green square, where the ground was highest, an un- 
 obstructed view could be had of the valley. Mabel gazed down 
 the river to where her home formerly stood. Only a faint, dark 
 spot, like a blur on the green landscape, could be seen. Her soft 
 eyes filled with tears; but she spoke no word. 
 
 "She's game and that's why she didn't go under," Colonel 
 Zane said to himself as he mused on the strength and spirit of 
 borderwomen. To their heroism, more than any other thing, 
 he attributed the establishing of homes in this wilderness. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 57' 
 
 In the days that ensued, as Mabel grew stronger, the girls be- 
 came very fond of each other. Helen would have been happy 
 at any time with such a sweet companion, but just then, when 
 the poor girl's mind was so sorely disturbed she was doubly 
 glad. For several days, after Mabel was out of danger, Helen's 
 thoughts had dwelt on a subject which caused extreme vexa- 
 tion. She had begiin to suspect that she encouraged too many 
 admirers for whom she did not care, and thought too much of 
 a man who did not reciprocate. She was gay and moody in turn. 
 During the moody hours she suspected herself, and in her gay 
 ones, scorned the idea that she might ever care for a man who 
 was indifferent. But that thought once admitted, had a trick of 
 returning at odd moments, clouding her cheerful moods. 
 
 One sunshiny morning while the May flowers smiled under 
 the hedge, when dew sparkled on the leaves, and the locust- 
 blossoms shone creamy-white amid the soft green of the trees, 
 the girls set about their much-planned flower gardening. Helen 
 was passionately fond of plants, and had brought a jar of seeds of 
 her favorites all the way from her eastern home. 
 
 "We'll plant the morning-glories so they'll run up the porch, 
 and the dahlias in this long row and the nasturtiums in this 
 round bed," Helen said. 
 
 I "You have some trailing arbutus," added Mabel, "and must 
 have clematis, wild honeysuckle and golden-glow, for they are 
 all sweet flowers." 
 
 "This arbutus is so fresh, so dewy, so fragrant," said Helen, 
 bending aside a lilac bush to see the pale, creeping flowers. "I 
 never saw anything so beautiful. I grow more and more in love 
 with my new home and friends. I have such a pretty garden to 
 look into, and I never tire of the view beyond." 
 
^ THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Helen gazed with pleasure and pride at the garden with it* 
 fresh green and lavender<r€sted lilacs, at the white-blossomed 
 trees, and the vine-covered log cabins with blue smoke curling 
 from their stone chimneys. Beyond, the great bulk of the fort 
 stood guard above the willow-skirted river, and far away over 
 the winding stream the dark hills, defiant, kept their secrets. 
 
 "If it weren't for that threatening fort one could imagine this 
 little hamlet, nestling under the great bluff, as quiet and secure 
 as it is beautiful," said Helen. "But that charred stockade fence 
 with its scarred bastions and these lowering port-holes, always 
 keep me alive to the reality." 
 
 "It wasn't very quiet when Girty was here," Mabel replied 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Were you in the fort then.?" asked Helen breathlessly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I cooled the rifles for the men," replied Mabel calmly. 
 
 "Tell me all about it." 
 
 Helen listened again to a story she had heard many times; 
 but told by new lips it always gained in vivid interest. She never 
 tired of hearing how the notorious renegade, 'Girty, rode around 
 the fort on his white horse, giving the defenders- an hour in 
 which to surrender; she learned again of the attack, when the 
 British soldiers remained silent on an adjoining hillside, while 
 the Indians yelled exultantly and ran about in fiendish glee, 
 when Wetzel began the battle by shooting an Indian chieftain 
 who had ventured within range of his ever fatal rifle. And 
 when it came to the heroic deeds of that memorable siege Helen 
 could not contain her enthusiasm. She shed tears over little 
 Harry Bennet's death at the south bastion where, though riddled 
 with bullets, he stuck to his post until relieved. Clark's ract 
 across the roof of the fort to extinguish a burning arrow, she 
 applauded with clapping hands. Her great eyes glowed and 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 59 
 
 burned, but she was silent, when hearing how Wetzel ran alone 
 to a break in the stockade, and there, with an ax, the terrible 
 borderman held at bay the whole infuriated Indian mob until 
 the breach was closed. Lastly Betty Zane's never-to-be-forgotten 
 run with the powder to the relief of the garrison and the saving 
 of the fort was something not to cry over or applaud; but to 
 dream of and to glorify. 
 
 "Down that slope from Colonel Zane's cabin is where Betty 
 ran with the powder," said Mabel, pointing. 
 
 "Did you see her?" asked Helen. 
 
 "Yes, I looked out of a port-hole. The Indians stopped firing 
 at the fort in their eagerness to shoot Betty. Oh, the banging of 
 guns and yelling of savages was one fearful, dreadful roar! 
 Through all that hail of bullets Betty ran swift as the wind." 
 
 "I almost wish Girty would come again," said Helen. 
 
 "Don't; he might." 
 
 "How long has Betty's husband, Mr. Clarke, been dead.?" 
 inquired Helen. 
 
 "I don't remember exactly. He didn't live long after the siege. 
 Some say he inhaled the flames while fighting fire inside the 
 stockade." 
 
 "How sad!" 
 
 "Yes, it was. It nearly killed Betty., But we border girls do 
 not give up easily; we must not," replied Mabel, an unquench- 
 able spirit showing through the sadness of her eyes. 
 
 Merry voices interrupted them, and they turned to see Betty 
 and Nell entering the gate. With Nell's bright chatter and 
 Betty's wit, the conversation became indeed vivacious, running 
 frdm gossip to gowns, and then to that old and ever new theme, 
 love. Shortly afterward the colonel entered the gate, with swing- 
 ing step and genial smile. 
 
60 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Well, now, if here aren't four handsome lasses," he said with, 
 an admiring glance. 
 
 "Eb, I believe if you were single any girl might well suspect 
 you of being a flirt," said Betty, 
 
 "No girl ever did. I tell you I was a lady-killer in my day," 
 replied Colonel Zane, straightening his fine form. He was indeed 
 handsome, with his stalwart frame, dark, bronzed face and 
 rugged, manly bearing. 
 
 "Bess said you were; but that it didn't last long after you 
 saw her," cried Betty, mischief gleaming in her dark eye. 
 
 "Well, that's so," replied the colonel, looking a trifle crest- 
 fallen; "but you know every dog has his day.". Then advancing 
 to the. porch, he looked at Mabel with a more serious gaze as 
 he asked, "How are you to-day?" 
 
 "Thank you. Colonel Zane, I am getting quite strong." 
 
 "Look up the valley. There's a raft coming down the river," 
 said he softly. 
 
 Far up the broad Ohio a square patch showed dark against 
 the green water. 
 
 Colonel Zane saw Mabel start, and a dark red flush came over 
 her ,pale face. For an instant she gazed with an expression of 
 appeal, almost fear. He knew the reason. Alex Bennet was on 
 that raft. 
 
 "I came over to ask if I can be of any service.?" 
 
 "Tell him," she answered simply. 
 
 "I say, Betts," Colonel Zane cried, J'has Helen's cousin cast 
 any more such sheep eyes at you?" 
 
 "Oh, Eb, what nonsense!" exclaimed Betty, blushing furiously. 
 
 "Well, if he didn't look sweet at you I'm an old fool." 
 
 "You're one anyway, and you're horrid," said Betty, tears of 
 anger glistening in her eyes. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 6l 
 
 Colonel Zane whistled softly as he walked down the lane. 
 He went into the wheelwright's shop to see about some repairs 
 he was having made on a wagon, and then strolled on down 
 to tke river. Two Indians were sitting on the rude log wharf, 
 together with several frontiersmen and rivermen, all waiting 
 for the raft. He conversed with the Indians, who were friendly 
 Chippewas, until the raft was tied up. The first person to leap on 
 shore was a sturdy young fellow with a shock of yellow hair, 
 and a warm, ruddy skin. 
 
 "Hello, ^lex, did you have a good trip?" asked Colonel Zane 
 of the youth. 
 
 "H'are ye, Colonel Zane. Yes, first-rate trip," replied young 
 Bennet. "Say, I've a word for you. Come aside," and drawing 
 Colonel Zane out of earshot of the others, he continued, "I 
 heard this by accident, not that I didn't spy a bit when I got 
 interested, for I did; but the way it came about was all chance. 
 Briefly, there's a man, evidently an Englishman, at Fort Pitt, 
 whom I overheard say he was out on the border after a Shep- 
 pard girl. I happened to hear from one of Brandt's men, who 
 rode into Pitt just before we left, that you had new friends here 
 by that name. This fellow was a handsome chap, no common 
 sort, but lordly, dissipated and reckless as the devil. He had a 
 servant traveling with him, a sailor, by his gab, who was about 
 the toughest customer I've met in many "a day. He cut a fellow 
 in bad shape at Pitt. These two will be on the next boat, due 
 here in a day or so, according to river and weather conditions, 
 an' I thought, considerin' how unusual the thing was, I'd better 
 tell ye." 
 
 "Well, well," said Colonel Zane reflectively. He recalled Shep- 
 pard's talk about an Englishman. "Alex, you did Well to tell me. 
 
62 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Was the man drunk when he said he came west after a 
 woman?" 
 
 "Sure he was," replied Alex. "But not when he spoke the 
 name. Ye see I got suspicious, an' asked about him. It's this 
 way: Jake Wentz, the trader, told me the fellow asked for the 
 Sheppards when he got off the wagon-train. When I first seen 
 him he was drunk, and I heard Jeff Lynn say as how the border 
 was a bad place to come after a woman. That's what made me 
 prick up my ears. Then the Englishman said: 'It is, ch? By God! 
 I'd go to hell after a woman I wanted.' An' Colonel, he looked 
 it, too." 
 
 Colonel Zane remained thoughtful while Alex made up a 
 bundle and forced the haft of an ax under the string; but as the 
 young man started away the colonel suddenly remembered his 
 errand down to the wharf, 
 
 "Alex, come back here," he said, and wondered if the lad had 
 good stuff in him. The boatman's face was plain, but not evil, 
 and a close scrutiny of it rather prepossessed the colonel. 
 
 "Alex, I've some bad news for you," and then bluntly, with 
 his keen gaze fastened on the young man's face, he told of old 
 Lane's murder, of Mabel's abduction, and of her rescue by 
 Wetzel. 
 
 Alex began to curse and swear vengeance. 
 
 "Stow all that," said the colonel sharply. "Wetzel followed 
 four Indians who had Mabel and some stolen horses; The red- 
 skins quarreled over the girl, and two took the horses, leaving 
 Mabel to the others. Wetzel went after these last, tomahawked 
 them, and brought Mabel home. She was in a bad way, but is 
 now "getting over the shock." 
 
 "Say, what'd we do here without Wetzel.?" Alex said huskily, 
 
THE LASr IKAIL. 63 
 
 unmindful o£ the tears that streamed from his eyes and ran over 
 his brown cheeks. "Poor old Jake! Poor Mabel! Damn me! it's 
 my fault. If I'd 'a done right an' married her as I should, as I 
 wanted to, she wouldn't have had to suffer. But I'll marry her 
 yet, if she'll have me. It was only because I had no farm, no 
 stock, an' only that little cabin as is full now, that I waited." 
 
 "Alex, you know me," said Colonel Zane in kindly tones* 
 "Look there, down the clearing half a mile. See that green strip 
 of land along the river, with the big chestnut in the middle 
 and a cabin beyond. There's as fine farming land as can be found 
 on the border, eighty acres, well watered. The day you marry 
 Mabel that farm is yours." 
 
 Alex grew red, stammered, and vainly tried to express his 
 gratitude. 
 
 "Come along, the sooner you tell Mabel the better," said the 
 colonel with glowing face. He was a good matchmaker. He de- 
 rived more pleasure from a little charity bestowed upon a de- 
 serving person, than from a season's crops. 
 
 When they arrived at the Sheppard house the girls were still 
 on the porch. Mabel rose when she saw Alex, standing white 
 and still. He, poor fellow, was embarrassed by the others, who 
 regarded him with steady eyes. 
 
 Colonel Zane; pushed Alex up on the porch, and said in a low 
 voice: "Mabel, I've just arranged something you're to give Alex. 
 It's a nice little farm, and it'll be a wedding present." 
 
 Mabel looked in a bewildered manner from Colonel Zane's 
 happy face to the girls, and then at the red, joyous features of 
 her lover. Only then did she understand, and uttering a strange 
 little cry, put her trembling hands to her bosom as she swayed 
 to and fro. 
 
64 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 But -she did not fall, for Alex, quick at the last, lea'ped for- 
 ward and caught her in his arms. 
 
 *J^ JZ. ^ 4^ at 
 
 TT TP TT TT ^ 
 
 That evening Helen denied herself to Mr. Brandt and several 
 other callers. She sat on the porch vs'ith her father while he 
 smoked his pipe. 
 
 "Where's Will?" she asked. 
 
 "Gone after snipe, so he said," replied her father. 
 
 "Snipe.'' How funny! Imagine Will hunting! He's surely 
 catching the wild fever Colonel Zane told us about." 
 
 "He surely is." 
 
 Then came a time of silence. Mr. Sheppard, accustomed to 
 Helen's gladsome spirit and propensity to gay -hatter, noted 
 how quiet she was, and wondered. 
 , "Why are you so still.?" 
 
 "I'm a little homesick," Helen replied reluctantly. 
 
 "No? Well, I declare! This is a glorious country; but not foi 
 such as you, dear, who love music and gaiety. I often fear you'll 
 not be happy here, and then I long for the old home, which 
 reminds me of your mo^er." 
 
 "Dearest, forget what I said," cried Helen earnestly. "I'm only 
 a little blue to-day; perhaps not at all homesick." 
 
 "Indeed, you always seemed happy." 
 
 "Father, I am happy. It's only — only a girl's foolish sentiment." 
 
 "I've got sonjething to tell you, Helen, and it has bothered 
 me since Colonel Zane spoke of it to-night. Mordjaunt is com- 
 ing to Fort Henry." 
 
 "Mordaunt.? Oh, impossible! Who said so.? How did you 
 learn.?" 
 
 "I fear 'tis true, my dear. Colonel Zane told me he had heard 
 of ail Englishman at Fort Pitt who asked after us. Moreover, 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 65 
 
 jthe fellow answers the description of Mordaunt. I am afraid it 
 is he, and come after you." 
 
 "Suppose he has — who cares? We owe him nothing. He can- 
 not hurt us." 
 
 "But, Helen, he's a desperate man. Aren't you afraid of him?" 
 
 "Not I," cried Helen, laughing in scorn. "He'd better have a 
 care. He can't run things with a high hand out here on the 
 border. I told him I would have none of him, and that ended it." 
 
 "I'm much relieved. I didn't want to tell you; but it seemed 
 necessary. Well, child, good night, I'll go to bed." 
 
 Long after Mr. Sheppard had retired Helen sat thinking. 
 Memories of the past, and of the unwelcome suitor, Mordaunt, 
 thronged upon her thick and fast. She could see him now with 
 his pale, handsome face, and distinguished bearing. She had 
 hked him, as she had other men, until he involved her father, 
 with himself> in financial ruin, and had made his attention to 
 her unpleasantly persistent. Then he had followed the fall of 
 fortune with wild dissipation, and became a gambler and a 
 drunkard. But he did not desist in his mad wooing. He became 
 like her shadow, and life grew to be unendurable, until her 
 father planned to emigrate west, when she hailed the news with 
 joy. And now Mordaunt had tracked her to her new home. 
 She was sick with disgust. Then her spirit, always strong, and 
 now freer for this new, wild life of the frontier, rose within her, 
 and she dismissed all thoughts of this man and his passion. 
 
 The old life was dead and buried. She was going to be happy 
 here. As for the present, it was enough to think of the little 
 border village, now her home; of her girl friends; of the quiet 
 borderman: and, for the moment, that the twilight was somber 
 and beautiful. 
 
 High up on the wooded bluff rising so gloomily over the 
 
66 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 village, she saw among the trees something silver-bright. She 
 watched it rise slowly from behind the trees, now hidden, now 
 white through rifts in the foliage, until it soared lovely and 
 grand above the black horizon. The ebony shadows of night' 
 seemed to lift, as might a sable mantle moved by invisible 
 hands. But dark shadows, safe from the moon-rays, lay under 
 the trees, and a pale, misty vapor hung below the brow of the 
 bluff. 
 
 Mysterious as had grown the night before darkness yielded 
 to the moon, this pale, white light flooding the still valley, was 
 even more soft and strange. To one of Helen's temperament no 
 thought was needed; to see was enough. Yet her mind was 
 active. She felt with haunting power the beauty of all before 
 her; in fancy transporting herself far to those silver-tipped 
 clouds, and peopling the dells and shady nooks under the hills 
 with spirits and fairies, maidens and valiant knights. To her 
 the day was as a far-off dream. The great watch stars grew 
 wan before the radiant moon; it reigned alone. The immensity 
 of the world with its glimmering rivers, pensive valleys and 
 deep, gloomy forests lay revealed under the glory of the clear 
 light. 
 
 Absorbed in this contemplation Helen remained a long time 
 gazing with dreamy ecstasy at the moonlit valley until a slight 
 chill disturbed her happy thoughts. She knew she was not alone. 
 Trembling, she stood up to see, easily recognizable in the moon- 
 light, the tall buckskin-garbed figure- of Jonathan Zane. 
 
 "Well, sir," she called, sharply, yet with a tremor in her voice. ^ 
 
 The borderman came forward and stood in front of her. 
 Somehow he appeard changed. The long, black rifle, the dull, 
 glinting weapons made her shudder. Wilder and more untam- 
 able he looked than ever. The very silence of the forest clung 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 67 
 
 to him; the fragrance of the grassy plains came faintly from his 
 buckskin garments. 
 
 "Evenin'j lass," he said in his slow, cool manner. 
 
 "How did you get here?" asked Helen presently, because he 
 made no effort to explain his presence at such a late hour. 
 
 "I was able to walk." 
 
 Helen observed, with a vaulting spirit, one ever ready to rise 
 in arms, that Master Zane was disposed to add humor to his 
 penetrating mysteriousness. She flushed hot and then paled. 
 This borderman certainly possessed the power to vex her, and, 
 reluctantly she admitted, to chill her soul and' rouse her fear. 
 She strove to keep back sharp words, because she had learned 
 that this singular individual always gave good reason for his 
 odd actions. 
 
 "I think in kindness to me," she said, choosing her words 
 carefully, "you might tell me why you appear so suddenly, as if 
 you had sprung out of the ground." 
 
 "Are you alone?" 
 
 "Yes. Father is in bed; so is Mabel, and Will has not yet 
 come home. Why?" , 
 
 "Has no one else been here?" 
 
 "Mr. Brandt came, as did some others; but wishing to be 
 alone, I did not see them," replied Helen in perplexity. 
 
 "Have you seen Brandt since?" 
 
 "Since when?" 
 
 "The night I watched by the lilac bush." 
 
 "Yes, several times," replied Helen. Something in his tone 
 made her ashamed. "I couldn't very well escape when he called. 
 Are you surprised because after he insulted me I'd see him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Helen felt more ashamed. 
 
68 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "You don't love him?" he continued. 
 
 Helen was so surprised she could only look into the dark 
 face above -her. Then she dropped her gaze, abashed by his 
 searching eyes> But, thinking of his question, she subdued the 
 vague stirrings of pleasure in her breast, and answered coldly: 
 
 "No, I do not; but for the service you rendered me I should 
 never have answered such a question." 
 
 "I'm glad, an' hope you care as little for the other five men 
 who were here that night." 
 
 "I declare. Master Zane, you seem exceedingly interested in 
 the affairs of a young woman whom yoii won't visit, except as 
 you have come to-night." 
 
 He looked at her with his piercing eyes. 
 
 "You spied upon my guests," she said, in no wise abashed 
 now that her temper was high. "Did you care so very much.?" 
 
 "Care.?" he asked slowly. 
 
 "Yes; you were interested to know how many of my ad- 
 mirers were here, what they did, and what they said. You even 
 hint disparagingly of them." 
 
 "True, I wanted to know," he replied; "but I don't hint about 
 any man." 
 
 "You are so interested you wouldn't call on me when I in- 
 vited you," said Helen, with poorly veiled sarcasm. It was this 
 that made her bitter; she could never forget-that she had asked 
 this man to come to see her, and he had refused. 
 
 "I reckon you've mistook me," he said calmly. 
 
 "Why did you come? Why do you shadow my friends? This 
 is twice you have done it. Goodness knows how many times 
 you've been here! Tell me." 
 
 The borderman remained silent. 
 
 "Answer me," commanded Helen, her eyes blazing. She 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 69 
 
 actually stamped her foot. "Borderman or not, you have no right 
 to pry into my aflairs. If you are a gentlernan, tell me why you 
 came here?" 
 
 The eyes Jonathan turned on Helen stilled all the angry 
 throbbing of her blood. 
 
 "I come here to learn which of your lovers is the dastard who 
 plotted the abduction of Mabel Lane, an' the thief who stole 
 our hosses. When I find the villain I reckon Wetzel an' I'll 
 swing him to some tree." 
 
 The borderman's voice rang sharp and cold, and when he 
 ceased speaking she sank back upon the step, shocked, speech- 
 less, to gaze up at him with staring eyes. 
 
 "Don't look so, lass; don't be frightened," he said, his voice 
 gentle and kind as it had been hard. He took her hand in his. 
 "You nettled me into replyin'. You have a sharp tongue, lass, 
 and when I spoke I was thinkin' of him. I'm sorry." 
 
 "A horse-thief and worse than murderer among my friends!" 
 murmured Helen, shuddering, yet she never thought to doubt 
 his word. 
 
 "I followed him here the night of your company." 
 
 "Do you know which one.''" 
 
 "No." 
 
 He still held her hand, unconsciously, but Helen knew it 
 well. A sense of his strength came with the warm pressure, and 
 comforted her. She would need that powerful hand, surely, in 
 the evil days which seemed to darken the horizon. 
 
 "What shall I do.?" she whispered, shuddering again. 
 
 "Keep this' secret between you an' me." 
 
 "How can I? How can I?" 
 
 "You rnust," his voice was deep and low. "If you tell your 
 father, or any one, I might lose the chance to find this man, for, 
 
7© THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 lass, he's desperate cunnin'. Then he'd go free to rob others, 
 an' mebbe help make off with other poor girls. Lass, keep my 
 secret." 
 
 "But he might try to carry me away," said Helen in fearful 
 perplexity. 
 
 "Most likely he might," replied the borderman with the smile 
 that came so rarely. 
 
 "Oh! Knowing all this, how can I meet any of these men 
 again? I'd betray myself." 
 
 "No; you've got too much pluck. It so happens you are the 
 one to help me an' Wetzel rid the border of these hell-hounds, 
 an' you won't fail. I know a woman when it comes to that." 
 
 "I— I help you and Wetzel.?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Gracious!" cried Helen, half-laughing, half-crying. "And 
 poor me with more trouble coming on the next boat." 
 
 "Lass, the colonel told me about the Englishman. It'll be bad 
 for him to annoy yon." 
 
 Helen thrilled with the depth of meaning in the low voice. 
 Fate surely was weaving a bond between her and this border- 
 man. She felt it in his steady, piercing gaze; in her own tingling 
 blood. 
 
 Then as her natural courage dispelled all girlish fears, she 
 faced him, white, resolute, with a look in her eyes that matched 
 his own. 
 
 "I will do what I can," she said. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 7I 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Westward from Fort Henry, far above the eddying river, Jona- 
 than Zane slowly chmbed a narrow, hazel-bordered, mountain 
 trail. From time to time he stopped in an open patqh among 
 the thickets and breathed deep of the fresh, wood-scented air, 
 while his keen gaze swept over the glades near by, along the 
 wooded hillsides, and above at the timber-strewn woodland. 
 
 This June morning in the wild forest was significant of na- 
 ture's brightness and joy. Broad-leaved poplars, dense foliaged 
 oaks, and vine-covered maples shaded cool, mossy banks, while 
 between the trees the sunshine streamed in bright spots. It 
 shone silver on the glancing silver-leaf, and gold on the colored 
 leaves of the butternut tree. Dewdrops glistened on the ferns; 
 ripples sparkled in the brooks; spider-webs glowed with won- 
 drous rainbow hues, and the flower of the forest, the sweet, 
 pale-faced daisy, rose above the green like a white star. 
 
 Yellow birds flitted among the hazel bushes caroling joy- 
 ously, and cat-birds sang gaily. Robins called; bluejays screeched 
 in the tall, white oaks; wood-peckers hammered in the dead 
 hard-woods, and crows cawed overhead. Squirrels chattered 
 everywhere. Ruffed grouse rose with great bustle and a whirr, 
 flitting like brown flakes through the leaves. From far above 
 came the shrill cry of a hawk, followed by the wilder scream of 
 an eagle. 
 
 Wilderness music such as all this fell harmoniously on the 
 borderman's ear. It betokened the gladsome spirit of his wild 
 friends, happy in the warm sunshine above, or in the cool depths 
 
72 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 beneath the fluttering leaves, and everywhere in those lonely 
 haunts unalarmed and free. 
 
 Familiar to Jonathan, almost as the footpath near his home, 
 was this winding trail. On the height above was a, safe rendez- 
 vous, much frequented by him and Wetzel. Every lichen-covered 
 stone, mossy bank, noisy brook and giant oak on the way up 
 this mountain-side, could have told, had they "spoken their se- 
 crets, stories of the bordermen. The fragile ferns and slender- 
 bladed grasses peeping from the gray and amber mosses, and 
 the flowers that hung from craggy ledges, had wisdom to im- 
 part. A borderman lived under the green tree-tops, and, there- 
 fore, all the nodding branches of sassafras and laurel, the grassy 
 slopes and rocky cliffs, the stately ash trees, kingly oaks and 
 dark, mystic pines, together with the creatures that dwelt among 
 them, save his deadly red-skinned foes, he loved. Other affection 
 as close and true as this, he had not known. Hearkening thus 
 with single heart to nature's teachings, he learned her secrets. 
 Certain it was, therefore, that the many hours he passed in the 
 woods apart from savage pursuits, were happy and fruitfuL 
 
 Slowly he pressed on up the ascent, at length coming into 
 open light upon a small plateau marked by huge, rugged, 
 Weather-chipped stones. On the eastern side was a rocky prom- 
 ontory, and close to the edge, of this cliff, an hundred feet in 
 sheer descent, rose a gnarled, time and tempest-twisted chest- 
 nut tree. Here the borderman laid down his rifle and knap- 
 sack, and, half-reclining against the tree, settled himself to 
 rest and wait. 
 
 This craggy point was the lonely watch-tower of eagles. Here 
 on the highest headland for miles around where the bordermen 
 were wont to meet, the outlook was far-reaching and grand. 
 
 Below the gray, splintered cliffs sheered down to meet the 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 73 
 
 waving tree-tops, and then hill after hill, slope after slope, waved 
 and rolled far, far down to the green river. Open grassy patches, 
 bright little islands in that ocean of dark green, shone on the 
 hillsides. The rounded ridges ran straight, curved, or zigzag, but 
 shaped their graceful lines in the descent to make the valley. 
 Long, purple-hued, shadowy depressions in the wide expanse of 
 foliage marked deep clefts between ridges where dark, cool 
 streams bounded on to meet the river. Lower, where the land 
 was level, in open spaces could be seen a broad trail, yellow in 
 the sunlight, winding along with the curves of the water-course. 
 On a swampy meadow, blue in the distance, a herd of buffalo 
 browsed. Beyond the river, high over the green island, Fort 
 Henry lay peaceful and solitary, the only token of the works of 
 man in all that vast panorama. 
 
 Jonathan Zane was as much alone as if one thousand miles, 
 instead of five, intervened between him and the settlement. 
 Loneliness was to him a passion. Other men loved home, the 
 ?ight of woman's eyes, the rattle of dice or the lust of hoarding; 
 but "to him this wild, remote promontory, with its limitless view, 
 stretching away to the dim hazy horizon, was more than .all the 
 aching joys of civilization. 
 
 Hours here, or in the shady valley, recompensed him for the 
 loss of home comforts, the soft touch of woman's hands, the kiss 
 of baby lips, and also for all he suffered in his pitiless pursuits, 
 the hard fare, the steel and blood of a borderman's life. 
 
 Soon the sun shone straight overhead, dwarfing the shadow 
 of the chestnut on the rock. 
 
 During such a" time it was rare that any connected thought 
 came into the borderman's mind. His dark eyes, now strangely 
 luminous, strayed lingeringly over those purple, undulating 
 slopes. This intense watchfulness had no object, neither had his 
 
74 THE LAST TRAIL, 
 
 listening. He watched nothing; he hearkened to the silence. Un- 
 doubtedly in this state of rapt absorption his perceptions were 
 acutely alert;, but without thought, as were those of the savage 
 in the valley below, or the eagle in the sky above. 
 
 Yet so perfectly trained were these perceptions that the least 
 unnatural sound or sight brought him wary and watchful from 
 his dreamy trance. 
 
 The slight snapping of a twig in the thicket caused him to sit 
 erect, and reach out toward his rifle. His eyes moved among the 
 dark openings in the thicket. In another moment a tall figure 
 pressed the bushes apart. Jonathan let fall his rifle, and sank 
 back against the tree once more. \\(etzel stepped over the rocks 
 toward him. 
 
 "Come from Blue Pond?" asked Jonathan as the newcomer 
 took a seat beside him. 
 
 Wetzel nodded as he carefully laid aside his long, black rifle. 
 
 "Any Injun sign?" continued Jonathan, pushing toward his 
 companion the knapsack of eatables he had brought from the 
 settlement. 
 
 "Nary Shawnee track west of this divide," answered Wetzel, 
 helping himself to bread and cheese. 
 
 "Lew, we must go eastward, over Bing Legget's way, to find 
 the trail of the stolen horses." 
 
 "Likely, an' it'll be a long, hard tramp." 
 
 "Who's in Legget's gang now beside Old Horse, the Qaip- 
 pewa, an' his Shawnee pard, Wildfire? I don't know Bing; but 
 I've seen some of his Injuns an' they remember me." 
 
 "Never seen Legget but onct," replied Wetzel, "an' that time 
 I shot half his face off. I've been told by them as have seen him 
 since, that he's got a nasty scar on his temple an' cheek. He's a 
 big man an' knows the woods. I don't know who all's in his gang, 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 75 
 
 nor does anybody. He works in the dark, an' for cunnin' he's 
 got some on Jim Girty, Deerin', an' several more renegades we 
 know o£ lyin' quiet back here in the woods. We never tackled 
 as bad a gang as his'n; they're all experienced woodsmen, old 
 fighters, an' desperate, outlawed as they be by Injuns an' whites. 
 It wouldn't surprise me to find that it's him an' his gang who 
 are runnin' this hoss-thievin'; but bad or no, we're goin' after 
 •em." 
 
 Jonathan told of his movements since he had last seen his 
 companion. 
 
 "An' the lass Helen is goin' to help us," said Wetzel, much 
 interested. "It's a good move. Women are keen. Betty put Miller's 
 schemin' in my eye long 'afore I noticed it. But girls have chances 
 we men'd never get." 
 
 "Yes, an' she's like Betts, quicker'n lightnin'. She'll find out 
 this hoss-thief in Fort Henry; but Lew, when we do get him we 
 won't be much better off. Where do them bosses go.'' Who's 
 disposin' of 'em for this fellar.?" 
 
 "Where's Brandt from.?" asked Wetzel. 
 
 "Detroit; he's a French-Canadian." 
 
 Wetzel swung sharply around, his eyes glowing like wakening 
 furnaces. 
 
 "Bing Legget's a French-Canadian, an' from Detroit. Metzar 
 was once thick with him down Fort Pitt way 'afore he murdered 
 a man an' became an outlaw. We're on the trail. Jack." 
 
 "Brandt an' Metzar, with Legget backin' them, an' the horses 
 go overland to Detroit.?" 
 
 "I calkilate you've hit the mark." 
 
 "What '11 we do?" asked Jonathan. 
 
 "Wait; that's best. We've no call to hurry. We must know 
 the truth before makin' a move, an' as yet we're only suspicious. 
 
76 ' 'THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 This lass'll find out more in a week than we could in a year. 
 But Jack, have a care she don't fall into any snare. Brandt ,ain't 
 any too honest a lookin' chap, an' them renegades is hell for 
 women, The scars you wear prove that well enough. She's a rare, 
 sweet, bloomin' lass, too. I pever seen her equal. I remernber how 
 her eyes flashed when she said she knew I'd avenged Mabel. 
 Jack, they're wonderful eyes; an' that girl, however sweet an' 
 good as she must be, is chain-lightnin' wrapped up in a beautiful 
 form. Aren't the boys at the fort runnin' arter her?" 
 
 "Like mad; it'd make you laugh to see 'em," replied Jonathan 
 calmly. 
 
 "There'll be some fights before she's settled for, an' mebbe 
 arter thet. Have a care for her, Jack, an' see that she don't ketch 
 you." 
 
 "No more danger than for you." 
 
 "I was ketched onct," replied Wetzel. 
 
 Joriathan Zane looked up at his companion. Wetzel's head was 
 bowed; but there was no merriment in the serious face exposed 
 to the borderman's scrutiny. 
 
 "Lew, you're jokin'." 
 
 "Not me. Some day, when you're ketched good, an' I have to 
 go back to the lonely trail, as I did afore you an' me become 
 friends, mebbe then, when I'm the last borderman, I'll tell you." 
 
 "Lew, 'cordin' to the way settlers are comin', in a few more 
 years there won't be any need for a borderman. When the Injuns 
 are all gone where'U be our work?" 
 
 " 'Tain't likely either of us'U ever see them times," said Wet- 
 zel, "an' I don't want to. Wal, Jack, I'm off now, an' I'll meet 
 you here every other day." 
 
 Wetzel shouldered his long rifle, and soon passed out of sight 
 down the mountain-side. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 77 
 
 Jonathan arose, shook himself as a big dog might have done, 
 and went down into the valley. Oiily once did he pause in his 
 descent, and that was when a crackling twig warned him some 
 heavy body was moving near. Silently he sank into the bushes 
 bordering the trail. He listened with his ear close to the ground. 
 Presently he heard a noise as of two hard substances striking 
 together. He resumed his walk, having recognized the grating 
 noise of a deer-hoof striking a rock. Farther down he espied a 
 pair grazing. The buck ran into the thicket; but the doe eyed him 
 curiously. 
 
 Less than an hour's rapid walking brought him to the river. 
 Here he plunged into a thicket of willows, and emerged on a 
 sandy strip of shore. He carefully surveyed the river bank, and 
 then pulled a small birch-bark canoe from among the foliage. He 
 launched the frail craft, paddled across the river and beached it 
 under a reedy, over-hanging bank. 
 
 The distance froni this point in a straight line to his destina- 
 tion was only a mile; but a rocky bluff and a ravine necessitated 
 his making a wide detour. While lightly leaping over a brook his 
 keen eye fell on an imprint in the sandy loam. Instantly he was 
 on his knees. The footprint was small, evidently a woman's, and, 
 what was more unusual, instead of the flat, round moccasin-track, 
 it was pointed, with a sharp, square heel. Such shoes were not 
 worn by border girls. True Betty and Nell had them; but they 
 never went into the woods without moccasins. 
 
 Jonathan's experienced eye saw that this imprint was not an 
 hour old. He gazed up at the light. The day was growing short. 
 Already shadows lay in the glens. He would not long have light 
 enough to follow the trail; but he hurried on hoping to find the 
 person who made it before darkness came. He had not traveled 
 many paces before learning that the one who made it was lost. 
 
78 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 The uncertainty in those hasty steps was as plain to the border- 
 man's eyes, as if it had be>en written in words on the sand. The 
 course led along the brook, avoiding the rough places, and lead- 
 ing into the open glades and glens; but it drew no nearer to the 
 settlement. A quarter of an hour of rapid trailing enabled Jona- 
 than to discern a dark figure moving among the trees. Abandon- 
 ing the trail, he cut across a ridge to head of? the lost woman. 
 Stepping out of a sassafras thicket, he came face to face with 
 Helen Sheppard. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried in alarm, and then the expression of terror 
 gave place to one of extreme relief and gladness. "Oh! Thank 
 goodness! You've found me. I'm lost!" 
 
 "I reckon," answered Jonathan grimly. "The settlement's only 
 five hundred yards over that hill." 
 
 ,"I was going the wrong way. Oh! suppose you hadn't come!" 
 exclaimed Helen, sii>king on a log and looking up at him with 
 warm, glad eyes. 
 
 "How did you lose your way.?" Jonathan asked. He saw 
 neither the warmth in her eyes nor the gladness. 
 
 "I went up the hillside, only a little way, after flowers, keeping 
 the fort in sight all the time. Then I saw some lovely violets 
 down a little hill, and thought I might venture. I found such 
 loads of them I forgot everything else, and I must have walked 
 on k little way. On turning to go back I couldn't find th;e little 
 hill. I have hunted in vain for the clearing. It seems as if I have 
 been wandering about for hours. I'm so glad you've found me!" 
 
 "Weren't you told to stay in the settlement, inside the clear- 
 ing.''" demanded Jonathan. 
 
 "Yes," replied Helen, with her head up. 
 
 "Why didn't you.?" 
 
 "Because I didn't choose." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 79 
 
 "You ought to have better sense." 
 
 "It seems I hadn't," Helen said quietly, but her eyes belied 
 that calm voice. , 
 
 "You're a headstrong child," Jonathan added curtly, 
 
 "Mr. Zane!" cried Helen with pale face. 
 
 "I suppose you've alw^ays had your own sweet will; but out 
 here on the border you ought to think a little of others, if not of 
 yourself." 
 
 Helen maintained a proud silence. 
 
 "You might have run right into prowUn' Shawnees." 
 
 "That dreadful disaster would not have caused you any sor- 
 row," she flashed out. 
 
 "Of course it would. I might have lost my scalp tryin' to get 
 you back home," said Jonathan, beginning to hesitate. Plainly he 
 did not know what to make of this remarkable young woman. 
 
 "Such a pity to have lost all your fine hair," she answered 
 with a touch of scorn. 
 
 Jonathan flushed, perhaps for the first time in his life. If there 
 was anything he was proud of, it was his long, glossy hair. 
 
 "Miss Helen, I'm a poor hand at words," he said, with a pale, 
 grave face. "I was only speakin' for your own good." 
 
 "You are exceedingly kind; but need not trouble yourself." 
 
 "Say," Jonathan hesitated, looking half-vexed at the lovely, 
 angry face. Then an idea occurred to him. "Well, I won't trou- 
 ble. Find your way home yourself." 
 
 Abruptly he turned and walked slowly away. He had no idea 
 of allowing her to go home alone; but believed it might be well 
 for her to think so. If she did not call him back he would remain 
 near at hand, and when she showed signs of anxiety or fear he 
 could go to her. 
 
 Helen determined she would die in the woods, or be captured 
 
8o THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 by Shawnees, before calling him back. But she watched him. 
 Slowly the tall, strong figure, with its graceful, springy stride, 
 went down the glade. He would be lost to view in a moment, 
 and then she would be alone. How dark it had suddenly become! 
 The gray cloak of twilight was spread over the forest, and in the 
 hollows night already had settled^own. A breathless sijence per- 
 vaded the woods. How lonely! thought Helen, with a shiver. 
 Surely it would be dark before she could find the settlement. 
 What hill hid the settlement from view.? She did not know, 
 could not remember which he had pointed out. Suddenly she 
 began to tremble. She had been so frightened before he had 
 found her, and so relieved afterward; and now he was going 
 away. 
 
 "Mr. Zane," she cried with a great effort. "Come back." 
 
 Jonathan kept slowly on. 
 
 "Come back, Jonathan, please." 
 
 The borderman retraced his steps. 
 
 "Please take me home," she said, lifting a fair face all flushed, 
 tear-stained, and marked with traces of storm. "I was fooUsh, 
 and silly to come into the woods, and so glad to see you! But 
 you spoke to me — in — in a way no one ever used before. I'm sure 
 I deserved it. Please take me home. Papa will be worried." 
 
 Softer eyes and voice than hers never entreated man. 
 
 "Come," he said gently, and, taking her by the hand, he led 
 her up the ridge. 
 
 Thus they passed through the darkening forest, hand in hand, 
 like a dusky redman and his bride. He helped her over stones 
 and logs,- but still held her hand when there was no need of it. 
 She looked up to see him walking, so dark and calm beside her, 
 his eyes ever roving among the trees. Deepest remorse came upon 
 her because of what she had said. There was no sentiment for 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 8l 
 
 him in this walk under the dark canopy of the leaves. He realized 
 the responsibility. Any tree might hide a treacherous foe. She 
 would atone for her sarcasm, she promised herself, while walk- 
 ing, ever conscious of her hand in his, her bosom heaving with 
 the sweet, undeniable emotion which came knocking at her heart. 
 
 Soon they were out of the thicket, and on the dusty lane. A 
 few moments of rapid walking brought them within sight of the 
 twinkling lights of the village, and a moment later they were 
 at the lane leading to Helen's home. Releasing her hand, she 
 stopped him with a light touch and said: 
 
 "Please don't tell papa or Colonel Zdne." 
 
 "Child, I ought. Some one should make you stay at home." 
 
 "I'll stay. Please don't tell. It will worry papa." 
 
 Jonathan Zane looked down into her great, dark, wonderful 
 eyes with an unaccountable feeling. He really did not hear what 
 she asked. Something about that upturned face brought to his 
 mind a rare and perfect flower which grew in far-off rocky fast- 
 nesses. The feeling he had was intangible, like no more than a 
 breath of fragrant western wind, faint with tidings of some 
 beautiful field. 
 
 "Promise me you won't tell." 
 
 "Well, lass, have it your own way," replied Jonathan, wonder- 
 ingly conscious that it was the first pledge ever asked of him by 
 a woman. 
 
 "Thank you. Now we have two secrets, haven't we?" she 
 laughed, with eyes like stars. 
 
 "Run home now, lass. Be careful hereafter. I do fear for you 
 with such spirit an' temper. I'd rather be scalped by Shawnees 
 than have Bing Legget so much as set eyes on you." 
 
 "You would? Why?" Her voice was like low, soft music. 
 
82 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Why?" he mused. "It'd seem Hke a buzzard about to light on 
 a doe." 
 
 "Good-night," said Helen abruptly, and, wheeling, she hurried 
 down the lane. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 "Jack," said Colonel Zane to his brother next morning, "to-day 
 is Saturday and all the men will be in. There was high jinks 
 over at Metzar's place yesterday, and I'm looking for more to- 
 day. The two fellows Alex Bennet told me about, came on day- 
 before-yesterday's boat. Sure enough, one's a lordly Englishman, 
 and the other, the cussedest-looking little chap I ever saw. They 
 started trouble immediately. The Englishman, his name is Mor- 
 daunt, hunted up the Sheppards and as near as I can make out 
 from George's story, Helen spoke her mind very plainly. Mor- 
 daunt and Case, that's his servant, the little cuss, got drunk and 
 raised hell down at Metzar's where they're staying. Brandt and 
 Williams are drinking hard, too, which is something unusual for 
 Brandt. They got chimimy at once with the Englishman, who 
 seems to have plenty of gold and is fond of gambling. This 
 Mordaunt is a gentleman, or I never saw one. I feel sorry for 
 him. He appears to be a ruined man. If he lasts a week out here 
 I'll be surprised. Case looks ugly, as if he were spoiling to cut 
 somebody. I want you to keep your eye peeled. The day may pass 
 off as many other days of drinking bouts have, without anything 
 serious, and on the other hand there's liable to be trouble." 
 
 Jonathan's preparations were characteristic of the borderman. 
 He laid aside his rifle, and, removing his short coat, buckled on 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 83 
 
 a second belt containing a heavier tomahawk and knife than 
 those he had been wearing. Then he put on his hunting frock, 
 or shirt, and wore it loose with the belts underneath, instead of 
 on the outside. Unfastened, the frock was rather full, and gave 
 him the appearance of a man unarmed and careless. 
 
 Jonathan Zane was not so reckless as to court danger, nor, like 
 many frontiersmen, fond of fighting for its own sake. Colonel 
 Zane was commandant of the fort, and, in a land where there 
 was no law, tried to maintain a semblance of it. For years he had 
 kept thieves, renegades and outlaws away from his little settle- 
 ment by dealing out stern' justice. His word was law, and his 
 bordermen executed it as such. Therefore Jonathan and Wetzel 
 made it their duty to have a keen eye on all that was happening. 
 They kept the colonel posted, and never interfered in any case 
 without orders. _ 
 
 The morning passed quietly. Jonathan strolled here or loitered 
 there; but saw none of the roisterers. He beUeved they were 
 sleeping off the effects of their orgy on the previous evening. 
 After dinner he smoked his pipe. Betty and Helen passed, and 
 Helen smiled. It struck him suddenly that she had never looked 
 at him in such a way before. There was meaning in that warm, 
 radiant flash. A little sense of vexation, the source of which he 
 did not understand, stirred in him against this girl; but with it 
 came the realization that her white face and big, dark eyes had 
 risen before him often since the night before. He wished, for the 
 first time, that he could understand women better. 
 
 "Everything quiet.?" asked Colonel Zane, coming out on the 
 steps. 
 
 "All quiet," answered Jonathan. 
 
 "They'll open up later, I suspect. I'm going over to Sheppard's 
 fBr a while, and, later, will drop into Metzar's. I'll' make him 
 
84 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 haul in a yard or two. I don't like things I hear about his selling 
 the youngsters rum. I'd like you to be within call." 
 
 The borderman strolled down the blufl and along the path 
 which overhung the river. He disHked Metzar more than his 
 brother suspected, and with moreoveighty reason than that of 
 selling rum to minors. Jonathan threwf himself at length on the 
 ground and mused over the situation. 
 
 "We never had any peace in this settlement, an' never will in 
 our day. Eb is hopeful an' looks at the bright side, always ex- 
 pectin' to-morrow will be different. What have the past sixteen 
 years been ? One long bloody fight, an' the next sixteen won't be 
 any better. I make out that we'll have a mix-up soon. Metzar an' 
 Brandt with their allies, whoever they are, will be in it, an' if 
 Bing Legget's in the gang, we've got, as Wetzel said, a long, hard 
 trail, which may be our last. More'n that, there'll be trouble about 
 this chain-lightnin' girl, as Wetzel predicted. Women make trou- 
 ble anyways; an' when they're winsome an' pretty they cause 
 more;. but if they're beautiful an' fiery, bent on bavin' their way, 
 as this new lass is, all hell couldn't hold a candle to them. We 
 don't need the Shawnees an' Girtys, an' boss thieves round this 
 here settlement to stir up excitin' times, now we've got this dark- 
 eyed lass. An' yet any fool could see she's sweet, an' good, an' 
 true as gold." 
 
 Toward the middle of the afternoon Jonathan sauntered in 
 the direction of Metzar's inn. It lay on the front of the bluff, 
 with its main doors looking into the road. A long, one-story log 
 structure with two doors, answered as a bar-room. The inn 
 "proper was a building more pretentious, and joined the smaller 
 one at its western end. Several horses were hitched outside, and 
 two great oxen yoked to a cumbersome mud-crustdd wagon 
 stood patiently by. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 85 
 
 Jonathan bent his tall head as he entered the noisy bar-room. 
 The dingy place reeked with tobacco smoke and the fumes of 
 vile liquor. It was crowded with men. The lawlessness of the 
 time and place was evident. Gaunt, red-faced frontiersmen reeled 
 to and fro across the sawdust floor; hunters and fur-traders, 
 raftsmen and farmers, swelled the motley crowd; young men, 
 honest-faced, but flushed and wild with drink, hung over the 
 bar; a group of suUen-visaged, serpent-eyed Indians held one 
 corner. The black-bearded proprietor dealt out the rum. 
 
 From beyond the bar-room, through a door entering upon the 
 back porch, came the rattling of dice. Jonathan crossed the bar- 
 room apparently oblivious to the keen glance Metzar shot at 
 him, and went out upon the porclw This also was crowded, but 
 there was more room because of greater space. At one table sat 
 some pioneers drinking and laughing; at another were three men 
 playing with dice. Colonel Zane, Silas, and Sheppard were among 
 the lookers-on at the game, Jonathan joined them, and gazed at 
 the gamesters. 
 
 Brandt he knew well enough; he had seen that set, wolfish 
 expression in the riverman's face before. He observed, however, 
 that the man had flushed cheeks and trembling hands, indica- 
 tions of hard drinking. The player sitting next to Brandt was 
 Williams, one of the garrison, and a good-natured fellow, but 
 garrulous and wickedly disposed when drunk. The remaining 
 player Jonathan at once saw was the Englishman, Mordaunt. 
 He was a handsome man, with fair skin, and long, silken, blond 
 mustache. Heavy lines, and purple shades under his blue eyes, 
 were the unmistakable stamp of dissipation. Reckless, dissolute, 
 bad as he looked, there yet clung something favorable about the 
 man. Perhaps it was his cool, devil-may-care way as he pushed 
 over gold piece after gold piece from the fast diminishing pile 
 
86 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 before him. His velvet frock and silken doublet had once been 
 elegant; but were now sadly the worse for border roughing. 
 
 Behind the Englishman's chair Jonathan saw a short man with 
 a face resembling that of a jackal. The grizzled, stubbly beard, 
 the protruding, vicious mouth, the br6ad, flat nose, and deep-set, 
 small, glittering eyes made a bad impression on the observer. 
 This man, Jonathan concluded, was the servant. Case, who was 
 so eager with his knife. The borderman made the reflection, that 
 if knife-play was the little man's pastime, he was not likely to 
 go short of sport in that vicinity. 
 
 Colonel Zane attracted Jonathan's attention at this moment. 
 The pioneers had vacated the other table, and Silas and Shep- 
 pard now sat by it. The colonel wanted his brother to join them. 
 
 "Here, Johnny, bring drinks," he said to the serving boy. "Tell 
 Metzar who they're for." Then turning to Sheppard he con- 
 tinued: "He keeps good whiskey; but few of these -poor devils 
 ever see it." At the same time Colonel Zane pressed his foot upon 
 that of Jonathan's. 
 
 The borderman understood that the signal was intended to 
 call attention to Brandt. The latter had leaned forward, as Jona- 
 than passed by to take a seat with his brother, and said some- 
 thing in a low tone to Mordaunt and Case. Jonathan knew by 
 the way the Englishman and his man quickly glanced up at 
 him, that he had been the subject of the remark. 
 
 Suddenly Williams jumped to his feet with an oath. 
 
 "I'm cleaned out," he cried. 
 
 "Shall we play alone.?" asked Brandt of Mordaunt. 
 
 "As you like," replied the Englishman, in a tone which showed 
 he cared not a whit whether he played or not. 
 
 "I've got work to do. Let's have some more drinks, and play 
 another time," said Brandt. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 87 
 
 The liquor was served and drank. Brandt pocketed his pile of 
 Spanish and English gold, and rose to his feet. He was a trifle 
 unsteady; but not drunk. 
 
 "Will you gentlemen have a glass with me?" Mordaunt asked 
 of Colonel Zane's party. 
 
 "Thank you, some other time, with pleasure. We have our 
 drink now," Colonel Zane said courteously. 
 
 Meantime Brandt had been whispering in Case's ear. The little 
 man laughed at something the riverman said. Then he shuffled 
 from behind the table. He was short, his compact build gave 
 promise of unusual strength and agility. 
 
 "What are you going to do now.?" asked Mordaunt, rising also. 
 He looked hard at Case. 
 
 "Shiver my sides, cap'n, if I don't need another drink," replied 
 the sailor. 
 
 "You have had enough. Come upstairs with me," said Mor- 
 daunt. 
 
 "Easy with your hatch, cap'n," grinned Case. "I want to drink 
 with that ther' Injun killer. I've had drinks with buccaneers, and 
 bad men all over the world, and I'm not going to iniss this 
 chance." 
 
 "Come on; you will get into trouble. You must not annoy these 
 gentlemen," said Mordaunt. 
 
 "Trouble is the name of my ship, and she's a trim, fast craft," 
 replied the man. 
 
 His loud voice had put an end to the conversation. Men began 
 to crowd in from the bar-room. Metzar himself came to see what 
 had caused the excitement. 
 
 The little man threw up his cap, whooped, and addressed him- 
 self to Jonathan: 
 
88 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Injun-killer, bad man of the border, will you drink with a jolly 
 old tar from England?" 
 
 Suddenly a silence reigned, like that in the depths of the forest. 
 To those who knew the borderman, and few did not know him, 
 the invitation was nothing less than an insult. But it did not 
 appear to them, as to him, like a pre-arranged plot to provoke a 
 fight. 
 
 "Will you drink, redskin-huiiter?" bawled the sailor. 
 
 "No," said Jonathan in his quiet voice. 
 
 "Maybe you mean that against old England.?" demanded Case 
 fiercely. 
 
 The borderman eyed him steadily, inscrutable as to feeling or 
 intent, and was silent. 
 
 "Go out there and I'll see the color of your insides quicker 
 than I'd take a drink," hissed the sailor, with his brick-red face 
 distorted and hideous to look upon. He pointed with a long- 
 bladed knife that no one had seen him draw, to the green sward 
 beyond the porch. 
 
 The borderman neither spoke, nor relaxed a muscle. 
 
 "Ho! ho! my brave pirate of the plairis!" cried Case, and he 
 leered with braggart sneer into the faces of Jonathan and hia 
 companions. 
 
 It so happened that Sheppard sat nearest to him, and got the 
 full effect of the sailor's hot, rum-soaked breath. He arose with 
 a pale face. 
 
 "Colonel, I can't stand this," he said hasTiily. "Let's get away 
 from that drunken ruffian." 
 
 "Who's a drunken ruffian?" yelled Casfe, more angry than ever, 
 "I'm not drunk; but I'm going to be, and cut some of you white- 
 livered border mates. Here, you old masthead, drink this to my 
 health, damn you!" 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 89 
 
 The ruffian had seized a tumbler of liquor from the table, and 
 held it toward Sheppard while he brandished his long knife. 
 
 White as snow, Sheppard backed against the wall; but did not 
 take the drink. 
 
 The sailor had the floor; no one save him spoke a word. The 
 action had been so rapid that there had hardly been time. Colo- 
 nel Zane and Silas were as quiet and tense as the borderman. 
 
 "Drink!" hoarsely cried the sailor, advancing his knife toward 
 Sheppard's body. 
 
 When the sharp point all but pressed against the old man, a 
 bright object twinkled through the air. It struck Case's wrist, 
 knocked the knife from his fingers, and, bounding against the 
 wall, fell upon the floor. It was a tomahawk. 
 
 The borderman sprang over the table like a huge catamount, 
 and with movement equally quick, knocked Case with a crash 
 against the wall; closed on him before he could move a hand, 
 and flung him like a sack of meal over the bluff. 
 
 The tension relieved, some of the crowd laughed, others looked 
 over the embankment to see how Case had fared, and others 
 remarked that for some reason he had gotten off better than they 
 expected. 
 
 The borderman remained silent. He leaned against a post, with 
 broad breast gently heaving, but his eyes sparkled as they 
 watched Brandt, Williams, Mordaunt and Metzar. The English- 
 man alone spoke. 
 
 "Handily done," he said, cool and suave. "Sir, yours is an iron 
 hand. I apologize for this unpleasant affair. My man is quarrel- 
 some when under the influence of liquor." 
 
 "Metzar, a word with you," cried Colonel Zane curtly. 
 
 "Come inside, kunnel," said the innkeeper, plainly ill at ease. 
 
 "No; listen here. I'll speak to the point. You've got to stop 
 
go THE LAST TEIAIL 
 
 running this kind of a place. No words, now, you've got to stop. 
 Understand? You know as well as I, perhaps better, the char-, 
 acter of your so-called inn. You'll get but one more chance." 
 
 "Wal, kunnel, this is a free country," growled Metzar. "I can't 
 help these fellars comin' here lookin' fer blood. I runs an honest 
 phce. The men want to drink an' gamble. What's law here? 
 What can you do?" 
 
 "You know me, Metzar," Colonel Zane said grimly. "I don't 
 waste words. 'To hell with law!' so you say. I can say that, too. 
 Remember, the next drunken boy I see, or shady deal, or gam- 
 bling spree, out you go for good." 
 
 Metzar lowered his shaggy head and left the porch. Brandt and 
 his friends, with serious faces, withdrew into the bar-room. 
 
 The borderman walked around the corner of the inn, and up 
 the lane. The colonel, with Silas and Sheppard, followed in more 
 leisurely fashion. At a shout from some one they turned to see 
 a dusty, bloody figure, with ragged clothes, stagger up from the 
 bluff. ' 
 
 "There's that blamed sailor now," said Sheppard. "He's a 
 tough nut. My! What a knock on the head Jonathan gave him. 
 Strikes me, too, that tomahawk came almost at the right time 
 to save me a whole skin." 
 
 "I was furious, but not at all alarmed," rejoined Colonel Zane. 
 
 "I wondered what made you so quiet." 
 
 "I was waiting. Jonathan never acts until the right moment, 
 and then — well, you saw him. The little villain deserved killing. 
 I could have shot him with pleasure. Do you know, Sheppard, 
 Jonathan's aversion to shedding blood is a singular thing. He'd 
 never kill the worst kind of a white man until driven to it."" 
 
 "That's commendable. How about Wetzel?" 
 
 "Well, Lew is different," replied Colonel Zane vi'ith a shudder. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 9I 
 
 "If I told him to t^ke an ax and clean out Metzar's place— God! 
 what a wreck he'd make of it. Maybe I'll have to tell him, and 
 if I do, you'll see something you can never forget." 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On SUNDAY morning under the bright, warm sun, the little ham- 
 let of Fort Henry lay peacefully quiet, as if no storms had ever 
 rolled and thundered overhead, no roistering ever disturbed its 
 stillness, and no Indian's yell ever horribly broke the quiet. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine morning," said Colonel Zane, joining his sister on 
 the porch. "Well, how nice you look! All in white for the first 
 time since — well, you do look charming. You're going to church, 
 of course." 
 
 "Yes, I invited Helen and her cousin to go. I've persuaded her 
 to teach my Sunday-school class, and I'll take another of older 
 children," replied Betty. 
 
 "That's well. The youngsters don't have much chance to learn 
 out here. But we've made one great stride. A church and a 
 preacher means very much to young people. Next shall come the 
 village school." 
 
 "'Helen and I might teach our classes an hour or two every 
 afternoon." 
 
 "It would be a grand thing if you did! Fancy these tots grow- 
 ing up unable to read or write. I hate to think of it; but the Lord 
 knows I've done my best. I've had my troubles in keeping them 
 alive." 
 
 "Helen suggbsted -the day school. She takes the greatest inter- 
 
92 - THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 est in everything and everybody. Her energy is remarkable. She 
 simply must move, must do something.-She overflows vi^ith kind-- 
 ness and sympathy. Yesterday she cried with happiness when 
 Mabel told her Alex was eager to be married- very Foon. I tell 
 you, Eb, Helen is a fine character." 
 
 "Yes, good as she is pretty, which is saying some," musejd the 
 colonel. "I wonder who'll be the lucky fellow to win her:" 
 
 "It's hard to say. Not that Englishman, surely. She hates him. 
 Jonathan might. You should see her eyes when he is mentioned." 
 
 "Say, Betts, you don't mean it?" eagerly asked her brother. 
 
 "Yes, I do," returned Betty, nodding her head positively. "I'm 
 not easily deceived about those things. Helen's completely fas- 
 cinated with Jack. She might be only a sixteen-year-old girl for 
 the way she betrays herself to me." 
 
 "Betty, I have a beautiful plan." 
 
 "No doubt; you're full of them." 
 
 "We can do it, Betty, we can, you and I," he said, as he 
 squeezed her arm. 
 
 "My dear old matchmaking brother," returned Betty^ laughing, 
 "it takes two to make a bargain. Jack must be considered." 
 
 "Bosh!" exclaimed the colonel, snapping his fingers, "You 
 needn't tell me any young man — any man, could resist that 
 glorious girl." 
 
 "Perhaps n6t; I couldn't if I were a man. But Jack's not like 
 other people. He'd never jrealize that she cared for him. Besides, 
 he's a borderman." 
 
 "I know, and that's the only serious obstacle. But he could 
 scout around the fort, even if he was married. These long, lonely, 
 terrible journeys taken by him and Wetzel are mostly unneces- 
 sary, A sweet wife could soon make him see that. The border 
 will be civilized in a few years, and because of that he'd better 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 93 
 
 give over hunting for Indians. I'd like to see him married and 
 settled down, like all the rest of us, even Isaac. You know Jack's 
 the last of the Zanes, that is, the old Zanes. The difficulty arising 
 from his extreme modesty and bashfulness can easily be over- 
 come." 
 
 "How, riiost wonderful brother.'"' 
 
 "Easy as pie. Tell Jack that Helen is dying of love for him, and 
 tell her that Jack loves " 
 
 "But, dear Eb, that latter part is not true,"" interposed Betty. 
 
 "True, of course it's true, or would be in any man who wasn't 
 as blind as a bat. We'll tell her Jack cares for her; but he is a 
 borderman with stern ideas of duty, and so slow and backward 
 he'd never tell his love even if he had overcome his tricks of 
 ranging. That would settle it with any girl worth her salt, and 
 this one will fetch Jack in ten days, or less." 
 
 "Eb, you're a devil," said Betty gaily, and then she added in a 
 more sober vein, "I understand, Eb. Your idea is prompted by ' 
 love of Jack, and it's all right. I never see him go out-of the 
 clearing but I think it may be for the last time, even as on that 
 day so lorig ago when brother Andrew waved his cap to us, and 
 never came back. Jack is the best man in the world, and I, too, 
 want to see him happy, with a wife, and babies, and a settled 
 occupation in hfe. I think we might weave a pretty little romance. 
 Shall we try.?" 
 
 "Try? We'll do it! Nbw, Betts, you explain it to both. You 
 can do it smoother than I, and telling them is really the finest 
 point of our little plot. I'll help the good work along afterwards. 
 He'll be out presently. Nail him at once." 
 
 Jonathan, all unconscious of the deep-laid scheme to make him 
 happy, soon came out on the porch, and stretched his long arms 
 as he breathed freely of the morning air. 
 
94 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Hello, Jack, where are you bound?" asked Bdtty, clasping one 
 of his powerful, buckskin-clad knees with her arm. 
 
 "1/ reckon I'll go over to the spring," he replied, patting her 
 dark, glossy head. 
 
 "Do you know I want to tell you something. Jack, and it's 
 quite serious," she said, blushing a little at her guilt; but resolute 
 to carry out her part of the plot. 
 
 "Well, dear?" he asked as she hesitated. 
 
 "Do you like Helen?" 
 
 "That is a question," Jonathan replied after a moment. 
 
 "JSTever mind; tell me," she persisted. 
 
 He made no answer, 
 ^ "Well, Jack, she's — she's wildly in love with you." 
 
 The borderman stood very still for several moments. Then, 
 with one step he gained the lawn, and turned to confront her. 
 
 "What's that you say?" 
 
 Betty trembled a little. He spoke so sharply, his eyes were 
 bent on her so keenly, and he looked so strong, so forceful that 
 she was almost afraid. But remembering that she had said only 
 what, to her mind, was absolutely true, she raised her eyes and 
 repeated the words: 
 
 "Helen is wildly in love with you." 
 
 "Betty, you wouldn't joke about such a thing; you wouldn't 
 lie to me, I know you wouldn't." 
 
 "No, Jack dear." 
 
 She saw his powerful frame tremble, even as she had seen 
 more than one man tremble, during the siege, under the impact 
 of a bullet. 
 
 Without speaking, he walked rapidly down the path toward 
 the spring. 
 
 Colonel Zane came out of his hiding-place behind the porch, 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 95 
 
 and, with a face positively electrifying in its glowing pleasure, 
 beamed upon his sister. 
 
 "Gee! Didn't he stalk off like an Indian chief!" he said, 
 chuckling with satisfaction. "By George! Betts, you must have? 
 got in a great piece of work. I never in my life saw Jack look 
 like that." 
 
 Colonel Zane sat down by Betty's side and laughed softly but 
 heartily. 
 
 "We'll fix him all right, the lonely hill-cUmber! Why, he hasn't 
 a ghost of a chance. Wait until she sees him after hearing your 
 story! I tell you, Betty — why — damme! you're crying!" 
 
 He had turned to find her head lowered, while she shaded her 
 face with her hand. 
 
 "Now, Betty, just a little innocent deceit like that— what 
 harm?" he said, taking her hand. He was as tender as a woman. 
 
 "Oh, Eb, it wasn't that. I didn't mind telling him. Only the 
 flash in his eyes reminded me of — di Alfred." 
 
 "Surely it did. Why not ? Almost everything brings up a tender 
 memory for some one we've loved and lost. But don't cry, 
 Betty." 
 
 She laughed a little, and raised a face with its dark cheeks 
 flushed and tear-stained. 
 
 "I'm silly, I suppose; but I can't help it. I cry at least once 
 every day." 
 
 "Brace up. Here come Helen and Will. Don't let them see 
 you grieved. My! Helen in pure white, too! This is a conspiracy 
 to ruin the peace of the masculine portion of Fort Henry." 
 
 Betty went forward to meet her friends while Colonel Zane 
 continued talking, but now to himself. "What a fatal beauty she 
 has!" His eyes swept over Helen with the pleasure of an artist. 
 The fair richness of her skin, the perfect Hps, the wavy, shiny 
 
§6 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 hair, the wondrous dark-blue, changing eyes, the tall figure, 
 slender, but strong and swelling with gracious wpmanhoodj 
 made a picture he delighted in and loyed to have near him. The 
 girl did not possess for him any of that magnetism, so commonly 
 felt by most of her admirers; but he did feel how subtly full she 
 was of something, which for want of a better term he described 
 in Wetzel's characteristic expression, as "chain-lightning." 
 
 He reflected that as he was so much older, that she, although 
 always winsome and earnest, showed nothing of the tormenting, 
 bewildering coquetry of her nature. Colonel Zane prided himself 
 on his discernment, and he had already observed that Helen had 
 different sides of character for different persons. To Betty, Mabel, 
 Nell, and the children, she was frank, girlish, full of fun and 
 always lovable; to her elders quiet and earnestly solicitous to 
 please; to the young men cold; but with a penetrating, mocking 
 promise haunting that coldness, and sometimes sweetly agree- 
 able, often wilful, and changeable as April winds. At last the 
 colonel concluded that she needed, as did all other spirited young 
 women, the taming influence of a man whom she loved, a home 
 to care for, and children to soften and temper her spirit; 
 
 "Well, young friends, I see you count on keeping the Sabbath," 
 he said cheerily. "For my part. Will, I don't see how Jim Douns 
 can preach this morning, before this laurel blossom and that 
 damask rose." 
 
 "How poetical! Which is which?" asked Betty. 
 
 "Flatterer!" laughed Helen, shaking her finger. 
 
 "And a married man, too!" continued Betty. 
 
 "Well, being married has not affected my poetical sentiment, 
 nor impaired my eyesight." 
 
 "But it has seriously inconvenienced your old propensity of 
 making love to the girls. Not that you wouldn't if you dared," 
 replied Betty with mischief in her eye. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 97 
 
 "Now, Will, what do you think of that? Isn't it real sisterly 
 regard? Come, we'll go and look at my thoroughbreds," said 
 Colonel Zane. 
 
 "Where is Jonathan?" Helen asked presently. "Something 
 happened at Metzar's yesterday. Papa wouldn't tell me, and I 
 want to ask Jonathan." 
 
 "Jack is down by the spring. He spends a great deal of his 
 time there. It's shady and cool, and the water babbles over the 
 stones." 
 
 "How much alone he is," said Helen, 
 
 Betty took her former position on the steps, but did not raise- 
 her eyes while she continued speaking. "Yes, he's more alone 
 than ever lately, and quieter, too. He hardly ever speaks now. 
 There must be something on his mind more serious than horse- 
 thieves." 
 
 "What?" Helen asked quickly. 
 
 "I'd better not tell— you." 
 
 A long moment passed before Helen spoke. 
 
 "Please tell me!" 
 
 "Well, Helen, we think, Eb and I, that Jack is in love for the 
 first time in his life, and with you, you adorable creature. But 
 Jack's a borderman; he is stern in his principles, thinks he is 
 wedded to his border life, and he knows that he has both red and 
 white blood on his hands. He'd die before he'd speak of his love, 
 becaose he cannot understand that would do any good, even if 
 you loved him, which is, of course, preposterous." 
 
 "Loves me!" breathed Helen softly. 
 
 She sat down rather beside Betty, and turned her face away. 
 She still held the young woman's hand which she squeezed so 
 tightly as to make its owner wince. Betty stole a look at her, and 
 saw the rich red blood mantling her cheeks, and her full bosom 
 heave. 
 
98 THE LAST TUAIL 
 
 Helen turned presently, with no trace of emotion except a 
 singular brilliance of the eyes. She was so slow to speak again 
 that Colonel Zape and Will returned from the corral before she 
 found her voice. 
 
 "Colonel Zane, please tell me about last night. When papa 
 came home to supper he was pale and very nervous. I knew 
 something had happened. But he would not explain, which made 
 me all the more anxiqus. Won't you please tell me?" 
 
 Colonel Zane glanced again at her, and knew what had hap- 
 pened. Despite her self-possession those tell-tale eyes told her 
 secret. Ever-changing and shadowing with a bounding, rapturous 
 light, they were indeed the windows of Jier soul. All the emotion 
 of a woman's heart shone there, fear, beauty, wondering appeal, 
 trembling joy, and timid hope. 
 
 "Tell you? Indeed I will," replied Colonel Zane, softened and 
 a little remorseful under those wonderful eyes. 
 
 No one liked to tell a story better than Colonel Zane. Briefly 
 and graphically he related the circumstances of the affair leading 
 to the attack on Helen's father, and, as the tale progressed, he 
 became quite excited, speaking with animated face and forceful 
 gestures. 
 
 "Just as the knife-point touched your father, a swiftly-flying 
 object knocked the weapon to the floor. It was Jonathan's toma- 
 hawk. What followed was so sudden I hardly saw it. Like light- 
 ning, and flexible as steel, Jonathan jumped over the table, 
 smashed Case against the wall, pulled him up and threw him 
 over the bank. I tell you, Helen, it was a beautiful piece of action; 
 but not^of course, for a woman's eyes. Now that's all. Your 
 father was not even hurt." 
 
 "He saved papa's life," murmured Helen, standing like 9 
 statue. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 99 
 
 She wheeled suddenly with that swift bird-like motion habitual 
 to her, and went quickly down the path leading to the spring. 
 
 IP w # IF ^ 4f 
 
 Jonathan Zane, solitary dreamer of dreams as he was, had never 
 been in as strange and beautiful a reverie as that which possessed 
 him on this Sabbath morning. 
 
 Deep into his heart had sunk Betty's words. The wonder of 
 it, the sweetness, that alone was all he felt. The glory of this 
 girl had begun, days past, to spread its glamour round him. 
 Swept irresistibly away now, he soared aloft in a dream<astle of 
 fancy with its painted windows and golden walls. 
 
 For the first time in his life on the border he had entered the 
 little glade and had no eye for the crystal water flowing over 
 the pebbles and mossy stones, or the plot of grassy ground in- 
 closed by tall, dark trees- and shaded by a canopy of fresh green 
 and azure blue. Nor did he hear the music of the soft rushing 
 water, the vvarbling birds, or the gentle sighing breeze moving 
 the leaves. 
 
 Gone, vanished, lost to-day was that sweet companionship of 
 nature. That indefinable and unutterable spirit which flowed so 
 peacefully to him from his beloved woods ; that something more 
 than merely affecting his senses, which existed for him in the 
 stony cliffs, and breathed with life through the lonely aisles of 
 the forest, had fled before the fateful power of a woman's love 
 and beauty. 
 
 A long time that seemed only a moment passed while he leaned 
 against a stone. A light step sounded on the path. 
 
 A vision in pure white entered the glade; two little hands 
 pressed his, and two dark-blue eyes of misty beauty shed their 
 light on him. 
 
 "Jonathan, I am come to thank you." 
 
100 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Sweet and tremulous, the voice sounded far away. 
 
 "Thank me? For what?" 
 
 "You saved papa's life. Oh! how can I thank you?" 
 
 No voice answered for him. 
 
 "I have nothing to give but this." 
 
 A flower-like face was held up to hirti; hands light as thistle- 
 down touched his shoulders; dark-blue eyes glowed upon him 
 with all tenderness. 
 
 "May I thank you — so?" 
 
 Soft lips met his full and lingeringly. 
 
 Then came a rush as of wind, a flash of white, and the patter 
 of flying feet. He was alone in the glade.. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 June passed; July opened with unusually warm weather, and 
 Fort Henry had no visits from Indians or horse-thieves, nor any 
 inconvenience except the hot sun. It was the warmest weather 
 for many years, and seriously dwarfed the settlers' growing corn. 
 Nearly all the springs were dry, and a drouth menaced the 
 farmers. 
 
 The weather gave Helen an excuse which she was not slow to 
 adopt. Her pale face and languid air perplexed and worried her 
 father and her friends. She explained to tjiem that the heat 
 affected her disagreeably. 
 
 Long days had passed since that Sunday morning when she 
 kissed the borderman. What transports of sweet hope and fear 
 were hers then! How shame had scorched her happiness! Yet 
 
THE LAST TRAIL lOI 
 
 Still she gloried in the act. By that kiss had she awakened to a 
 full consciousness of her love. With insidious stealth and ever- 
 increasing power this flood had increased to full tide, and, burst- 
 ing its bonds, surged over her with irresistible strength. 
 
 During the first days after the dawning of her passion, she 
 lived in its sweetness, hearing only melodious sounds chiming 
 in her soul. The hours following that Sunday were like long 
 dreams. But as all things reach fruition, so this girlish period 
 passed, leaving her a'thoughtful woman. She began to gather up 
 the threads of her life where love had broken them, to plan 
 nobly, and to hope and wait. 
 
 Weeks passed, however^ and her lover did not come. Betty 
 told her that Jonathan made flying trips at break of day to hold 
 council with Colonel Zane; that he and Wetzel were on the 
 trail of Shawnees with stolen horses, and both bordermen were 
 in their dark, vengeful, terrible moods. In these later days Helen 
 passed through many stages of feeling. After the exalting mood 
 of hot, young love, came reaction. She fell into the depths of 
 despair. Sorrow paled her face, thinned her cheeks and lent 
 another shadow, a mournful one, to her great eyes. The constant 
 repression of emotion, the strain of trying to seem cheerful when 
 she was miserable, threatened even her magnificent health. She 
 answered the solicitude of her friends by evasion, and then by 
 that iniibcent falsehood in which a sensitive soul hides its secrets. 
 Shame was only natural,- because since the borderman came not, 
 nor sent her a word, pride whispered that she had wooed him, 
 forgetting modesty. 
 
 Pride, anger, shame, despair, however, finally fled before affec- 
 tion. She loved this wild borderman, and knew he loved her in 
 return although he might not understand it himself. His sim- 
 plicity, his lack of experience with women, his hazardous life 
 
102 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 and stern duty regarding it, pleaded Tor him and for her love. 
 For the lack of a little understanding she would never live 
 unhappy and alone while she was loved. Better give a thousand 
 times more than she had sacrificed. He would return to the 
 village some day, when the Indians and the thieves were run 
 down, and would be his own calm, gentle self. Then she would 
 vwn him, break down his allegiance to this fearful border life, 
 and make him happy in her love. — 
 
 While Helen was going through one of the fires of life to 
 come out sweeter and purer, if a little pensive and sad, time, 
 which waits not for love, nor life, nor death, was hastening 
 onward, and soon the golden fields of grain were stored. Septem- 
 ber came with its fruitful promise fulfilled. 
 
 Helen entered once more into the quiet, social life of the little 
 settlement, taught her class on Sundays, did all her own work, 
 and even found time to bring a ray of sunshine to more than 
 one sick child's bed. Yet she did not forget her compact with 
 Jonathan, and bent all her intelligence to find some clew that 
 might aid in the capture of the horse-thief. She was still groping 
 in the darkness. She could not, however, banish the belief that 
 the traitor was Brandt. She blamed herself for this, because of 
 having no good reasons for suspicion; but the conviction was 
 there, fixed by intuition. Because a man's eyes were steely gray, 
 sharp like those of a cat's, and capable of the same contraction 
 and enlargement, there was no reason to believe their owner was 
 a criminal. But that, Helen acknowledged with a smile, was the 
 only argument she had. To be sure Brandt had looked capable 
 of anything, the night Jonathan knocked him down; she knew he 
 had incited Case to begin the trouble at Metzar's, and had 
 seemed worried since that time. He had not left the settlement 
 on short journeys, as had been his custom before the affair in the 
 
THE LAST TRAIL IO3 
 
 bar-room. And not a horse had disappeared from Fort Henry 
 since that time. 
 
 Brandt had not discontinued his attentions to her; if they were 
 less ardent it was because she had given him absolutely to under- 
 stand that she could be his friend only. And she would not have 
 allowed even so much except for Jonathan's plan. She fancied 
 it was possible to see behind Brandt's courtesy, the real subtle, 
 threatening man. Stripped of his kindliness, an assumed virtue, 
 the iron man stood revealed, cold, calculating, cruel. 
 
 Mordaunt she never saw but once and then, shocking and 
 pitiful, he lay dead drunk in the grass by the side of the road, 
 his pale, weary, handsome face exposed to the pitiless rays of the 
 sun. She ran home weeping over this wreck of what had once 
 been so fine a gentleman. Ah! the curse of rum! He had learned 
 his soft speech and courtly bearing in the refinement of a home 
 where a proud mother adored, and gentle sisters loved him. And ' 
 now, far from the kindred he had disgraced, he lay in the road 
 like a log. How it hurt her! She almost wished she could have 
 loved him, if love might have redeemed. She was more kind to 
 her other admirers, more tolerant of Brandt, and could forgive 
 the Englishman, because the pangs she had suffered through love 
 had softened her spirit. 
 
 During this long period the growing friendship of her cousin 
 for Betty had been a source of infinite pleasure to Helen. She 
 hoped and believed a romance would develop between the young 
 widow and Will, and did all in her power, slyly abetted by the 
 matchmaking colonel, to bring the, two together. 
 
 One afternoon when the sky was clear with that intense blue 
 peculiar to bright days in ^arly autumn, Helen started out 
 toward Betty's, intending to remind that young lady she had 
 promised to hunt for clematis and other fall flowers. 
 
104 THE LAST TRAIL, 
 
 About half-way to Betty's home she 4net Brandt. He came 
 swinging round a corner with his quick, firm step. She had- not- 
 seen him for several days, and somehow he seemed diflferent. A 
 brightness, a flash, as of daring expectation, was in his face. The 
 poise, too, of the mail had changed. 
 
 "Well, I am fortunate, I was just going to your home," he said 
 cheerily. "Won't you come for a walk with me?" 
 
 "You may walk with me to Betty's," Helen answered. 
 
 "No, not that. Come up the hillside. We'll get some goldenrod. 
 I'd like to have a chat with you. I may go away — I mean I'm 
 thinking of making a short trip," he added hurriedly. 
 
 "Please come." 
 
 "I promised to go to Betty's." 
 
 "You won't come?" His voice trembled with mingled dis- 
 appointment and resentment. 
 
 "No," Helen replied in slight surprise, 
 
 "You have gone with the other fellows. Why not with me?" 
 He was white now, and evidently laboring under powerful feel- 
 ings that must have had their origin in some thought or plan 
 which hinged on the acceptance of his invitation. 
 
 "Because I choose not to," Helen replied coldly, meeting his 
 . glance fully. 
 
 A dark red:flush swelled Brandt's face and neck; his gray eyes 
 gleamed balefully with wolfish glare; his teeth were clenched. 
 He breathed hard and trembled with anger. Then, by a power- 
 ful effort, he conquered himself; the villainous expression left, 
 his face; the storm of rage subsided. Great incentive there rnust 
 have been for him thus to repress his. emotions so quickly. He 
 looked long at her with sinister, intent regard; then, with the 
 laugh of a desperado, a laugh which might have indicated con- 
 tempt for the failure of his suit, and which was fraught with a 
 
THE LAST TRAIL IO5 
 
 world of meaning, of menace, he left her without so much as a 
 salute. 
 
 Helen pondered over this sudden change, and felt relieved 
 because she need make no further pretense of friendship. He had 
 shown himself to be what she had instinctively believed. She 
 hurried on toward Betty's, hoping to find Colonel Zane at home, 
 and with Jonathan, for Brandt's hint of leaving' Fort Henry, and 
 his evident chagrin at such a slip of speech, had made her sus- 
 picious. She was informed by Mrs. Zane that the colonel had 
 gone to a log-raising; Jonathan had not been in for several days, 
 and Betty went away with Will. 
 
 "Where did they go?" asked Helen. 
 
 "I'm not sure; I think down to the spring." 
 
 Helen followed the familiar path through the grove of oaks 
 into the glade. It was quite deserted. Sitting on the stone against 
 which Jonathan had leaned the day she kissed him, she gave 
 way to tender reflection. Suddenly she was disturbed by the 
 sound of rapid footsteps, and looking up, saw the hulking form 
 of Metzar, the innkeeper, coming down the path. He carried a 
 bucket, and meant evidently to get water. Helen did not desire 
 to be seen, and, thinking he would stay only a moment, slipped 
 into a thicket of willows behind the stone. She could see plainly 
 through the foliage. Metzar came into the glade, peered around 
 in the manner of a man expecting to see some one, and then, 
 filling his bucket at the spring, sat down on the stone. 
 
 Not a minute elapsed before soft, rapid footsteps sounded in 
 the distance. The bushes parted, disclosing the white, set face 
 and gray eyes of Roger Brandt. With a light spring he cleared 
 the brook and approached Metzar. 
 
 Before speaking he glanced around the glade with the fugitive, 
 distrustful glance of a man who suspects even the trees. Then, 
 
I06 THE LAST TRAIL /' 
 
 / 
 
 satisfied by the scrutiny he opened his huriting frock, taking 
 forth a long object which he thrust toward Metzar. 
 
 It was an Indian arrow. 
 
 Metzar's dull gaze traveled from this to the ominous face of 
 Brandt. 
 
 "See there, you! Look at this arrow! Shot by the best Indian 
 on the border into the window of my room. I hadn't been there 
 a minute when it came from the island. God! but it was a great 
 shot!" 
 
 "Hell!" gasped Metzar, his dull face quickening with some 
 awful thought. 
 
 "I guess it is hell," replied Brandt, his face growing whiter 
 and wilder. 
 
 "Our game's up?" questioned Metzar, with haggard cheek. 
 
 "Up? Man! We haven't a day, maybe less, to shake Fort 
 Henry." 
 
 "What does it mean.?" asked Metzar. He was the calmer of 
 the two. 
 
 "It's a signal. The Shawnees, who were in hiding with the 
 horses over by Blueberry swamp, have been flushed ,^by those 
 bordermen. Some of them have escaped; at least one, for no one 
 but Ashbow could shoot that arrow across the river." 
 . "Suppose he hadn't come?" whispered Metzar hoarsely. 
 
 Brandt answered him with a dark, shuddering gaze. 
 
 A twig snapped in the thicket. Like foxes at the click of a 
 trap, these men whirled with fearsome glances. 
 
 "Ugh!" came a low, guttural voice from the bushes, and an 
 Indian df magnificent proportions and somher, swarthy features, 
 entered the glade. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL IC7 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The savage had just emerged from the river, for his graceml, 
 copper-colored body and scanty clothing vs^ere dripping with 
 water. He carried a long bow and a quiver of arrows. 
 
 Brandt uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Metzar a curse, 
 as the Uthe Indian leaped the brook. He was not young. His 
 swarthy face was lined, seamed, and terrible with a dark im- 
 passiveness. 
 
 "Paleface-brother-get-arrow," he said in halting English, as his 
 eyes flashed upon Brandt. "Chief-want-make-sure." 
 
 The white man leaned forward, grasped the Indian's arm, and 
 addressed him in an Indian language. This questioning was 
 evidently in regard to his signal, the whereabouts of others- of 
 the party, and why he took such fearful risks almost in the vil- 
 lage. The Indian answered with one English word. 
 
 "Deathwind!" 
 
 Brandt drew back with drawn, white face, while a whistling 
 breatfr escaped him. 
 
 "I knew it, Metz. Wetzel!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. 
 
 The blood slowly receded from Metzar's evil, murky face, 
 leaving it haggard. 
 
 "Deathwind-on-Chief's-trail-up-Eagle Rock," continued the In- 
 dian. "Deathwind-fooled-not-for-long. Chief-wait-paleface-broth- 
 ers at Two Islands." 
 
 The Indian steppejl into the brook, parted the willows, and 
 was gone as he had come, silently. 
 
 "We know what to expect," said Brandt in calmer tone as the 
 
I08 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 daring cast of countenance returned to him. "There's an Indian 
 for you! He got away, doubled like an old, fox on his trail, and 
 ran in here to give us a chance at escape. Now you know why 
 Bing Legget can't be caught." , 
 
 "Let's dig at once," replied Metzar, with no show of returning 
 courage such as characterized his companion. 
 
 Brandt walked to and fro with bent brows, like one in deep 
 thought. Suddenly he turned upon Metzar eyes which -were 
 brightly hard, and reckless with resolve. 
 
 "By Heaven! I'll do it! Listen. Wetzel has gone to the top of 
 Eagle Mountain, where he and Zane have a rendezvous. Even 
 he won't suspect the cunning of this Indian; anyway it'll be after 
 daylight to-morrow before he strikes the trail. I've got twenty- 
 four hours, and more, to get this girl, and I'll do it!" 
 
 "Bad move to have weight like her on a march," said Metzar. 
 
 "Bah! The thing's easy. As for you, go on, push ahead after 
 we're started. All I ask is that you stay by me until the time to 
 cut loose." 
 
 "I ain't agoin' to crawfish now," growled Metzar. "Strikes me, 
 too, I'm losin' more'n you." 
 
 "You won't be a loser if you can get back to Detroit with your 
 scalp. I'll pay you in horses and gold. Once we reach Legget's 
 place we're safe." 
 
 "What's yer plan about gittin' the gal?" asked Metzar. 
 
 Brandt leaned forward and spoke eagerly, but in a low tone. 
 
 "Git away on hoss-back.?" questioned Metzar, visibly brighten- 
 ing. "Wal, that's some sense. Kin ye trust ther other party.?" 
 
 "I'm sure I can," rejoined Brandt, 
 ' "It'll be a good job, a good job an' all done in daylight, too. 
 Bing Legget couldn't plan better," Metzar said, rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL IO9 
 
 "We've fooled these Zanes and their fruit-raising farmers for 
 a year, and our time is about up," Brandt muttered. "One more 
 job and we've done. Once vi'ith Legget we're safe, and then we'll 
 work slowly back towards Detroit. Let's get out of here now, for 
 some one may come at any moment." 
 
 The plotters separated, Brandt going through the grove, and 
 Metzar down the path by which he had come. 
 
 tP * iF !jF * # ^ 
 
 Helen, trembling with horror of what she had heard, raised 
 herself cautiously from the willows where she had lain, and 
 watched the innkeeper's retreating figure. When it had disap- 
 peared she gave a little gasp of relief. Free now to run home, 
 there to plan what course must be pursued, she conquered her 
 fear and weakness, and hurried from the glade. Luckily, so far 
 as she was able to tell, no one saw her return. She resolved that 
 she would be cool, deliberate, clever, worthy of the borderman's 
 confidence. 
 
 First she tried to determine the purport of this interview 
 between Brandt- and Metzar. She recalled to mind all that was 
 said, and supplied what she thought had been suggested. Brandt 
 and Metzar were horse-thieves, aids of Bing Legget. They had 
 repaired to the glade to plan. The Itfdian had been a surprise. 
 Wetzel had routed the Shawnees, and was now on the trail of 
 this chieftain. The Indian warned them to leave Fort Henry and 
 to meet him at a place called Two Islands. Brandt's plan, pre- 
 sumably somewhat changed by the advent of the red-man, way 
 to steal horses, abduct a girl in broad daylight, and before to 
 morrow's sunset escape to join the ruffian Legget. 
 
 "I am the girl," murmured Helen shudderingly, as she re- 
 lapsed momentarily into girlish fears. But at once she rose above 
 selfish feelings. 
 
no THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Secondly, while it was easy to determine what the outlaws 
 meant, the wisest course was difficult to conceive. She had prom- 
 ised the borderman to help him, and not speak of anything she 
 learned to any but himself. She could not be true to him if she 
 asked advice. The point was clear; either she must remain in the 
 settlement hoping for Jonathan's return in time to frustrate 
 Brandt's villainous scheme, or' find the borderman. Suddenly she 
 remembered Metzar's allusion to a second person whom Brandt 
 felt certain he could trust. This meant another traitor in Fort. 
 Henry, another horse-thief, another desperado willing to make 
 off with helpless women. 
 
 Helen's spirit rose in arms. She had their secret, and could 
 ruin them. She would find the borderman. 
 
 Wetzel was on the trail at Eagle Rock. What for ? Trailing an i 
 Indian who was then five miles east of that rock.? Not Wetzel! 
 He was on that track to meet Jonathan. Otherwise, with the red- 
 skins near the river, he would have been closer to them. He 
 tvould meet Jonathan there at sunset to-day, Helen decided. 
 
 She paced the room, trying to still her throbbing heart and 
 trembling hands. 
 
 "I must be calm," she said sternly. "Time is precious. I have 
 not a moment to lose. I will find him. I've watched that moun- 
 tain many a time, and can find the trail and the rock. I am in 
 more danger here, than out there in the forest With Wetzel 
 and Jonathan on the mountain side, the Indians have fled it. 
 But what about the savage who warned Brandt ? Let me think. 
 iVes, he'll avoid the river; he'll go round south of the settlement, 
 and, therefore, can't see me cross. How fortunate that I have 
 paddled a canoe many times across the river. How glad that I 
 made Colonel Zane describe the course up the mountains!" 
 
 Her resolution fixed, Helen changed her skirt for one of buck- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL III 
 
 skin, putting on leggings and moccasins of the same serviceable 
 -material. She filled the pockets of a short, rain-proof jacket with 
 biscuits, and, thus equipped, sallied forth with a spirit and 
 exultation she could not subdue. Only one thing she feared, 
 which was that Brandt or Metzar might see her cross the river. 
 She launched her canoe and paddled down stream, under cover 
 of the bluff, to a point opposite the end of the island, thea 
 straight across, keeping the island between her and the settle- 
 ment. Gaining the other shore, Helen pulled the canoe into the 
 willows, and mounted the bank. A thicket of willow and alder 
 made progress up the steep incline difficult, but once out of it 
 she faced a long stretch of grassy meadowland. A mile beyond 
 began the green, billowy rise of that mountain which she in- 
 tended to cHmb. 
 
 Helen's whole soul was thrown into the adventure. She felt 
 her strong young limbs in accord with her heart. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Brandt, horse-thief and girl-snatcher, we'll see," 
 she said with scornful lips. "If I can't heat you now I'm not fit 
 to be Betty Zane's friend; and am unworthy of a borderman's 
 trust." 
 
 She traversed the whole length of meadowland close under 
 the shadow of the fringed bank, and gained the. forest. Here 
 she hesitated. All was so wild and still. No definite course 
 through the woods seemed to invite, and yet all was open. Trees, 
 trees, dark, immovable trees everywhere. The violent trembling 
 of poplar and aspen leaves, when all others were so calm, struck 
 her strangely, and the fearful stillness awed her. Drawing a deep 
 breath she started forward up the gently rising ground. 
 
 As she advanced the open forest became darker, and of wilder 
 aspect. The trees were larger and closer together. Still she made 
 fair progress without deviating from the course she had deter- 
 
112 ^ THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 mined upon. Before her rose a ridge, with a ravine on either 
 side, reaching nearly to the summit of the mountain. Here the 
 underbrush was scanty, the fallen trees had slipped down the 
 side, and the rocks were not so numerous, all of which gave her 
 reason to be proud, so far, of her judgment. 
 
 Helen, pressing onward and upward, forgot time and danger, 
 while she reveled in the wonder of the forestland. Birds and 
 squirrels fled before "her; whistling and wheezing of alarm, or 
 heavy crashings in the bushes, told of frightened wild beasts. 
 A dull, faint roar, like a distant wind, suggested tumbling 
 waters. A single J)irch tree; gleaming white among the black 
 trees, enlivened the gloomy forest. Patches of sunlight bright- 
 ened the shade. Giant ferns, just tinging with autumn colors, 
 waved tips of sculptured perfection. Most wonderful of all were 
 the colored leaves, as they floated downward" with a sad, gentle 
 rustle. 
 
 Helen was brought to a realization of her hazardous under- 
 taking by a sudden roar of water, and the abrupt termination 
 of the ridge in a deep gorge. Grasping a tree she leaned over to 
 look down. It was fully an hundred feet deep, with impassable 
 walls, green-stained and damp, at the bottom of which a brawl- 
 ing, brown brook rushed on its way. Fully twenty feet wide, it 
 presented an insurmountable barrier to further progress in that 
 direction. 
 
 But Helen looked upon it merely as a difficulty to be over- 
 come. She studied the situation, and decided to go to the left 
 because higher ground was to be seen that way. Abandoning 
 the ridge, she pressed on, keeping as close to the gorge as she 
 dared, and came presently to a fallen tree lying across the dark 
 cleft. Without a second's hesitation, for she knew such would 
 be fatal, she stepped upon the tree and started across, looking 
 
THE LAST TRAIL II3 
 
 at nothing but the log under her feet, while she tried to imagine 
 herself walking across the water-gate, at home in Virginia. 
 
 She accomplished the venture without a misstep. When safely 
 on the ground once more she felt her knees tremble and a queer, 
 'light feeling came into her head. She laughed, however, as she 
 rested a moment. It would take more than a gorge to discourage 
 her, she resolved with set lips, as once again she made her way 
 along the rising ground. 
 
 Perilous, if not desperate, work was ahead of her. Broken, 
 rocky ground, matted thicket, and seemingly impenetrable 
 forest, rose darkly in advance. But she was not even tired, and 
 climbed, crawled, twisted and turned on her way upward. She 
 surmounted a rocky ledge, to face a higher ridge covered with 
 splintered, uneven stones, and the fallen trees of many storms. 
 Once she slipped and fell, spraining her wrist. At length this 
 uphill labor began to weary her. To breathe caused a pain in 
 her side and she was compelled to rest. 
 
 , Already the g<ay light of coming night shrouded the forest. 
 She was surprised at seeing the trees become indistinct; be- 
 cause the shadows hovered over the thickets, and noted that 
 the dark, dim outline of the ridges was fading into obscurity. 
 
 She struggled on up the uneven slope with a tightening at her 
 heart which was not all exhaustion. For the first time she 
 doubted herself, but it was 1 too late. She could not turn back. 
 Suddenly she felt that she was on a smoother, easier course. 
 Not to strike a stone or break a twig seemed unusual. It might 
 be a path worn by deer going to a spring. Then into her troubled 
 mind flashed the joyful thought, she had foupd a trail. ^ 
 
 Soft, wiry grass, springing from a wet soil, rose under her 
 feet. A little rill trickled alongside the trail. Mossy, soft- 
 cushioned stones lay imbedded here and there. Young maples 
 
114 'T^^ ^^^'^ TRAIL 
 
 and hickories grew breast-high on either side, and the way 
 wound in and out under the lowering shade of forest monarchs. 
 
 Swiftly ascending this path she came at length to a point 
 where it was possible to see some distance ahead. The ascent 
 became hardly noticeable. Then, as she turned a bend of the 
 trail, the light grew brighter and brighter, until presently all 
 was open and clear. An oval space, covered with stones, lay be- 
 fore her. A big, blasted chestnut stood near by. Beyond was the 
 dim, purple haze of distance. Above, the pale, blue sky just 
 faintly rose-tinted by the setting sun. Far to her left the scraggly 
 trees of a low hill were tipped with orange and russet shades. 
 She had reached the summit: 
 
 Desolate and lonely was this little plateau. Helen felt im- 
 measurably far away from home. Yet she could see in the blue 
 distance the glancing river, the dark fort, and that cluster of 
 cabins which marked the location of Fort Henry. Sitting upon 
 the roots of the big chestnut tree she gazed around. There were 
 the remains of a small camp-fire. Beyond, a hollow under a 
 shelving rock. A bed of dry leaves lay packed in this shelter. 
 Some one had been here, and she doubted not .that it was the 
 borderman. 
 
 She was so tired and her wrist pained so severely that she 
 lay back agaiinst the tree-trunk, closed her eyes 'and rested. A 
 weariness, the apathy of utter exhaustion, came over her. She 
 wished the bordermen would hurry and come before she went 
 to sleep. 
 
 Drowsily she was sinking into slumber when a long, low 
 rumble aroused her. How dark it had suddenly become! A sheet 
 of pale light flared across the overcast heavens. 
 
 "A storm!" exclaimed Helen. "Alone on this mountain-top 
 with a storm coming. Am I frightened? I don't believe it. At 
 
THE LAST TRAIL II5 
 
 least I'm safe from that ruffian Brandt. Oh! if my bordermaa 
 would only come!" / 
 
 Helen changed her position from beside the tree, to the hol- 
 low under the stone. It was high enough to permit of her sitting 
 upright, and offered a safe retreat from the storm. The bed of 
 leaves was soft and comfortable. She sat there peering out at 
 the darkening heavens. 
 
 All beneath her, southward and westward was gray twilight. 
 The settlement faded from sight; the river grew wan and 
 shadowy. The ruddy light in the west was fast succumbing to 
 the rolling clouds. Darker and darker it became, until only one 
 break in the overspreading vapors admitted the last crimson 
 gleam of sunshine over hills and valley, brightening the river 
 until it resembled a stream of fire. Then the light failed, the 
 glow faded. The intense blackness of night prevailed. 
 
 Out of the ebon west came presently another flare of light, a ~ 
 quick, spreading flush, like a flicker from a monster candle; it 
 was followed by a long, low, rumbling roll. 
 
 Helen felt in those intervals of unutterably vast silence, that 
 she must shriek aloud. The thunder was a friend. She prayed 
 for the storm to break. She had withstood danger and toilsome 
 effort with fortitude; but could not brave 'this awful, boding, 
 wilderness stillness. ' 
 
 Flashes of lightning now revealed the rolling, pushing, tur- 
 bulent clouds, and peals of thunder sounded nearer and louder. 
 
 A long swelling moan, sad, low, like the uneasy sigh of the 
 sea, breathed far in the west. It was the wind, the ominous 
 warning of the storm. Sheets of light were now mingled with 
 long, straggling ropes of fire, and the rumblings were often 
 broken by louder, quicker detonations. 
 
 Then a period, longer than usual, of inky blackness succeeded 
 
Il6 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 the sharp flaring of light. A faint breeze ruffled the leaves of the 
 thicket, and fanned Helen's hot cheek. The moan of the wind 
 became more distinct, then louder, and in another instant like 
 the far-off roar of a rushing river. The storm was upon her. 
 Helen shrank closer against the stone, and pulled her jacket 
 tighter around her trembling form. 
 
 A sudden, intense, dazzling, bhnding, white light enveloped 
 her. The rocky promontory, the weird, giant chestnut tree, the 
 open plateau, and beyond, the stormy heavens, were all luridly 
 clear in the flash of lightning. She fancied it was possible to 
 see a tall, dark figure emerging from the thicket. As the thun- 
 derclap rolled and pealed overhead, she strained her eyes into 
 the blackness waiting for the next lightning flash. 
 
 It came with brilliant, dazing splendor. The whole plateau 
 and thicket were as light as in the day. Close by the stone where 
 she lay crept the tall, dark figure of anliidian. With starting 
 eyes she saw the fringed clothing, the long, flying hair, and 
 supple body peculiar to the savage. He was creeping upon her. 
 
 Helen's blood ran cold; terror held her voiceless. She felt her- 
 self sinking slowly down upon the leaves. • 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The sun had begun to cast long shadows the afternoon of 
 Helen's hunt for Jonathan, when the borderman, accompanied 
 by Wetzel, led a string of horses along the base of the very 
 mountain she had ascended. 
 
 "Last night's job was a good one, I ain't gainsay in'; but the 
 redskin I wanted got away," Wetzel said gloomily. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL II7 
 
 "He's safe now as a squirrel in a hole. I saw him dartin' among 
 the trees with his white eagle feathers stickin' up like a buck's 
 flag," replied Jonathan. "He can run. If I'd only had my rifle 
 loaded! But I'm not sure he was that arrow-shootin' Shawnee." 
 
 "It was him. I saw his bow. We ought'er taken more time an' 
 picked him out," Wetzel replied, shaking his head gravely. 
 "Though mebbe that'd been useless. I think he was hidin'. He's 
 precious shy of his red skin. I'ye been after him these ten year, 
 an' never ketched him nappin' yet. We'd have done much to- 
 ward snuffin' out Legget an' his gang if we'd winged the Shaw- 
 nee." 
 
 "He left a plain trail." 
 
 "One of his tricks. He's slicker on a trail than any other In- 
 jun on the border, unless mebbe it's old Wingenund, the Huron. 
 Thif Shawnee'd lead us many a mile for nuthin', if we'd stick 
 to his trail. I'm long ago used to him. He's doubled like an old 
 fox, run harder 'n a skeered fawn, an', if needs be, he'll lay low 
 as ^ cunnin' buck. I calkilate once over the mountain, he's made 
 a bee-line east. We'll go on with the bosses, an' then strike 
 across country to find his trail." 
 
 "It 'pears to me, Lew, that we've taken a long time in makin' 
 a show against these- hoss-thieves," said Jonathan. 
 
 "I ain't sayin' much; but I've felt it," replied Wetzel. 
 
 "All summer, an' nothin' done. It was more luck than sense 
 that we run into those Injuns with the bosses. We only got 
 three out of four, an' let the best redskin give us the slip. Here 
 fall is nigh on us, with winter comin' soon, an' still we don't 
 know who's the white traitor in the settlement." 
 
 "I said it's be a long, an' mebbe, our last trail." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because these fellars, red or white, are in with a picked gang 
 
Il8 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 oi the best woodsmen as ever outlawed the border. We'll get 
 the Fort Henry hoss-thief. I'll back the bright-eyed lass for that." 
 
 "I haven't seen her lately, an' allow she'd left me word if 
 she learned anythin'." 
 
 "Wal, mebbe it's as well you hain't seen so much o£ her." 
 
 In silence they traveled and, arriving at the edge of the 
 meadow, were about to mount two of the horses, when Wetzel 
 said in a sharp tone: 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 He pointed to a small, well-defined moccasin track in the 
 black earth on the margin of a rill. 
 
 "Lew, it's a woman's, sure's you're born," declared Jonathan. 
 
 Wetzel knelt and closely examined the footprint; "Yes, a 
 woman's,, an' no Injun." 
 
 "What?" Jonathan exclaimed, as he knelt to scrutinize the 
 imprint. 
 
 "This ain't half a day old," added Wetzel. "An' not_a red- 
 skin's moccasin near. What d'you reckon?" 
 
 "A white girl, alone," replied Jonathan as he followed the 
 trail a short distance along the brook. "See, she's makin' up- 
 land. Wetzel, these tracks could hardly be my sister's, an' there's 
 only one other girl on the border whose feet will match 'em! 
 Helen Sheppard has passed here, on her way up the mountain 
 to find you or me." 
 
 "I like your reckonin'." 
 
 "She's suddenly discovered somethin', Injuns, hoss-thieves, 
 the Fort Henry traitor, or mebbe, an' most likely, some plottin'. 
 Bein' bound to secrecy by me, she's not told my brother. An' 
 it must be call for hurry. She knows we frequent this mountain- 
 top; said Eb told her about the way we get here." 
 
 "I'd calkilate about the same." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL II9 
 
 "What'll you do? Go with me after her?" asked Jonathan. 
 
 "I'll take the hosses, an' be at the fort inside of an hour. If 
 Helen's gone, I'll tell her father you're close on her trail. Now 
 listen! It'll be dark soon, an' a storm's comin'. Don't waste time 
 on her trail. Hurry up tQ the rock. She'll be there, if any lass 
 could climb there. If not, come back in the mornin', hunt her 
 trail out, an' find her. I'm thinkin'. Jack, we'll find the Shawnee 
 had somethin' to do with this. Whatever happens after I get 
 back to the fort, I'll expect you hard on my trail." 
 
 Jonathan bounded across the brook and with an easy lope 
 began the gradual ascent. Soon he came upt3h a winding path. 
 He ran along this for perhaps a quarter of an hour, until it 
 became too steep for rapid traveling, when he settled down to 
 a rapid walk. The forest was already dark. A slight rustling of 
 the leaves beneath his feet was the only sound, except at long 
 intervals the distant rumbling of thunder. 
 
 The mere possibility of Helen's beting alone on that moun- 
 tain seeking him, made Jonathan's heart beat as it never had 
 before. For weeks he had avoided her, almost forgot her. He 
 had conquered the strange, yearning weakness which assailed 
 him after that memorable Sunday, and once more the silent 
 shaded glens, the mystery of the woods, the breath of his wild, 
 free life had claimed him. But now as this evidence of her spirit, 
 her recklessness, was before him, and he remembered Betty's 
 avowal, a pain, which was almost physical, tore at his heart. 
 How terrible it would be if she came to her death through him! 
 He pictured the big, alluring eyes, the perfect lips, the haunt- 
 ing face, cold in death. And he shuddered. 
 
 The dim gloom of the woods soon darkened into blackness. 
 The flashes of lightning, momentarily streaking the foliage, or 
 
120 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 sweeping overhead in pale yellow sheets, aided Jonathan in 
 keeping the trail. 
 
 He gained the plateau just as a great flash illumined it, and 
 distinctly saw* the dark hollow where he had taken refuge in 
 many a storm, and where he now hoped to find the girl. Pick- 
 ing his way carefully over the sharp, loose stones, he at last 
 put his hand on the huge rock. Another Blue -white, dazzling 
 flash enveloped the scene. 
 
 Under the rock he saw a dark form huddled; and a face as 
 white as snow, with wide, horrified eyes. 
 
 "Lass," he said, when the thunder had rumbled away. He re- 
 ceived no answer, and called again. Kneeling, he groped about 
 until touching Helen's dress. He spoke again; but she did not 
 reply. 
 
 Jonathan crawled under the ledge beside the quiet figure. He 
 touched her hands; they were very cold. Bending over, he was 
 relieved to hear her heart beating. He called her name, but still 
 she made no reply. Dipping his hand into a little rill that ran 
 beside the stone, he bathed her face. Soon she stirred uneasily, 
 moaned, and suddenly sat up. 
 
 " 'Tis Jonathan," he said quickly; "don't be scared." 
 
 Another illuminating flare of lightning brightened the plateau. 
 
 "Oh! thank Heaven!" cried Helen. "I thought you were an 
 Indian!" 
 
 Helen sank trembling against the borderman, who enfolded 
 her in his long arms. Her relief and thankfulness were so great 
 that she could not speak. Her hands d'asped and unclasped 
 round his strong fingers. Her tears flowed freely. 
 
 The storm broke with terrific fury. A sffeelhing torrent of rain 
 
 , and hail came with the rushing wind. Great heaven-broad sheets 
 
 of lightning played across the bla.ck-dome overhead. Zigzag 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 121 
 
 ropes, steel-blue in color, shot downward. Crash, and crack, 
 and boom the thunder spHt and rolled the clouds above. The 
 lightning flashes showed the fall of rain in columns like white 
 waterfalls, borne on the irresistible wind. 
 
 The grandeur of the storrii awed, and stilled Helen's emotion. 
 She sat there watching the lightning, listening to the peals of 
 thunder, and thrilhng with the wonder of the situation. 
 
 Gradually the roar abated, the flashes became less frequent, 
 the thunder decreased, as the storm wore out its strength in 
 passing. The wind and rain ceased on the mountain-top almost 
 as quickly as they had begun, and the roar died slowly away in 
 the distance. Far to the eastward flashes of light illumined 
 scowling clouds, and brightened many a dark, wooded hill and 
 valley. 
 
 "Lass, how is't I find you here?" asked Jonathan gravely. 
 
 With many a pause and broken phrase, Helen told the story 
 of what she had seen and heard at the spring. 
 
 "Child, why didn't you go to my brother.?" asked Jonathan. 
 "You don't know what you undertook!" 
 
 "I thought of everything; but I wanted to find you myself. 
 Besides, I was just as safe alone on this mountain as in the 
 village." 
 
 "I don't know but you're right," replied Jonathan thought- 
 fully. "So Brandt planned to make off with you to-morrow.?" 
 
 "Yes, and when I heard it I wanted to run away from the 
 village." 
 
 "You've done a wondrous- clever thing, lass. This Brandt is a 
 bad man, an' hard to match. But if he hasn't shaken Fort Henry 
 by now, his career'll end mighty sudden, an' his bad trails stop 
 short on the hillside among the graves, for Eb will always give 
 outlaws or Injuns decent burial." 
 
122 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "What will the colonel, or anyone, think has become of me?" 
 
 "Wetzel knows, lass, for he found your trail below." 
 
 "Then he'll tell papa you came after me? Oh! poor papa! I 
 forgot him. Shall we stay here until daylight?" 
 
 "We'd gain nothin' by startin' now. The brooks are full, an' 
 in the dark we'd make little distance. You're dry here, an' com- 
 fortable. What's more, lass, you're safe." 
 
 "I feel perfectly safe, with you," Helen said softly. 
 
 "Aren't you tired, lass?" 
 
 "Tired? I'm nearly dead. My feet are cut and bruised, my 
 wrist is sprained, and I ache all over. But, Jonathan, J don't care. 
 I am so happy to have my wild venture turn out successfully." 
 
 "You can lie here an' sleep while I keep watch." 
 
 Jonathan made a move to withdraw his arm, which was still 
 between Helen and the rock but had dropped from her waist. 
 
 "I am very comfortable. I'll sit here with you, watching for 
 daybreak. My! how dark it is! I cannot see my hand before 
 my eyes." 
 
 Helen settled herself back upon the stone, leaned a very little 
 against his shoulder, and tried to think over her adventure. But 
 her mind refused to entertain any ideas, except those of the 
 present. Mingled with -the dreamy lassitude that grew stronger 
 every moment, was a sense of delight in her situation. She was 
 alone on a wild mountain, in the night, with this borderman, 
 the one she loved. By chance and her own foolhardiness this had 
 come about, yet she was fortunate to have it tend to some good 
 beyond her own happiness. All she would suffer from her 
 perilous climb would be aching bones, and, perhaps, a scolding 
 from her father. What she might gain was more than she had 
 dared hope. The breaking up of the horse-thief gang would be 
 a boon to the harassed settlement. How proudly Colonel Zane 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I23 
 
 would smile! Her name would go on that long roll of border 
 honor and heroism. That was not, however, one thousandth 
 part so pleasing, as to be alone with her borderman. 
 
 With a sigh of mingled weariness and content, Helen leaned 
 her head on Jonathan's shoulder and fell asleep. 
 
 The borderman trembled. The sudden nestUng of her head 
 against him, the light caress of her fragrant hair across his 
 cheek, revived a sweet, almost-conquered, almost-forgotten 
 emotion. He felt an inexplicable thrill vibrate through him. No 
 untrodden, ambushed wild, no perilous trail, no dark and bloody 
 encounter had ever made him feel fear arhad the kiss of this 
 maiden. He had sternly silenced faint, unfamiliar, yet tender, 
 voices whispering in his heart; and now his rigorous discipline 
 was as if it were not^ for at her touch he trembled. Still he did 
 not move away. He knew she had succumbed to weariness, and 
 was fast asleep. He could, gently, without awakening her, have 
 laid her head upon the pillow of leaves; indeed, he thought of 
 doing it, but made no effort. A woman's head softly lying 
 against him was a thing novel, strange, wonderful. For all the 
 power he had then, each tumbling lock of her hair might as 
 well have been a chain linking him fast to the mountain. 
 
 With the memory of his former yearning, unsatisfied moods, 
 and the unrest and pain his avyakening tenderness had caused 
 him, came a determination to look things fairly in the face, to 
 be just in thought toward this innocent, impulsive girl, and be 
 honest with himself. 
 
 Duty commanded that he resist all charm other than that 
 pertaining to his life in the woods. Years ago he had accepted a 
 borderman's destiny, well content to be recompensed by ito 
 untamed freedom from restraint; to be always under the trees 
 he loved so well; to lend his cunning and woodcraft in the 
 
124 "^^^ ^^^'^ TRAIL 
 
 pioneer's cause; to haunt the savage trails; to live from day to 
 day a menace to the foes of civilization. That was the life he 
 had; chosen; it was all he could ever have. 
 
 In view of this, justice demanded that he allow no friendship 
 to spring up between himself and this girl. If his sister's belief 
 was really true, if Helen really was interested in him, it must 
 be a romantic infatuation which, not encouraged, would wear 
 itself out. What was he, to win the love of any girl? An un- 
 lettered borderman, who knew only the woods, whose life was 
 hard and cruel, whose hands were red with Indian blood, whose 
 vengeance had not spared men even of his own race. He could 
 not believe she really loved him. Wildly impulsive as girls were 
 at times, she had kissed him. She had been grateful, carried 
 away by a generous feeling for him as the protector of her 
 father. When she did not see him for a long time, as he vowed 
 should be the case after he had carried her safely home, she 
 would forget. 
 
 Then honesty deaaanded that he probe his own feelings. 
 Sternly, as if judging a renegade, he searched out in his simple 
 way the truth. This big-eyed lass with her nameless charm 
 "would bewitch even a borderman, unless he avoided her. So 
 much he had not admitted until now. Love he had never be- 
 lieved could be possible for him. When she fell asleep her hand 
 had slipped from his arm to his fingers, and now rested there 
 lightly as a leaf. The contact was delight. The gentle night 
 breeze blew a tress of hair across his lips. He trembled. Her 
 roimded shoulder pressed against him until he could feel her 
 slow, deep breathing. He almost held his own breath lest he 
 disturb her rest. 
 
 No, he was no longer indifferent. As surely as those pale stars 
 blinked far above, he knew the delight of a woman's presence. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I25 
 
 It moved him to ^tudy the emotion, as he studied all things, 
 which was the habit of his borderman's life. Did it come from 
 knowledge of her beauty, matchless as that of the mountain- 
 laurel? He recalled the dark glance of her challenging eyes, her 
 tall, supple figure, and the bewildering excitation and magnet- 
 ism of her presence. Beauty was wonderful, but not everything. 
 Beauty belonged to her, but she would have been irresistible 
 without it. Was it not because she was a woman ? That was the 
 secret. She was a woman with all a woman's charm to bewitch, 
 to twine round the strength of men as the ivy encircles the oak; 
 with all a woman's weakness to pity and to guard; with all a 
 woman's wilful burning love, and with all a woman's mystery. 
 
 At last so much of life was intelligible to him. The renegade 
 committed his worst crimes because even in his outlawed, home- 
 less state, he could not exist without the companionship, if not 
 the love, of a woman. The pioneer's toil and privation were 
 for a woman, and the joy of loving her and living for her. The 
 Indian brave, when not on the war-path, walked hand in hand 
 with a dusky, soft-eyed maiden, and sang to her of moonlit 
 lakes and western winds. Even the birds and beasts mated. The 
 robins returned to their old nest; the eagles paired once and 
 were constant in life and death. The buck followed the doe 
 through the forest. All nature sang that love made life worth 
 living. Love, then, was everything. 
 
 The borderman sat out the long vigil of the night watching 
 the stars, and trying to decide that love was not for him. If 
 Wetzel had locked a secret within his breast, and never in all 
 these years spoke of it to his companion, then surely that com- 
 panion could as well live without love. Stern, dark, deadly work 
 must stain and blot all tenderness from his life, else it would 
 be unutterably barren. The joy of living, of unharassed free-^ 
 
126 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 dom he had always known. If a fair face and dark, mournful 
 eyes were to haunt him on every lonely trail, then it were better 
 an Indian should end his existence. 
 
 The darkest hour before dawn, as well as the darkest of doubt 
 and longing in Jonathan's life, passed away. A gray gloom ob- 
 scured the pale, winking stars; the east slowly whitened, then 
 brightened, and at length day broke misty and fresh. 
 
 The borderman rose to stretch his cramped limbs. When he 
 turned to the little cavern the girl's eyes were wide open. All 
 the darkness, the shadow, the beauty, and the thought of the 
 past night, lay in their blue depths. He looked away across the 
 valley vvhere the sky was reddening and a pale rim of gold 
 appeared above the hill-tops. 
 
 "Well, if I haven't been asleep!" exclaimed Helen, with a low, 
 soft laugh. 
 
 "You're rested, I hope," said Jonathan, with averted eyes. He 
 dared not look at her., 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed. I am ready to start at once. How gray, how 
 beautiful the morning is! Shall we be long? I hope papa knows." 
 
 In silence the borderman led the way across the rocky plateau, 
 and into the winding, narrow trail. His pale, slightly drawn 
 and stern, face did not invite conversation, therefore Helen 
 followed silently^ in his footsteps. The way was steep, and at 
 times he was forced to lend her aid. She put her hand in his 
 and jumped lightly as a fawn. Presently a brawling brook, over- 
 crowding its banks, impeded further progress. 
 
 "I'll have to carry you across,' said Jonathan. 
 
 "I'm very heavy," replied Helen, with a smile in her eyes. 
 
 She flushed as the borderman put his right arm around her 
 waist. Then a clasp as of steel enclosed her; she felt herself 
 swinging easily into the air, and over the muddy brook. 
 
' THE LAST TRAIL I27 
 
 Farther down the mountahi this troublesome brook again 
 crossed the trail, this time much wider and more formidable. 
 Helen looked with some vexation and embarrassment into the 
 borderman's face. It was always the same, stern, almost cold. 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better wade," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 "Why ? The water's deep an' cold. You'd better not get wet." 
 
 Helen flushed, but did not answer. With downcast eyes she 
 let herself be carried on his powerful arm. 
 
 The wading was difficult this time. The water foamed fu- 
 riously around his knees. Once he slipped on a stone, and nearly 
 lost his balance. Uttering a little scream Helen grasped at him 
 wildly, and her arm encircled his neck. What was still more 
 trying, when he put her on her feet again, it was found that her 
 hair had become entangled in the porcupine quills on his hunt- 
 — ing-coat. 
 
 She stood before him while with clumsy fingers he endeavored 
 to untangle t"he shimmering strands; but in vain. Helen un- 
 wound the snarl of wavy hair. Most alluring she was then, with 
 a certain softness on her face, and light and laughter, and some- 
 thing warm in her eyes. 
 
 The borderman felt that he breathed a subtle exhilaration 
 which emanated from her glowing, gracious beauty. She radi- 
 ated with the gladness of life, with an uncontainable sweetness 
 and joy. But, giving no token ofTiis feeling, he turned to march 
 on down through the woods. 
 
 From this point the trail broadened, descending at an easier 
 angle. Jonathan's stride lengthened until Helen was forced to 
 walk rapidly, and sometimes run, in order to keep close behind 
 him. A quick journey home was expedient, and in order to 
 accomplish this she would gladly have exerted herself to a. 
 
128 THE LAST TRAIL. 
 
 greater extent. When they reached the end of the' trail where' 
 the forest opened clear of brush, finally to merge into the broad, 
 verdant plain, the sun had chased the mist-clouds from the 
 eastern hill-tops, and was gloriously brightening the valley. 
 
 With the touch of sentiment natural to her, Helen gazed 
 backward for one more view of the mountain-top. The wall of 
 rugged rock she had so often admired from her window at 
 home, which henceforth would ever hold a tender place of re- 
 membrance in her heart, rose out of a gray-blue bank of mist. 
 The long, swelling slope lay clear to the sunshine. With the 
 rays of the sun gleaming and, glistening upon the variegated 
 foliage, and upon the shiny rolling haze above, a beautiful pic- 
 ture of autumn splendor was before her. Tall pines, here and 
 there towered high and lonely over the surrounding trees. Their 
 dark, green, graceful heads stood in bold relief above the gold 
 and fellow crests beneath. Maples, tinged from faintest pink to 
 deepest rose, added warm color to the scene, and chestnuts 
 with their brown-white burrs lent fresher beauty to the undu- 
 lating slope. 
 
 The remaining distance to the settlement was short. Jona- 
 than spoke only once to Helen, then questioning her as to where 
 she had left her canoe. They traversed the meadow, found thfe 
 boat in the thicket of willows, and were soon under the frown- 
 ing bluff of Fort Henry. Ascending the steep path, they followed 
 the road leading to Colonel Zane's cabin. 
 
 A crowd of boys, men and women loitering near the blufi 
 arrested Helen's attention. Struck by this unusual occurrence, 
 she wondered what was the cause of such idleness among the 
 busy pioneer people. They were standing in little groups. Some 
 made vehement gestures, others conversed earnestly, and yet 
 more were silent. On seeing Jonathan, a number shouted and 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I29 
 
 pointed toward the inn. The borderman hurried Helen along 
 the path, giving no heed to the throng. 
 
 But Helen had seen the cause of all this excitement. At first 
 glance she thought Metzar's inn had been burned; but a sec- 
 ond later it could be seen that the smoke came from a smolder- 
 ing heap of rubbish injthe road. The inn, nevertheless, had been 
 wrecked. Windows stared with that vacantness peculiar to 
 deserted houses. The doors were broken from their hinges. A 
 pile of furniture, rude tables, chairs, beds, and other articles, 
 were heaped beside the smoking rubbish. Scattered around lay 
 barrels and kegs all with gaping sides and broken heads. Liquor 
 had stained the road, where it had been soaked up by the 
 thirsty dust. 
 
 Upon a shattered cellar-door lay a figure covered with a piece 
 of rag carpet. When Helen's quick eyes took in this last, she 
 turned away in horror. That motionless form might be Brandt's. 
 Remorse and womanly sympathy surged over her, for bad as 
 the man had shown himself, he had loved her. 
 
 She followed the borderman, trying to compose herself. As 
 they neared Colonel Zane's cabin she saw her father, Will, the 
 colonel, Betty, Nell, Mrs. Zane, Silas Zane, and others whom she 
 did not recognize. They were all looking at her. Helen's throat 
 swelled, and her eyes filled when she got near enough to see 
 her father's haggard, eager face. The others were grave. She 
 wondered guiltily if she had done much wrong. 
 
 In another moment she was among them. Tears fell as her 
 father extended his trembling hands to clasp her, and as she 
 hid her burning face on his breast, he cried: "My dear, dear 
 child!" Then Betty gave her a great hug, and Nell flew about 
 them like a happy bird. Colonel Zane's face was pale, and wore 
 a clouded, stern expression. She smiled timidly at him through 
 
130 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 her tears. "Weill well! well!" he mused, while his gaze softened. 
 That was all he said; but he took her hand and held it while 
 he turned to Jonathan. 
 
 The borderman leaned on his long rifle, regarding him with 
 expectant eyes. 
 
 "Well, Jack, you missed a little scriirmiage this morning. 
 Wetzel got in at daybreak. The storm and horses held him up 
 on the other side of the river until daylight.' He told me of 
 your suspicions, with the additional news that he'd found a 
 fresh Indian trail on the island just across from the inn. We 
 went down not expecting to find any one awake; but Metzar 
 was hurriedly packing some of his traps. Half a dozen men 
 were there, having probably stayed all night. That little English 
 cuss was one of them, and another, an ugly fellow, a stranger 
 to us, but evidently a woodsman. Things looked bad. Metzar 
 told a decidedly conflicting story. Wetzel and I went outside 
 to talk over the situation, with the result that I ordered him to 
 clean out the place." 
 
 Here Colonel Zane paused to indulge in a grim, meaning 
 lattghT 
 
 "Well, he cleaned out the place all right. The ugly stranger 
 got rattlesnake-mad, and yanked out a big knife. Sam is 
 hitching up the team now to haul what's left of him up on the 
 hillside. Metzar resisted arrest, arid got badly hurt. He's in the 
 guardhouse. Case, who has been drunk for a week, got in 
 Wetzel's way and was kicked into the middle of next week* 
 He's been spitting blood for the last hpur, but I guess he's not 
 much hurt. Brandt flew the coop last night. Wetzel found this 
 hid in his room." 
 
 Colonel Zane took a long, feathered arrow from where it lay 
 on a bench, and held it out to Jonathan. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL ' I3I 
 
 "The Shawnee signal! Wetzel had it right," muttered the 
 borderman. 
 
 "Exactly. Lew found where the arrow struck in the wall of 
 Brandt's room. It was shot from the island at the exact spot 
 where Lew came to an end of the Indian's trail in the water." 
 
 "That Shawnee got away from us." 
 
 "So Lew said. Well, he's gone now. So is Brandt. We're well 
 rid of the gang,. if only we never hear of them again." 
 
 The borderman shook his head. During the colonel's recital 
 his face changed. The dark eyes had become deadly; the square 
 jaw was shut, the lines of the cheek had grown tense, and over 
 his usually expressive countenance had settled a chill, lowering 
 shade. 
 
 "Lew thinks Brandt's in with Bing Legget. Well, d his 
 
 black traitor heart! He's a good man for the worst and strong- 
 est gang that ever tracked the border." 
 
 The borderman was silent; but the furtive, restless shifting 
 of his eyes over the river and island, hill and valley, spoke more 
 plainly than words. 
 
 "You're to take his trail at once," added Colonel Zane. "I had 
 Bess put you up some bread, meat and parched corn. No doubt 
 you'll have a long, hard tramp. Good luck.'' 
 
 The borderman went into the cabin, presently emerging with 
 a buckskin knapsack strapped to his shoulder. He set off east- 
 ward with a long, swinging stride. 
 
 The women had taken Helen within the house where, no 
 doubt, they could discuss with greater freedom the events of 
 the previous day. 
 
 "Sheppard," said Colonel Zane, turning with a sparkle in his 
 eyes. "Brandt was after Helen sure as a bad weed grows fast. 
 And certain as death Jonathan and Wetzel will see him cold 
 
132 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 and quiet back in the woods. That's a border saying, and it means 
 a good deal. I never saw Wetzel so implacable, nor Jonathan 
 so fatally cold but once, aod that was when Miller, another 
 traitor, much like Brandt, tried to make away with Betty. It 
 would have chilled your blood to see Wetzel go at that fool 
 this morning. Why did he want to pull a knife on the border- 
 man? It was a sad sight. Well, these things are justifiable. We 
 must protect ourselves, and above all our women. We've had 
 bad men, and a bad man out here Is something you cannot yet 
 appreciate, come here and slip into the life of the settlement, 
 because on the border you can never Aell what a man is until 
 he proves himself. There have been scores of criminals spread 
 over the frontier, and some better men, like Simon Girty, who 
 were driven to outlaw Hfe. Simon must not be confounded with 
 Jim Girty, absolutely the most fiendish desperado who ever lived. 
 Why, even the Indians feared Jim so much that after his death 
 his skeleton remained unmolested in the glade where he was 
 killed. The place is believed to be haunted now, by all Indians 
 and many white hunters, and I believe the bones stand there 
 yet." 
 
 "Stand?" asked Sheppard, deeply interested. 
 
 "Yes, it stands where Girty stood and died, upright against 
 a tree, pinned, pinned there' by a big knife." 
 
 "Heavens, man! Who did it?" Sheppard cried in horror. 
 
 Again Colonel Zane's laugh, almost metallic, broke grimly 
 from his lips. 
 
 "Who? Why, Wetzel, of course. Lew hunted Jim Girty five 
 long years. When he caught him — God! I'll tell you some other 
 time. Jonathan saw Wetzel handle Jim and his pal, Deering, 
 as if they were mere boys. Well, as I said, the border has had, 
 and still has, its bad men. Simon Girty took McKee and Elliott, 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I33 
 
 the Tories, from Fort Pitt, when he deserted, and ten men be- 
 sides. They're all, except those who are dead, outlaws of the 
 : worst type. The other bad men drifted out here from Lord 
 only knows where. They're scattered all over. Simon Girty, since 
 his crowning black deed, the massacre of the Christian Indians, 
 is in hiding. Bing Legget now has the field. He's a hard nut, a 
 cunning woodsman, and capable leader who surrounds himself 
 with only the most desperate Indians and renegades. Brandt is 
 an agent of Legget's and I'll bet we'll hear from him again." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Jonathan traveled toward the east straight as a crow flies. Wet- 
 zel's trail as he pursued Brandt had been left designedly plain. 
 Branches of young maples had been broken by the borderman; 
 they were glaring evidences of his passage. On open ground, or 
 through swampy meadows he had contrived to leave other 
 means to facilitate his comrade's progress. Bits of sumach lay 
 strewn along the way, every red, leafy branch a bright marker 
 of the course; crimson maple leaves served their turn, and even 
 long-bladed ferns were scattered at intervals. 
 - Ten miles east of Fort Henry, at a point where two islands 
 lay opposite each other, Wetzel had crossed the Ohio. Jonathan 
 removed his clothing, and tying these, together with his knap- 
 sack, to the rifle, held them above the water while he swam the 
 three narrow channels. He took up the trail again, finding here, 
 as he expected, where Brandt had joined the waiting Shawnee 
 chief. The borderman pressed on harder to the eastward. 
 
134 J'^^ ^^^"^ TRAIL 
 
 • About the middle of the afternoon signs betokened that 
 Wetzel and his quarry were not far in advance. Fresh imprints 
 in the grass; crushed asters and moss, broken branches with un- 
 withered leaves, and plots of grassy grdund where Jonathan 
 saw that the blades of grass were yet springing back to their 
 original position, proved to the borderman's practiced eye that 
 he was close upon Wetzel. 
 
 In time he came to a grove of yellow birch trees. The ground 
 was nearly free from brush, beautifully carpeted with flowers 
 and ferns, and, except where bushy windfalls obstructed the 
 way, was singularly open to the gaze for several hundred yards 
 ahead. 
 
 Upon entfering this wood Wetzel's plain, intentional mark- 
 ings became manifest,^ then wavered, and finally disappeared. 
 Jonathan pondered a moment. He concluded that the way. was 
 so open' and clear, with nothing but grass and moss to mark 
 a trail, that Wetzel had simply considered it waste of time for, 
 perhaps, the short length of this grove. 
 
 Jonathan knew he was wrong after taking a dozen steps more. 
 Wetzel's trail, known so well to him, as never to be mistaken, 
 sheered abruptly off to the left, and, after a few yards, the dis- 
 tance between the footsteps widened perceptibly. Then came 
 a point where they were so far apart that they could only have 
 been made by long leaps. 
 
 On the instant the borderman knew that some unforeseen 
 peril or urgent cause had put Wetzel to flight, and he now bent 
 piercing eyes aroiind the grove. Retracing his steps to where 
 he had found the break in the trail, he followed up Brandt's tracks 
 for several rods. Not one hundred paces beyond where Wetzel 
 had quit the pursuit,' were the remains of a camp fire, the em- 
 bers still smoldering, and moccasin tracks of a small band of 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I35 
 
 Indians. The trail of Brandt and his Shawnee guide met the 
 others at almost right angles. 
 
 The Indian, either by accident or design, had guided Brandt 
 to a band of his fellows, and thus led Wetzel almost into an 
 ambush. 
 
 Evidence was not clear, however, that the Indians had dis- 
 covered the keen tracker who had run almost into their midst. 
 
 While studying the forest ahead Jonathan's mind was running 
 over the possibilities. How close was Wetzel? Was he still in 
 flight? Had the savages an inkling of his pursuit? Or was he 
 now working out one of his cunning tricks of woodcraft? The 
 borderman had no other idea than that of following the trail 
 to learn all this. Taking the desperate chances warranted under 
 the circumstances, he walked boldly forward in his comrade's 
 footsteps. 
 
 Deep and gloomy was the forest adjoining the birch grove. It 
 was a heavy growth of hardwood trees, interspersed with 
 slender ash and maples, which with their scanty foliage re- 
 sembled a labyrinth of green and yellow network, like filmy 
 dotted lace, hung on the taller, darker oaks. Jonathan felt safer 
 in this deep wood. He could still see several rods in advance. 
 Following the trail, he was relieved to see that Wetzel's leaps 
 had become shorter and shorter, until they once again were 
 about the ^ length of a long stride. The borderman was, more- 
 over, swinging in a curve to the northeast. This was proof that 
 the borderman had not been pursued, but was making a wide 
 detour to get ahead of the enemy. Five hundred yards farther 
 on the trail turned sharply toward the birch grove in the rear. 
 
 The trail was fresh. Wetzel was possibly within signal call; 
 surely within sound of a rifle shot. But even more stirring was 
 
136 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 the certainty that Brandt and his Indians were inside the circle 
 Wetzel had made. 
 
 Once again in sight of the more open woodland, Jonathan 
 crawled on his hands and knees, keeping close to the cluster o£ 
 ferns, until well within the eastern end of the grove. He lay 
 for some minutes listening. A threatening silence, like the hush 
 before a storm, permeated the wilderness. He peered out from 
 his covert; but, owing to its location in a little hollow, he could 
 not see far. Crawling to the nearest tree he rose to his feet 
 slowly, cautiously. 
 
 No unnatural sight or sound arrested his attention. Repeat- 
 edly, with the acute, unsatisfied gaze of the borderman who 
 knew that every tree, every patch of ferns, every tangled brush- 
 heap might harbor a foe, he searched the grove with his eyes; 
 but the curly-barked birches, the clumps of colored ferns, the 
 bushy windfalls kept their secrets. 
 
 For the borderman, however, the whole aspect of the birch- 
 grove had changed. Over the forest was a deep calm. A gentle, 
 barely perceptible ys'ind sighed among the leaves, like rustling 
 silk. The far-off drowsy drum of a grouse intruded on the vast 
 stillness. The silence of the birds betokened a message. That 
 mysterious breathing, that beautiful life of the woods lay hushed, 
 locked in a waiting, br&oding silence. Far away among the 
 somber trees, where the shade deepened into irnpenetrable 
 gloom, lay a menace, invisible and indefinable. 
 
 A wind, a breath, a chill, terribly potent, seemed to pass over 
 the borderman. Long experience had given him intuition' of 
 danger. 
 
 As he moved slightly, with lynx-eyes fixed on the grove be- 
 fore him, a sharp, clear, perfect bird-note broke the ominous 
 quiet. It was like the melancholy cry of an oriole, short, deep, 
 
•THE LAST TRAIL 1 37 
 
 suggestive of lonely forest dells. By a slight variation in the 
 short call, Jonathan recognized it as a signal from Wetzel, 
 The borderman smiled as he realized that with all his stealth, 
 Wetzel had heard or seen him re-enter the grove. The signal 
 was a warning to stand still or retreat. 
 
 Jonathan's gaze narrowed down to the particular point 
 whence had come the signal. Some two hundred yards ahead 
 in this direction were several large trees standing in a group. 
 With one exception, they all had straight trunks. This deviated 
 from the others in that it possessed an irregular, bulging trunk, 
 or else half-shielded the form of Wetzel. So indistinct and im- 
 movable was this irregularity, that the watcher could not be 
 certain. Out of line, somewhat, with this tree which he sus- 
 pected screened his comrade, lay a huge windfall large enough 
 to conceal in ambush sL whole band of savages. 
 
 Even as he gazed a sheet of flame flashed from this covert. 
 
 A loud report followed; then the whistle and zip of a bullet 
 as it whizzed close by his head. 
 
 "Shawnee lead!" muttered Jonathan. 
 
 Unfortunately the tree he had selected did not hide him suffi- 
 ciently. His shoulders were so wide that either one or the other 
 was exposed, affording a fine target for a marksman. 
 
 A quick glance showed him a change in the knotty tree- 
 trunk; the seeming bulge was now the well-known figure of 
 Wetzel. 
 
 Jonathan dodged as some object glanced slantingly before 
 his eyes. 
 
 Twang. Whizz. Thud. Three familiar and distinct sounds 
 caused him to press hard against the tree. 
 
 A tufted arrow quivered in the bark not a foot from his head. 
 
138 THE LAST TRAIL ^ 
 
 "Close shave! Damn that arrow-shootin' Shawnee!" muttered 
 Jonathan. "An' he ain't in that windfall either." His eyes 
 searched to the left for the source of this new peril. 
 
 Another sheet of flame, another report from the windfall. A 
 bullet sang, close overhead, and, glancing on a branch, went 
 harmlessly into the forest. „-- 
 
 "Injuns all around; I guess I'd better be makin' tracks," Jona- 
 than said to himself, peering out to learn if Wetzel was still 
 under cover. 
 
 He saw the tall figure straighten up; a long, black rifle rise 
 to a level and become rigid; a red fire belch forth, followed by 
 a puff of white smoke. 
 
 Spang! 
 
 An Indian's .iiorrible, strangely-breaking death yell rent the 
 silence. __ " 
 
 Then a chorus of plaintive howls, followed by angry shouts, 
 rang through the forest. Naked, painted savages darted out of 
 the windfall toward the tree that had sheltered Wetzel. 
 
 Quick as thought Jonathan covered the foremost Indian, and 
 with the crack of his rifle saw the redskin drop his gun, stop 
 in his mad run, stagger sideways, and fall. Then the borderman 
 looked to see what had become of his ally. The cracking of the 
 Indian's rifle told him that Wetzel had been seen by his foes. 
 
 With almost incredible fleetness a brown figure with long 
 black hair streaming behind, darted in and. out among the trees, 
 flashed through the sunlit glade, and vanished in the dark depths 
 of the forest. 
 
 Jonathan turned to flee also, when he heard again the twang- 
 ing of an Indian's bow. A wind smote his cheek, a shock blinded 
 him, an excruciating pain seized upon his breast. A feathered 
 arrow had pinned his shoulder to the tree. He raised his hand 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I39 
 
 to pull it out; but, slippery with blood, it afforded a poor hold 
 for his fingers. Violently exerting himself, with both hands he 
 wrenched away the weapon. The flint-head lacerating his flesh 
 and scraping his shoulder bones caused sharpest agony. The 
 pain gave away to a sudden sense of giddiness; he tried to run; 
 a dark mist veiled his sight; he stumbled and fell. Then he 
 seemed to sink into a great darkness, and knew no more. 
 
 When consciousness returned to Jonathan it was night. He 
 lay on his back, and knew because of his cramped limbs that 
 he had been securely bound. He saw the glimmer of a fire, but 
 could not raise his head. A rustling of leaves in the wind told 
 that he was yet in the woods, and the distant rumble of a water- 
 fall sounded familiar. He felt drowsy; his wound smarted 
 slightly, still he did not suffer any pain. Presently he fell asleep. 
 
 Broad daylight had come when again he opened his eyes. 
 The blue sky was directly above, and before him he saw a ledge 
 covered with dwarfed pine trees. He turned his head, and saw 
 that he was in a sort of amphitheater of about two acres in ex- 
 tent enclosed by low cliffs. A cleft in the stony wall let out a 
 brawUng brook, and served, no doubt, as entrance to the place. 
 Several rude log cabins stood on that side of the enclosure. Jona- 
 than knew he had been brought to Bing Legget's retreat. 
 
 Voices attracted his attention, and, turning his head to the 
 other side, he saw a big Indian pacing near him, and beyond, 
 seven savages and three white men reclining in the shade. 
 
 The powerful, dark-visaged savage near him he at once 
 recognized as Ashbow, the Shawnee chief, and noted emissary 
 of Bing Legget. Of the other Indians, three were Delawares, 
 and four Shawnees, all veterans, with swarthy, somber faces 
 and glistening heads on which the scalp-locks were trimmed 
 and tufted. Their naked, muscular bodies were painted for the 
 
140 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 war-path with their strange emblems of death. A trio of white 
 men, nearly as bronzed as their savage comrades, completed 
 the group. One, a desperate-looking outlaw, Jonathan did not 
 know. The blond-bearded giant in the center was Legget. 
 Steel-blue, inhuman eyes, with the expression of a free but 
 hunted animal; a set, mastiff-like jaw, brutal and coarse, in- 
 dividualized him. The last man was the haggard'-faced Brandt. 
 
 "I tell ye, Brandt, I ain't agoin' against this Injun," Legget 
 was saying positively. "He's the best reddy on the border, an' 
 has saved me scores of times. This fellar Zane belongs to him, 
 an' while I'd much rather see the scout knifed right here an' 
 now, I won't do nothin' to interfere with the Shawnee's plans." 
 
 "Why does the redskin want to take him away to his village?" 
 Brandt growled. "All Injun vanity and pride." 
 
 "It's Injun ways, an', we can't do nothin' to change 'em." 
 
 "But you're boss here. You could make him put this border- 
 man out of the way." 
 
 "Wal, r ain't agoin' ter interfere. Anyways, Brandt, the Shaw- 
 nee'U make short work of the scout when he gits him among 
 the tribe. Injuns is Injuns. It's a great ho.nor fer him to git 
 Zane, an' he wants his own people to figger in the finish. Quite 
 nat'r'l, I reckon." 
 
 "I understand all that; but it's not safe for us, and it's court- 
 ing death for Ashbow. Why don't he keep Zane here until you 
 can spare more than three Indians to go with him? These 
 bordermen can't be stopped. You don't know them, because 
 you're new in this part of the country." 
 
 "I've been here as long as you, an' agoin' some, too, I reckon," 
 replied Legget complacently. 
 
 "But you've not been hunted until lately by these bordermen, 
 and you've had little opportunity to hear of them except from 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I4I 
 
 Indians. What can you learn from these silent redskins? I tell 
 you, letting this fellow get out of here aUve, even for an hour 
 is a fatal mistake. It's two full days' tramp to the Shawnee 
 village. Ypu don't suppose Wetzel will be afraid of four sav- 
 ages? Why, he sneaked right into eight of us, when we were 
 ambushed, waiting for him. He killed one and then was gone 
 like a streak. It was only a piece of pure luck we got Zane." 
 
 "I've reason to know this Wetzel, this Deathwind, as the 
 Delawares call him. I never seen him though, an' anyways, I 
 reckon I can handle him if ever I get the chance." 
 
 "Man, you're crazy!" cried Brandt. "He'd cut you to pieces 
 before you'd have time to draw. He could give you a toma- 
 hawk, then take it away and split your head. I tell you I know! 
 You remember Jake Deering? He came from up your way. 
 Wetzel fought Deering and Jim Girty together, and killed them. 
 You know how he left Girty." 
 
 "I'll allow he must be a fighter; but I ain't afraid of him." 
 
 "That's not the question. I am talking sense. You've got a 
 chance now to put one of these bordermen out of the way. Do 
 it quick! That's my advice." 
 
 Brandt spoke so vehemently that Legget seemed impressed. 
 He stroked his yellow beard, and puffed, thoughtfully on his 
 pipe. Presently he addressed the Shawnee chief in the native 
 tongue. 
 
 "Will Ashbow take five horses for his prisoner?" 
 
 The Indian shook his head. 
 
 "How many will he take?" 
 
 The chief strode with dignity to and fro before his captive. 
 His dark, impassive face gave no clew to his thoUghts; but his 
 lofty -bearing, his measured, stately walk were indicative of 
 great pride. Then he spoke in his deep bass: 
 
142 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "The Shawnee knows the woods from the Great Lakes where 
 the sun sets, to the Blue Hills where it rises. He has met the 
 great paleface hunters. Only for Deathwind will Ashbow trade 
 his captive." 
 
 "See? It ain't no use," said Legget, spreading out his hands. 
 "Let him go. He'll outwit the bordermen if any redskin's able 
 to. The sooner he goes the quicker he'll git back, an' we can 
 go to work. You ought'er be satisfied to git the girl " 
 
 "Shut u^!" interrupted Brandt sharply. 
 
 " 'Pear^ to me, Brandt, bein' in love hes kinder worked on 
 your nerves. You used to be game. Now you're afeerd of a 
 bound an' tied man who ain't got long to live." 
 
 "I fear no man,'J answered Brandt, scowling darkly. "But I 
 know what you don't seem to have sense enough to see. If this 
 Zane gets away, which is, probable, he and Wetzel will clean 
 up your gang." 
 
 "Haw! haw! haw!" roared Legget, slapping his knees. "Then 
 you'd hev little chanst of gittin' the lass, eh?" 
 
 "All right. I've no more to say," snapped Brandt, rising and 
 turning on his heel. As he passed Jonathan he paused. "Zane, 
 if I could, I'd get even with you for that punch you once gave 
 me. As it is, I'll stop at the Shawnee village on my way west " 
 
 "With the pretty lasi," interposed Legget. 
 
 "Where I hope to see your scalp drying in the chief's lodge." 
 
 The borderman eyed him steadily; but in silence. Words 
 could not so well have conveyed his thought as did the cold 
 glance of dark scorn and merciless meaning. 
 
 Brandt shuffled on with a curse. No coward was he. No man 
 ever saw him flinch. But his intelligence was against him as a 
 desperado. While such as these bordermen lived, an outlaw 
 should never sleep, for he was a marked and doomed man. The 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I43 
 
 deadly, cold-pointed flame which scintillated in the prisoner's 
 eyes was only a gleam of what the border felt towards outlaws. 
 
 While Jonathan was considering all he had heard, three more 
 Shawnees entered the retreat, and were at once called aside in 
 consultation by Ashbow. At the conclusion of this brief con- 
 ference the chief advanced to Jonathan, cut the bonds round 
 his feet, and motioned for him to rise. The prisoner complied 
 to find himself weak and sore, but able to walk. He concluded 
 that his wound, while very painful, was not of a serious nature, 
 and that he would be taken at once on the march toward thie 
 Shawnee village. 
 
 He was correct, for the chief led him, with the three Shaw- 
 nees following, toward the ouilei; of the enclosure. Jonathan's 
 sharp eye took in every detail of Legget's rendezvous. In a 
 corral near the entrance, he saw a number of fine horses, and 
 among them his sister's pony. A more inaccessible, natural refuge 
 than Legget's, could hardly have been found in that country. 
 The entrance was a narrow opening in the wall, and could be 
 held by half a dozen against an army of besiegers. It opened, 
 moreover, on the side of a barren hill, from which could be had 
 a good survey of the surrounding forests and plains. 
 
 As Jonathan went with his captors down the hill his hopes, 
 which while ever alive, had been flagging, now rose. The long 
 journey to the Shawnee town led through an un tracked wilder- 
 ness. The Delaware villages lay far to the north; the Wyandot 
 to the west. No likelihood was there of falling in with a band 
 of Indians hunting, because this region, stony, barren, and 
 poorly watered, afforded sparse pasture for deer or bison. From 
 the prisoner's point of view this enterprise of Ashbow's wag 
 reckless and vainglorious. Cunning as the chief was, he erred 
 in one point, a great warrior's only weakness, love of show, 
 
144 1"^^ ^^^'^ TRAIL 
 
 of pride, of his achievement. In Indian nature this desire for 
 fame was as strong as love of life. The brave risked everything 
 to win his eagle feathers, and the matured warrior found death 
 while keeping bright the glory of the plumes he had won, 
 
 Wetzel was in the woods, fleet as a deer, fierce and fearless 
 as a lion. Somewhere among those glades he trod, stealthily, 
 with the ears of a doe and eyes of a hawk strained for sound 
 or sight of his comrade's captors. When he found their trail he 
 would stick to it as the wolf to that of a bleeding buck's. The 
 rescue would not be attempted until the right moment, even 
 though that came within rifle-shot of the Shawnee encampment. 
 Wonderful as his other gifts, was the borderman's patieiice. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 "Good morning, Colonel Zane," said Helen cheerily, coming 
 into the yard where the colonel was at work, "Did Will come 
 over this way.'"' 
 
 "I reckon you'll find him if yoU find Betty,'' replied Colonel 
 Zane dryly. 
 
 "Come to think of it, that's true," Helen said, laughing. "I've 
 a suspicion Will ran oil from me this morning." 
 
 "He and Betty have gone nutting." 
 
 "I declare it's mean of Will," Helen said petulantly. "I have 
 been wanting tp go so much, and both he and Betty promised 
 to take me." 
 
 "Say, Helen, let me tell you something," said the colonel, 
 resting on his spade and looking at her quizzically. "I told them 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I45 
 
 we hadn't had enough frost yet to ripen hickory-nuts and chest- 
 nuts. But they went anyhow. Will did remember to say if you 
 came along, to tell you he'd bring the colored leaves you 
 wanted." 
 "How extremely kind of him. I've a mind to follow them." 
 "Now see here, Helen, it might be a right good idea for you 
 not to," returned the colonel, with a twinkle and a meaning 
 in his eye. 
 "Oh, I understand. How singularly dull I've been." 
 "It's this way. We're mighty glad to have a fine young fellow 
 like Will come along and interest Betty. Lord knows we had a 
 time with her after Alfred died. She's just beginning to brighten 
 up now, and, Helen, the point is that yoimg people on the 
 border must get married. No, my dear, you needn't laugh, 
 you'll have to find a husband same as the other girls. It's not 
 here as it was back east, where a lass might have her fling, so 
 to speak, and take her time choosing. An unmarried girl on the 
 border is a positive menace. I saw, not many years ago, two 
 first-rate youngsters, wild with border fire and spirit, fight and 
 kill each other over a lass who wouldn't choose. Like as not, 
 if she had done so, the three would have been good friends, 
 for out here we're like one big family. Remember this, Helen, 
 and as far as Betty and Will are concerned you will be wise to 
 follow our example: Leave them to themselves. Nothing else 
 will so quickly strike fire between a boy and a girl." 
 
 "Betty and Will! I'm sure I'd love to see them care for each 
 other." Then with big, bright eyes bent gravely on him she 
 continued, "May I ask. Colonel Zane, who you have picked out 
 forme?" 
 
 "There, now you've said it, and that's the problem. I've looked 
 over every marriageable young man in the settlement, except 
 
146 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Jack. Of course you couldn't care for him, a borderman, a 
 fighter and all that; but I can't find a fellow I think quite up to 
 you." 
 
 "Colonel Zane, is not a borderman such as Jonathan worthy 
 a woman's regard?" Helen asked a little wistfully. 
 
 "Bless your heart, lass, yes!" replied Colonel Zane heartily. 
 "People out here are not as they are back east. An educated man, 
 polished and all that, but incapable of hard labor, or shrinking 
 from dirt and sweat on his hands, or even bloody would not help 
 us in the winning of the West. Plain as Jonathan is, and with 
 his lack of schooling, he is greatly superior to the majority of 
 young men on the frontier. But, unlettered or not, he is as fine a 
 man as ever stepped in moccasins, or any other kind of foot 
 gear." 
 
 "Then why did you say — that — ^what you did?" 
 
 "Well, it's this way," replied Colonel Zane, stealing a glance at 
 her pensive, downcast face. "Girls all like to be wooed. Almost 
 every one I ever knew wanted the young man of her choice to 
 outstrip all her other admirers, and then, for a spsll, nearly die 
 of love for her, after which she'd give in. Now, Jack, being a 
 borderman, a man with no occupation except scouting, will never 
 look at a girl, let alone make up to her. I imagine, my dear, it'd 
 take some mighty tall courting to fetch home Helen Sheppard a 
 bride. On the other hand, if some pretty and spirited lass, like, 
 say for instance, Helen Sheppard, would come along and just 
 make Jack forget Indians and fighting, she'd get the finest hus- 
 band in the. world. True, he's wUd; but only in the woods. A 
 simpler, kinder, cleaner man cannot be found." 
 
 "I believe that. Colonel Zane; but where is the girl who would 
 interest him?" Helen asked with spirit. "These bordermen are 
 unapproachable. Imagine a girl interesting that great, cold, stern 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I47 
 
 Wetzel! All her flatteries, her wiles, the httle coquetries that 
 might attract ordinary men, would not be noticed by him, or 
 Jonathan either." 
 
 "I grant it'd not be easy, but woman was made to subjugate 
 , man, and always, everlastingly, until the end of life here on this 
 beautiful earth, she will do it." 
 
 "Do you think Jonathan and Wetzel will catch Brandt ? " asked 
 Helen, changing the subject abruptly. 
 
 "I'd stake my all that this year's autumn leaves will fall on 
 Brandt's grave." 
 
 Colonel Zane's calm, matter-of-fact coldness made Helen 
 shiver. 
 
 "Why, the leaves have already begun to fall. Papa told me 
 ■ Brandt had gone to join the most powerful outlaw band on the 
 border. How can these two men, alone, cope with savages, as 
 I've heard they do, and break up such an outlaw band as Leg- 
 get's.?" 
 
 "That's a question I've heard Daniel Boone ask about Wetzel, 
 and Boone, though not a borderman in all the name implies, was 
 a great Indian fighter. I've heard old frontiersmen, grown griz- 
 zled on the frontier, use the same words. I've been twenty years 
 with that man, yet I can't answer it. Jonathan, of course, is only 
 a shadow of him; Wetzel is the type of these men who have held 
 the frontier for us. He was the first borderman, and no doubt 
 he'll be the last." 
 
 "What have Jonathan and Wetzel that other men do not pos- 
 sess.?" 
 
 "In them is united a marvelously developed woodcraft, with 
 wonderful physical powers. Imagine a man having a sense, 
 almost an animal instinct, for what is going on in the woods. 
 Take for instance the fleetness of foot. That is one of the greatest 
 
148 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 factors. It is absolutely necessary to run, to get away when to 
 hold ground would be death. Whether at home or in the woods, 
 the bordermen retreat every day. You wouldn't think they prac- 
 ticed anything of the kind, would you? Well, a man can't be 
 great in anything without keeping at it. Jonathan says he exer- 
 cises to keep his feet light. Wetzel would just as soon run as 
 walk. Think of the magnificent condition of these men. When 
 a dash of speed is called for, when to be fleet of foot is to elude 
 vengeance-seeking Indians, they must travel as svvif tly as the deer. 
 The Zanes were all sprinters. I could do something of the kind; 
 Betty was fast on her feet, as that old fort will testify until the 
 logs rot; Isaac was fleet, too, and Jonathan can get over the 
 ground like a scared buck. But, even so, Wetzel can beat him." 
 
 "Goodness me, Helen!" exclaimed the colonel's buxom wife, 
 from the window, "don't you ever get tired hearing Eb talk of 
 Wetzel, and Jack, and Indians? Come in with me. I venture to 
 say my gossip will do you more good than his stories." 
 
 Therefore Helen went in to chat with Mrs. Zane, for she was 
 always glad to listen to the colonel's wife, who was so bright 
 and pleasant, so helpful and kindly in her womanly way. In the 
 course of their conversation, which drifted from weaving linsey, 
 Mrs. Zane's occupation at the time, to the costly silks and satins 
 of remembered days, and then to matters of more present inter- 
 est, Helen spoke of Colonel Zane's hint about Will and Betty. 
 
 "Isn't Eb a terror? He's the worst matchmatcher you ever 
 saw," declared the colonel's good spouse. 
 
 "There's no harm in that." 
 
 "No, indeed; it's a good thing, but he makes me laugh, and 
 IBetty, he sets her furious." 
 
 "The colonel said he had designs on me." 
 
 "Of course he has, dear old Eb! How he'd love to see you 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I49 
 
 happily married. His heart is as big as that mountain yonder. He 
 has given 'this settlement his whole life." 
 
 "I believe you. He has such interest, such zeal for everybody. 
 Only the other day he was speaking to me of Mr. Mordaunt, tell- 
 ing how sorry he was for the Englishman, and how much he'd 
 like to help him. It does seem a pity a man of Mordaunt's blood 
 and attainments should sink to utter worthlessness." 
 
 "Yes, 'tis a pity for any man, blood or no, and the world's full 
 of such wrecks. I always liked that man's looks. I never had a 
 word with him, of course; but I've seen him often, and some- 
 thing about him appealed to me. I don't believe it was just his 
 handsome face; still I know women are susceptible that way." 
 
 "I, too, liked him once as a friend," said Helen feelingly. "Well, 
 I'm glad he's gone." 
 
 "Gone.?" 
 
 "Yes, he left Fort Henry yesterday. He came to say good-bye 
 to me, and, except for his pale face and trembling hands, was 
 much as he used to be in Virginia. Said he was going home to 
 England, and wanted to tell me he was sorry — for — for all he'd 
 done to make papa and me suffer. Drink had broken him, he 
 said, and surely he looked a broken man. I shook hands with him, 
 and then slipped upstairs and cried." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" sighed Mrs. Zane. 
 
 "Papa said he left Fort Pitt with one of Metzar's men as a 
 guide." 
 
 "Then he didn't take the 'little cuss,' as Eb calls his man 
 Case?" 
 
 "No, if I remember rightly papa said Case wouldn't go." 
 
 "I wish he had. He's no addition to our village." 
 
 Voices outside attracted their attention. Mrs. Zane glanced 
 from the window and said : "There come Betty and Will." 
 
150 , THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Helen went on the porch to see her cousin and Betfy entering 
 tlie yard, and Colonel Zane once again leaning on his spade. 
 
 "Gather any hickory-nuts from birch or any other kind of 
 trees?" asked the colonel grimly. 
 
 "No," replied Will cheerily, "the shells haven't opened yet." 
 
 "Too bad the<frost is so backward," said Colonel Zane with 
 a laugh. "But I can't see that it makes any difference." 
 
 "Where are my leaves.?" asked Helen, with a smile and a nod 
 to Betty. 
 
 "What leaves?" inquired that young woman, plainly mystified. 
 
 "Why, the autumn leaves Will promised to gather with me, 
 then changed his mind, and said he'd bring them." 
 
 "I forgot," Will replied a little awkwardly. 
 
 Colonel Zane coughed, and then, catching Betty's glance, which 
 had begun to flash, he plied his spade vigorously. 
 
 Betty's face had colored warmly at her brother's first question; 
 it toned down slightly when she understood that he was not 
 going to tease her as usual, and suddenly, as she looked over his 
 head, it paled white as snow. 
 
 "Eb, look down the lane!" she cried. 
 
 Two tall men were approaching with labored tread, one half- 
 supporting his companion. 
 
 "Wetzel! Jack! and Jack's hurt!" cried Betty. 
 
 "My dear, be calm," said Colonel Zane, in that quiet tone he 
 always used during moments of excitement. He turned toward 
 the bordermen, and helped Wetzel lead Jonathan up the walk 
 into the yard.'' 
 
 From Wetzel's clothing water ran, his long hair was disheveled, 
 his aspect frightful. Jonathan's face was white and drawn. His 
 buckskin hunting coat was covered with blood, and the hand 
 which he held tightly against his left breast showed dark red 
 stains. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I5I 
 
 Helen shud<lered. Almost fainting, she leaned against the 
 porch, too horrified to cry out, with contracting heart and a chill 
 stealing through her veins. 
 
 "Jack! Jack!" cried Betty, in agonized appeal. 
 
 "Betty, it's nothin'," said Wetzel, 
 
 "Now, Betts, don't be scared of a little blood," Jonathan said 
 with a faint smile flitting across his haggard face. 
 
 "Bring water, shears an' some linsey cloth," added Wetzel, as 
 Mrs. Zane came running out. 
 
 "Come inside," cried the colonel's wife, as she disappeared 
 again immediately. 
 
 "No," replied the borderman, removing his coat, and, with the 
 assistance of his brother, he unlaced his hunting shirt, pulling it 
 down from a wounded shoulder. A great gory hole gaped just 
 beneath his left collar-bone. 
 
 Although stricken with fear, when Helen saw the bronzed, 
 massive shoulder, the long, powerful arm with its cords of 
 muscles playing under the brown skin, she felt a thrill of admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Just missed the lung," said Mrs. Zane. "Eb, no bullet ever 
 made that hole." 
 
 Wetzel washed the bloody wound, sftd, placing on it a wad 
 of leaves he took from his pocket, bound up the shoulder tightly. 
 
 "What made that hole.?" asked Colonel Zane. , 
 
 Wetzel lifted the quiver of arrows Jonathan had laid on the 
 porch, and, selecting one, handed it to the colonel. The flint-head 
 and a portion of the shaft were stained with blood. 
 
 "The Shawnee!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. Then he led Wetzel 
 aside, and began conversing in low tones while Jonathan, with 
 Betty holding his arm, ascended the steps and went within the 
 dwellitig. 
 
152 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Helen ran home, and, once in her room, gave vent to her emo- 
 tions. She cried because of fright, nervousness, relief, and joy. 
 Then she bathed her face, tried to rub some color into her pale 
 cheeks, and set about getting dinner as one in a trance. She 
 could not forget that broad shoulder with its frightful wound. 
 What a man Jonathan must be to receive a blow like that and 
 live! Exhausted, almost spent, had been his strength when he 
 reached home, yet how calm and cool he was! What would she 
 not have given for the faint smile that shone in his eyes for 
 Betty? 
 
 The afternoon was long for Helen. When at last supper was 
 over she changed her gown, and, asking Will to accompany her, 
 went down the lane toward Colonel Zane's cabin. At this hour 
 the colonel almost invariably could be found sitting on his door- 
 step puffing a long Indian pipe, and gating with dreamy eyes 
 over the valley. 
 
 "Well, well, how sweet you look!" he said to Helen; then with 
 a wink of his eyelid, "Hello, WilHe, you'll find Elizabeth inside 
 with Jack." 
 
 "How is he?" asked Helen eagerly, as Will with a laugh and 
 a retort mounted the steps. 
 
 "Jack's doing splendidly. He slept all day. I don't think his 
 injury amounts to much, at least not for such as him or Wetzel. 
 It would have finished ordinary men. Bess says if complications 
 don't set in, blood-poison or something to start a fever, he'll be 
 up shortly. Wetzel believes the two of 'em will be on the traiK 
 inside of a week." 
 
 "Did they find Brandt?" asked Helen in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes, they ran him to his hole, and, as might have been ex- 
 pected, it was Bing Legget's camp. The Indians took Jonathaa 
 there." 
 
THE LAST -TRAIL 153 
 
 "Then Jack was captured?" 
 
 Colonel Zane related the events, as told briefly by Wetzel, that 
 had taken place during the preceding three days. 
 
 "The Indian I saw at the spring carried that bow Jonathan 
 brought back. He must have shot the arrow. He was a magnifi- 
 cent 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 
 fhe 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 pres- 
 ent. 
 
 "Here, Jack, is a lady inquiring after your health. Betts, this 
 remiiufs 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. 
 
154 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "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 no 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 noth- 
 ing 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 ten- 
 derness, 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 un- 
 natural 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. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 155 
 
 "I love you." 
 
 The low whisper reached Helen's ears. She seemed to float 
 dreamily a\yay 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. 
 
156 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 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 expedi- 
 tion. 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 
 disafipeared 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 Mill- 
 er's trail," Betty replied in a low voice. "I believe, despite his 
 indifference to danger, he reaUzes 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." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I57 
 
 "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 bordermenj 
 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 coi^ch, 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 Helea 
 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 impos- 
 sible. 
 
 "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?" t 
 
158 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 As Helen ushered Jonathan, for the first time, into her cosy 
 little sitting-room, her heart began to thiimp so hard she could 
 Iiear it. 
 
 She had not seen him since the night he whispered the words 
 which gave such happiness. She had stayed at home, thankful 
 beyond expression to learn every day of his rapid improvement, 
 living in the sweetness of her joy, and waiting for him. And 
 now as he had come, so dark, so grave, so unlike a lover to woo, 
 that she felt a chill steal over her. j 
 
 "I'm so glad you've brought the arrow," she faltered, "for, of 
 course, coming so far means that you're well once more." 
 
 "You asked me for it, an' I've fetched it over. To-morrow I'm 
 off on a trail I may never return from," he answered simply, and 
 his voice seemed cold. 
 
 An immeasurable distance stretched once more between them. 
 Helen's happiness slowly died. 
 
 "I thank you," she said with a voice that was tremulous despite" 
 all her efforts. 
 
 "It's not much of a keepsake." 
 
 "I did not ask for it as a keepsake, but because — because I 
 w^anted it. I need nothing tangible to keep alive my memory. A 
 few words whispered to me not many days ago will suffice for 
 remembrance — or — or did I dream them.?" 
 
 Bitter disappointment almost choked Helen. This was not the 
 gentle, soft-voiced man who had said he loved her. It was the 
 indifferent borderman. Again he 'was the embodiment of his 
 strange, quiet woods. Once more he seemed the comrade of the 
 cold, inscrutable Wetzel. 
 
 "No, lass, I reckon you didn't dream," he replied. 
 
 Helen swayed from sick bitterness and a suffocating sense of 
 pain, back to her old, sweet, joyous, tumultuous heart-throbbing. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I59 
 
 "Tell me, if I didn't dream," she said softly, her face flashing 
 warm again. She came close to him and looked up with all her 
 heart in her great dark eyes, and love trembhng on her red lips. 
 
 Calmness deserted the borderman after one glance at her. He 
 paced the floor; twisted and clasped his hands while his eyes 
 gleamed. 
 
 "Lass, I'm only human," he cried hoarsely, facing her again. 
 
 But only for a moment did he stand before her; but it was 
 long enough for him to see her shrink a little, the gladness in her 
 eyes giving way to uncertainty and a fugitive hope. Suddenly he 
 began to pace the room again, and to talk incoherently. With 
 the flow of words he gradually grew calmer, and, with something 
 of his natural dignity, spoke more rationally. 
 
 "I said I loved you, an' it's true, but I didn't mean to speak. 
 I oughtn't have done it. Somethin' made it so easy, so natural 
 like. I'd have died before letting you know, if any idea had come 
 to me of what I was sayin'. I've fought this feelin' for months. I 
 allowed myself to think of-you at first, an' there's the wrong. 
 I went on the trail with your big eyes pictured in my mind, an' 
 before I'd dreamed of it you'd crept into my heart. Life has 
 never been the same since — that kiss. Betty said as how you cared 
 for me, an' that made me worse, only I never really believed. To- 
 day I came over here to say good-bye, expectin' to hold myself 
 well in hand; but the first glance of your eyes unmans me. 
 Nothin' can come of it, lass, nothin' but trouble. Even if you 
 cared, an' I don't dare believe you do, nothin' can come pf it! 
 I've my own life to live, an' there's no sweetheart in it. Mebbe, 
 as Lew says, there's one in Heaven. Oh! girl, this has been hard 
 on me. I see you always on my lonely tramps; I see your glorious 
 eyes in the sunny fields an' in the woods, at gray twilight, an' 
 when the stars shine brightest. They haunt me. Ah! you're the 
 
l60 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 sweetest lass as ever tormented a man, an' I love you, I love 
 you!" 
 
 He turned to the window only to hear a soft, broken cry, and 
 a flurry of skirts. A rush of wind seemed to envelop him. Then 
 two soft, rounded arms encircled his neck, and a golden head 
 lay on his breast. 
 
 "My borderman! My hero! My love!" 
 
 Jonathan clasped the beautiful, quivering girl to his hieart. 
 
 "Lass, for God's sake don't say you love me," he implored, 
 thrilling with contact of her warm arms. 
 
 "Ah!" she breathed, and raised her head. Her radiant eyes 
 darkly wonderful with unutterable love, burned into his. 
 
 He had almost pressed his lips to the sweet red ones so near 
 his, when he drew back with a start, and his frame straightened. 
 
 "Am I a man, or only a coward ?" he muttered. "Lass, let me 
 think. Don't believe I'm harsh, nor cold, nor nothin' except that 
 I want to do what's right," 
 
 He leaned out of the window while Helen stood near him 
 Tyith a hand on his quivering shoulder. When at last he turned, 
 his face was colorless, white as marble, and sad, and set, and 
 stern. 
 
 "Lass, it mustn't be; I'll not ruin your life." 
 
 "But you will if you give me up." 
 
 "No, no, lass." 
 
 "I cannot live without you." ( 
 
 "You must. My life is not mine to give." 
 
 "But you love me." 
 
 "I am a borderman." 
 
 "I will not live without you." 
 
 "Hush! lass, hush!" 
 
 'T love you." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL l6l 
 
 Jonathan breathed hard; once more the tremor, which seemed 
 pitifuiin such a strong man, camd upon him. His face was gray. 
 
 "I love you," she repeated, her rich voice indescribably deep 
 and full. She opened wide her arms and stood before him with 
 heaving bosom, with great eyes dark with woman's sadness, pas- 
 sionate with woman's promise, perfect in her beauty, glorious in 
 her abandonment. 
 
 The borderman bowed and bent like a broken reed. 
 
 "Listen," she whispered, coming closer to him, "go if you must 
 leave me; but let this be your last trail. Come back to me, Jack, 
 come back to me! You have had enough of this terrible life; you 
 have won a name that will never be forgotten; you have done 
 your duty to the border. The Indians and outlaws will be gone 
 soon. Take the farm your brother wants you to have, and live for 
 me. We will be happy. I shall learn to keep your home. Oh! my 
 dear, I will recompense you for the loss of all this wild hunting 
 and fighting. Let me persuade you, as much for your sake as for 
 mine, for you are my heart, and soul, and life. Go out upon your 
 last trail, Jack, and come back to me." 
 
 "An' let Wetzel go always alone.?" 
 
 "He is different; he Hves only for revenge. What are those 
 poor savages to you.? You have a better, nobler life opening." 
 
 "Lass, I can't give him up." 
 
 "You need not; but give up this useless seeking of adventure. 
 That, you know, is half a borderman's life. Give it up. Jack, if 
 not for your own, then for my sake." 
 
 "No — no — ^never — I can't — I won't be a coward! After all these 
 years I won't desert him. No — ^no " 
 
 "Do not say more," she pleaded, stealing closer to him until 
 she. was against his breast. She slipped her arms around his neck. 
 For love and more than life she was fighting now. "Good-bye, my 
 
l62 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 love." She kissed him, a long, lingering pressure of her soft full 
 lips on his. "Dearest, do not shame me further. Dearest Jack, 
 come back to me, for I love you." 
 
 She released him, and ran sobbing from the room. 
 
 Unsteady as a blind man, he groped for the door, found it, and 
 went out. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The longest day in Jonathan Zane's life, the oddest, the most 
 terrible and complex with unintelligible emotions, was that one 
 in which he learned that the wilderness no longer suflSced for 
 him. 
 
 He wandered through the forest like a man lost, searching for, 
 he knew not vi'hat. Rambling along the shady trails he looked 
 for that contentment which had always been his, but found it 
 not. He plunged into the depths of deep, gloomy ravines; into 
 the fastnesses of heavy-timbered hollows where the trees hid the 
 light of day; he sought the open, grassy hillsides, and roamed far 
 over meadow and plain. Yet something always eluded him. The 
 invisible and beautiful life of all inanimate things sang no more 
 in his heart. The springy moss, the quirering leaf, the tell-tale 
 bark of the trees, the limpid, misty, eddying pools under green 
 banks, the myriads of natural objects from which he had learned 
 so much, and the manifold joyous life around him, no longer 
 spoke with soul-satisfying faithfulness. The environment of his 
 boyish days, of his youth, and manhood, rendered not a sweetness 
 as of old. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 163 
 
 His intelligence, sharpened by the pain o£ new experience, told 
 him he had been vain to imagine that he, because he was a 
 borderman, could escape the universal destiny o£ human life. 
 Dimly he could feel the broadening, the awakening into a fuller 
 existence, but he did not welcome this new light. He realized 
 that men had always turned, at some tinie in their lives, to 
 women even as the cypress leans toward the sun. This weaken- 
 ing of the sterner stuff in him; this softening of his heart, and 
 especially the inquietude, and lack of joy and harmony in his old 
 pursuits of the forest trails bewildered him, and troubled him 
 some. Thousands of times his borderman's trail had been crossed, 
 yet never to his sorrow until now when it had been crossed by a 
 woman. 
 
 Sick at heart, hurt in his pride, darkly savage, sad, remorseful, 
 and thrilling with awakened passion, all in turn, he roamed the 
 woodland unconsciously visiting the scenes where he had for- 
 merly found contentment. 
 
 He paused by many a shady glen, and beautiful quiet glade; 
 by gray cliffs and mossy banks, searching with moody eyes for 
 the spirit which evaded him. 
 
 Here in the green and golden woods rose before him a rugged, 
 giant rock, moss-stained, and gleaming with trickUng water. Tan- 
 gled ferns dressed in autumn's russet hue lay at the base of the 
 green-gray cUff, and circled a dark, deep pool dotted with yellow 
 leaves. Half-way up, the perpendicular ascent was broken by a 
 protruding ledge upon which waved broad-leaved plants and 
 rusty ferns. Above, the cliff sheered out with many cracks and 
 ieams in its weather-beaten front. 
 
 The forest grew to the verge of the precipice. A full foliaged 
 oak and a luxuriant maple, the former still fresh with its dark 
 green leaves, the latter making a vivid contrast with its pale yel- 
 
164 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 low, purpie-redi and orange hues, leaned far out over the bluflf. 
 A mighty chestnut grasped with gnarled roots deep into the 
 broken cliff. Dainty plumes of goldenrod swayed on the brinlc; 
 red berries, amber moss, and green trailing vines peeped over the 
 edge, and every little niche and cranny sported fragile ferns and 
 pale-faced asters. A second cliff, higher than the first, and more 
 heavily wooded, loomed above, and over it sprayed a transparent 
 film of water, thin as smoke, and iridescent in the sunshine. Far 
 above where the glancing rill caressed the mossy cliff and shone 
 like gleaming gold against the dark branches with their green 
 and red and purple leaves, lay the faint blue of the sky. 
 
 Jonathan pulled on down the stream with humbler heart. His 
 favorite waterfall had denied him. The gold that had gleamed 
 there was his sweetheart's hair; the red was of her lips; the dark 
 pool with its lights and shades, its unfathomable mystery, was 
 like her eyes. 
 
 He came at lengjh to another scene of milder aspect. An open 
 glade where the dancing, dimpling brook raced under dark 
 hemlocks, and where blood-red sumach leaves, and beech leaves 
 like flashes of sunshine, lay against the green. Under a leaning 
 birch he found a patch of purple asters, and a little apart from 
 them, by a mossy stone, a lonely fringed gentian. Its deep color 
 brought to him the dark blue eyes that haunted him, and once 
 again, like one possessed of an evil spirit, he wandered along the 
 merry water-course. 
 
 But finally pain and unrest left him. When he surrendered to 
 his love, peace returned. Though he said in his heart that Helen 
 was not for him, he felt he did not need to torture himseK by 
 fighting against resistless power. He could love her without 
 being a coward. He would take up his life where it had been 
 changed, and live it, carrying this bitter-sweet burden always. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 165 
 
 Memory, now that he admitted himself conquered, made a toy 
 of him, bringing the sweetness of fragrant hair, and eloquent 
 eyes, and clinging arms, and dewy lips. A thousand-fold harder 
 to fight than pain was the seductive thought that he had but to 
 go back to Helen to feel again the charm of her presence, to see 
 the grace of her person, to hear the music of her voice, to have 
 again her lips on his. 
 
 Jonathan knew then that his trial had but begun; that the pain 
 , and- suffering of a borderman's broken pride and conquered spirit 
 was nothing; that to steel his heart against the joy, the sweet- 
 ness, the longing of love was everything. 
 
 So a tumult raged within his heart. No bitterness, nor wretch^ 
 edness stabbed him as before, but a passionate yearning, born of 
 memory, and unquenchable as the fires of the sun, burned there. 
 
 Helen's reply to his pale excuses, to his duty, to his life, was 
 that she loved him. The wonder of it made him weak. Was not 
 her answer enough.? "I love you!" Three words only; but they 
 changed the world. A beautiful girl loved him, she had kissed 
 him, and his life could never again be the same. She had held out 
 her arms to him — and he, cold, churlish, unfeeling brute, had let 
 her shame herself, fighting for her happiness, for the joy that is 
 a woman's divine right. He had been blind; he had not under- 
 stood the significance of her gracious action; he had never 
 realized until too late, what it must have cost her, what heart- 
 burning shame and scorn his refusal brought upon her. If she 
 ever looked tenderly at him again with her great eyes; or leaned 
 toward him with her beautiful arms outstretched, he would fall 
 at her feet and throw his duty to the winds, swearing his love 
 was hers always and his life forever. 
 
 So love stormed in the borderman's heart. 
 
 Slowly the melancholy Indian-summer day waned as Jonathan 
 
l66 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Strode out of the woods into a plain beyond, where he was to 
 meet Wetzel at sunset. A smoky haze Uke a purple cloud lay 
 upon the gently waving grass. He could not see across the stretch 
 of prairie-land, though at this point he knew it was hardly a mile 
 wide. With the trilling of the grasshoppers alone disturbing the 
 serene quiet of this autumn afternoon, all nature seemed in har- 
 mony with the declining season. He stood a while, his thoughts 
 becoming the calmer for the silence and loneliness of this breath- 
 ing meadow. 
 
 When the shadows of the trees began to lengthen, and to steal 
 far out over the yellow grass, Jie knew the time had come, and 
 glided out upon the plain. He crossed it, and sat down upon a 
 huge stone which lay with one shelving end overhanging the 
 river. 
 
 Far in the west the gold-red sun, too fiery for his direct gaze, 
 lost the brilliance of its under circle behind the fringe of the 
 wooded hill. Slowly the red ball sank. When the last bright 
 gleam had vanished in the dark horizon Jonathan turned to 
 search wood and plain. Wetzel was to meet him at sunset. Even 
 as his first glance swept around a light step sounded behind him. 
 He did not move, for that step was familiar. In another moment 
 the tall form of Wetzel stood beside him. 
 
 "I'm about as much behind as you was ahead of time," said 
 Wetzel. "We'll stay here fer the night, an' be off early in the 
 mornin'." 
 
 Under the shelving side of the rock, and- in the shade of the 
 thicket, the bordermen built a little fire and roasted strips of 
 deer-meat. Then, puffing at their long pipes they sat for a long 
 time in silence, while twilight let fall a dark, gray cloak over 
 river and plain. 
 
 "Legget's move up the river was a bUnd, as I suspected," said 
 
THE LAST TRAIL ' 167 
 
 Wetzel, presently. "He's not far back in the woods from here, an' 
 seems to be waitin" fer somethin' or somebody. Brandt an' seven 
 redskins are with him. We'd hev a good chance at them in the 
 mornin'; now we've got 'em a long ways from their camp, so 
 we'll wait, an' see what deviltry they're up to." 
 
 "Mebbe he's waitin' for some Injun band," suggested Jona- 
 than. 
 
 "Thar's redskins in the valley an' close to him; but I reckon 
 he's barkin' up another tree." 
 
 "Suppose we run into some of these Injuns?" 
 
 "We'll hev to take what comes," replied Wetzel, lying down 
 on a bed of leaves. 
 
 When darkness enveloped the spot Wetzel lay wrapped in 
 deep slumber, while Jonathan sat against the rock, watching the 
 last flickerings of the camp-fire. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Will and Helen hurried back along the river road. Beguiled 
 by the soft beauty of the autumn morning they ventured farther 
 from the fort than ever before, and had been suddenly brought to 
 a -realization of the fact by a crackling in the underbrush. In- 
 stantly their minds reverted to bears and panthers, such as they 
 had heard invested the thickets round the settlement. 
 
 "Oht Will! I saw a dark form stealing along in the woods from 
 tree to tree!" exclaimed Helen in a^startled whisper. 
 
 "So did I. It was an Indian, or I never saw one. Walk faster. 
 Once round the bend in the road we'll be within sight of the 
 
l68 , THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 / 
 
 fort; then we'll run," replied Will. He. had turned pale, but main- 
 tained his composure. 
 
 They increased their speed, and had almost come up to the 
 curye in the road, marked by dense undergrowth on both sides, 
 when the branches in the thicket swayed violently, a sturdy little 
 man armedj with a musket appeared from among them. 
 
 "Avast! Heave to!" he commanded in a low, fierce voice, level- ' 
 ing his weapon. "One breeze from ye, an' I let sail this broad- 
 side." 
 
 "What do you want.? We have no valuables," said Will, speak- 
 ing low. 
 
 Helen stared at the little man. She was speechless with terror. 
 It flashed into her mind as soon as she recognized the red, evil 
 face of the sailor, that he was the accomplice upon whom Brandl 
 had told Metzar he could rely. 
 
 "Shut up! It's not ye I want, nor valuables, but this wench," 
 growled Case. He pushed Will around with the muzzle of the 
 musket, which action caused the young man to turn a sickly 
 white and shrink involuntarily with fear. The hammer of the 
 musket was raised, and might fall at the slightest jar. 
 
 "For God's sake! Will, do as he says," cried Helen, who saw 
 murder in Case's eyes. Capture or anything was better than 
 sacrifice of life. 
 
 "March!" ordered Case, with the musket against Will's back. 
 
 Will hurriedly started forward, jostling Helen, who had pre- 
 ceded him. He was forced to hurry, because every few moments 
 Case pressed the gun to his back or side. 
 
 Without another word the sailor marched them swiftly along 
 the road, which now narrowed down to a trail. His intention, 
 no doubt, was to put as much distance between him and the fort 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 1 69 
 
 as was possible. No more than a mile had been thus traversed 
 when two Indians stepped into view. 
 
 "My God! My God!" cried Will as the savages proceeded first 
 to bind Helen's arms behind her, and then his in the same man- 
 ner. After this the journey was continued in silence, the Indians 
 walking beside the prisoners, and Case in the rear. 
 
 Helen was so terrified that for a long time she could not think 
 coherently. It seemed as if she had walked miles, yet did not feel 
 tired. Always in front wound the narrow, leaf-girt trail, and to 
 the left the broad river gleamed at intervals through open spaces 
 in the thickets. Flocks of birds rose in the line of march. They 
 seemed tame, and uttered plaintive notes as if in sympathy. 
 
 About noon the trail led to the river bank. One of the savages 
 disappeared in a copse of willows, and presently reappeared 
 carrying a birch-bark canoe. Case ordered Helen and Will into 
 the boat, got in himself, and the savages, taking stations at bow 
 and stern, paddled out into the stream. They shot over under the 
 lee of an island, around a rocky point, and across a strait to 
 another island. Beyond this they gained the Ohio shore, and 
 beached the canoe. 
 
 "Ahoy! there, cap'n," cried Case, pushing' Helen up the bank 
 before him, and she, gazing upward, was more than amazed to 
 see Mordaunt leaning against a tree. 
 
 "Mordaunt, had you anything to do with this.?" cried Helen 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "I had all to do with it," answered the Englishman. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 He did not meet her gaze, nor make reply; but turned to 
 address a few words in a low tone to a white man sitting on a 
 log. 
 
 Helen knew she had seen this person before, and doubted not 
 
170 THE LAST TRAIL ' 
 
 he was one of Metzar's men. She saw a rude, b^rk lean-to, the 
 remains of a camp-fire, and a pack tied in bla.iikets. Evidently 
 Mordaunt and his men had tarried here awaiting such develop- 
 ments as had come to pass. 
 
 "You white-faced hound!" hissed Will, beside himself with 
 rage when he realized the situation. Bound though he was, he 
 leaped up and tried to get at Mordaunt. Case knocked him on 
 the head with the handle of his knife. Will fell with blood 
 streaming from a cut over the temple. 
 
 The dastardly act aroused all Helen's fiery courage. She turned 
 to 'the Englishman with eyes ablaze. 
 
 "So you've at last found your level. Border-outlaw! Kill me at 
 once. I'd rather be dead than breathe the same air with such a 
 coward!" 
 
 "I swore I'd have you, if not by fair means then by foul," he 
 answered, with dark and haggard face. 
 
 "What do you intend to do with me now that I am tied.''" she 
 demanded scornfully. 
 
 "Keep you a prisoner in the woods till you consent to marry 
 me.'^ 
 
 Helen laughed in scorn. Desperate as was the plight, her 
 natural courage had arisen at the cruel blow dealt her cousin, and 
 she faced the Englishman with flashing eyes and undaunted 
 mien. She saw he was again unsteady, and had the cough and 
 catching breath habitual to certain men uiider the influence of 
 liquor. She turned her attention to Will. He lay as he had fallen, 
 with blood streaming over his pale face and fair hair. While she 
 gazed at him Case whipped out his long knife, and looked up 
 at Mordaunt. 
 
 "Cap'n, I'd better loosen a hatch fer him," he said brutally. 
 "He's dead cargo fer us, an' in the way." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 171 
 
 He lowered the gleaming point upon Will's chest. 
 
 "Oh-h-h!" breathed Helen in horror. She tried to close her eyes 
 but was so fascinated she could not. 
 
 "Get up. I'll have no murder," ordered Mordaunt. "Leave him 
 here." 
 
 "He's not got a bad cut," said the man sitting on the log. "He'll 
 come to arter a spell, go back to ther fort, an' give an alarm." 
 
 "What's that to. me.?" asked Mordaunt sharply. "We shall be 
 safe. I won't have him with us because some Indian or another 
 will kill him. It's not my purpose tq murder any one." 
 
 "Ugh!" grunted one of the savages, and pointed eastward with 
 his hand. "Hurry-long-way-go," he said in English. With the 
 Indians in the lead the party turned from the river into the 
 forest. 
 
 Helen looked back into the sandy glade and saw Will lying 
 as they had left him, unconscious, with his hands still bound 
 tightly behind him, and blood running over his face. Painful as 
 was the thought of leaving him thus, it afforded her relief. She 
 assured herself he had not been badly hurt, would recover con- 
 sciousness before long, and, even bound as he was, could make 
 his way back to the settlement. 
 
 Her own situation, now that she knew Mordaunt had insti- 
 gated the abduction, did not seem hopeless. Although dreading 
 Brandt with unspeakable horror, she did not in the least fear the 
 Englishman. He was mad to carry her off like this into the 
 wilderness, but would force her to do nothing. He could not 
 keep her a prisoner long while Jonathan Zane and Wetzel were 
 free to take his trail. What were his intentions? Where was he 
 taking her? Such questions as these, however, troubled Helen 
 more than a little.' They brought her thoughts back to the In- 
 dians leading the way with lithe and stealthy step. How had 
 
 y 
 
172 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Mordaunt associated himself with these savages? Then, sud- 
 denly, it dawned upon her that Brandt also might be in this 
 scheme to carry her oil. She scouted the idea; but it returned. 
 Perhaps Mordaunt was only a tool; perhaps he himself was being 
 deceived. Helen turned pale at the very thought. She had never 
 forgotten the strange, unreadable, yet thrdatening, expression 
 which Brandt had worn the day she had refused to walk with 
 him. 
 
 Meanwhile the party made rapid progress through the forest. 
 Not a word was spoken, nor did anj^ noise of rustling leaves or 
 crackling twigs follow their footsteps. The savage in the lead 
 chose the open and less difEcult ground; he took advantage of 
 glades, mossy places, and rocky ridges. This careful choosing was, 
 evidently, to avoid noise, and make the trail as difficult to_ follow 
 as possible. Once he stopped suddenly, and listened. 
 
 Helen had a good look at the savage while he was in this posi- 
 tion. His lean, athletic figure resembled, in its half-clothed con- 
 dition, a bronzed statue; his powerful visage was set, changeless 
 hke iron. His dark eyes seemed to take in' all points of the forest 
 before him. 
 
 Whatever had caused the halt was an enigma to all save his 
 red-skinned companion. 
 
 The silence of the wood was the silence of the desert. No bird 
 chirped; no breath of wind sighed in the treetops; even the 
 aspens remained unagitated. Pale yellow leaves sailed slowly, 
 reluctantly do.wn from above. 
 
 But some faint sound, something unusual had jarred tipon the 
 exquisitely sensitive ears of the leader, for with a meaning shake 
 of the head to his followers, he resumed the march in a direction 
 at right angles with the original course. 
 
 This caution, and evident distrust of the forest ahead, made 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 173 
 
 Helen think again of Jonathan and Wetzel. Those great border- 
 men might already be on the trail of her captors. The thought 
 thrilled her. Presently she" realized, from another long, silent 
 march through forest thickets, glades, aisles, and groves, over 
 rock-strewrn ridges, and down mossy-stoned ravines, that her 
 strength was beginning to fail. 
 
 "I can go no further with my arms tied in this way," she 
 declared, stopping suddenly. 
 
 "Ugh!" uttered the savage before her, turning sharply. He 
 brandished a tomahawk before her eyes. 
 
 Mordaunt hurriedly set free her wrists. His pale face flushed 
 a dark, flaming red when she shrank from his touch as if he were 
 a viper. 
 
 After they had traveled what seemed to Helen many miles, 
 the vigilance of the leaders relaxed. 
 
 On the banks of the willow-skirted stream the Indian guide 
 halted them, and proceeded on alone to disappear in a green 
 thicket. Presently he reappeared, and motioned for them to come 
 on. He led the way over smooth, sandy paths between clumps of 
 willows, into a heavy growth of alder bushes and prickly thorns, 
 at length to emerge upon a beautiful grassy plot enclosed by 
 green and yellow shrubbery. Above the stream, which cut the 
 edge of the glade, rose a sloping, wooded ridge, with huge rocks 
 projecting here and there out of the brown forest. 
 
 Several birch-bark huts could be seen; then two rough bearded 
 men lolliijg upon the grass, and beyond them a group of painted 
 Indians. 
 
 A whoop so shrill, so savage, so exultant, that it seemingly 
 froze her blood, rent the silence. A man, unseen before, came 
 crashing through the willows on the side of the ridge. He leaped 
 the stream with the spring of a wild horse. He was big and 
 
174 "^^^ ^^^'^ TRAIL 
 
 broad, with disheveled hair, keen, hard face, and wild, gray eyes, 
 
 Helen's sight almost failed her; her head whirled dizzily; it 
 was as if her heart had stopped beating and was become a cold, 
 dead weight. She recognized in this man the one whom she 
 feared most of all — Brandt. 
 
 He cast one glance full at her, the same threatening, cool, and 
 evil-meaning look she remembered so well, and then engaged 
 the Indian guide in low conversation. 
 
 Helen sank at the foot of a tree, leaning against it. Despite 
 her weariness she had retained some spirit until this direful rev- 
 elation broke her courage. What worse could have happened.^ 
 Mordaunt had led her, for some reason that she could not divine, 
 into the clutches of Brandt, into the power of Legget and his 
 outlaws. 
 
 But Helen was not one to remain long dispirited or hopeless. 
 As this plot thickened, as every added misfortune weighed upon 
 her, when just ready to give up to despair she remembered the 
 bordermen. Then Colonel Zane's tales of their fearless, implaca- 
 ble pursuit when bent on rescue or revenge, recurred to her, and 
 fortitude returned. While she had life she would hope. 
 
 The advent of the party with their prisoner enlivened Leg- 
 get's gang. A great giant of a man, blond-bearded, and handsome 
 in a Wild, rugged, uncouth way, a man Helen instinctively knew 
 to be Legget, slapped Brandt on the shoulder. 
 
 "Damme, Roge, if she ain't a regular little daisy! Never seed 
 such a purty lass in my life." 
 
 Brandt spoke hurriedly, and Legget laughed. 
 
 All this time Case had been sitting on the grass, saying nothing, 
 but with his little eyes vvatchful. Mordaunt stood near him, his 
 head bowed, his face gloomy. 
 
 "Say, cap'n, I don't Hke this mess," whispered Case to his mas- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I75 
 
 ter. "They ain't no crew fer us. I know men, fer I've sailed the 
 seas, an' you're goin' to get what Metz calls the double-cross." 
 
 Mordaunt seemed to arouse from his gloomy reverie. He 
 looked at Brandt and Legget who were now in earnest council. 
 Then his eyes wandered toward Helen. She beckoned him to 
 come to her. 
 
 "Why did you bring me here?" she asked. 
 
 "Brandt understood my case. He planned this thing, and 
 seemed to be a good friend of mine. He said if I once got you 
 out of the settlement, he would give me protection until I 
 crossed the border into Canada. There we could be married," 
 replied Mordaunt unsteadily. 
 
 "Then you meant marriage by me, if I could be made to con- 
 sent?" 
 
 "Of course. I'm not utterly vile," he replied, with face lowered 
 in shame. 
 
 "Have you any idea what you've done?" 
 
 "Done? I don't understand." 
 
 "You have ruined yourself, lost your manhood, become an 
 outlaw, a fugitive, made yourself the worst thing on the border — 
 a girl-thief, and all for nothing." 
 
 "No, I have you. You are more to me than all." 
 
 "But can't you see? You've brought me out here for Brandt!" 
 
 "My God!" exclaimed Mordaunt. He rose slowly to his feet 
 and gazed around like a man suddenly wakened from a dream. 
 "I see it all now! Miserable, drunken wretch that I am!" 
 
 Helen saw his face change and lighten as if a cloud of darkness 
 had passed away from it. She understood that love of Uquor had 
 made him a party to this plot. Brandt had cunningly worked 
 upon his weakness, proposed a daring scheme; and filled his 
 befogged mind with hopes that, in a moment of clear-sighted- 
 
176 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 ness, he would have seen to be vain and impossible. And Helen 
 understood also that the sudden shock of surprise, pain, possible 
 fury, had sobered Mordaunt, probably for the first time in weeks. 
 
 The Englishman's face became exceedingly pale. Seating him- 
 self on, a stone near Case, he bowed his head, remaining sileht 
 and motionless. . '■ 
 
 The conference between Legget and Brandt lasted for some 
 time. When it ended the latter strode toward the motionless 
 figure on the rock. 
 
 "Mordaunt, you and Case will do well to follow this Indian at 
 once to the river, where you can strike the Fort Pitt trail," said 
 Brandt. 
 
 He spoke arrogantly and authoritatively. His keen, hard face, 
 his steely eyes, bespoke the iron will and purpose of the man. 
 
 Mordaunt rose with cold dignity. If he had been a dupe, he 
 was one no longer, as could be plainly read on his calm, pale 
 face. The old listlessness, the unsteadiness had vanished. He 
 wore a manner of extreme quietude; but his eyes were like balls 
 of blazing blue steel. 
 
 "Mr. Brandt, I seem to have done you a service, and am no 
 longer required," he said in a courteous tone. 
 
 Brandt eyed his man; but judged him wrongly. An EngUsh 
 gentleman was new to the border-outlaw. 
 
 "I swore the girl should be mine," he hissed. 
 
 "Doomed men cannot be choosers!" cried Helen, who had 
 heard him. Her dark eyes burned with scorn and hatred. 
 
 All the party heard her passionate outburst. Case arose as if 
 unconcernedly, and stood by the side of his master. Legget and 
 the other two oittlaws came up. The Indians turned their swarthy 
 faces. 
 
 "Hah! ain't she sassy?" cried Legget. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I77 
 
 Brandt looked at Helen, understood the meaning of her words, 
 and laughed. But his face paled, and involuntarily his shifty 
 glance sought the rocks and trees upon the ridge. 
 
 "You played me from the first.?" asked Mordaunt quietly. 
 
 "I did," replied Brandt. 
 
 "You meant nothing of your promise to help me across the 
 border?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You intended to let me shift for myself out here in this 
 wilderness?" 
 
 "Yes, after this Indian guides you to the river-trail," said 
 Brandt, indicating with his finger the nearest savage. 
 
 "I get, what you frontier men call 'the double-cross'?" 
 
 "That's it," replied Brandt with a hard laugh, in which Legget 
 joined. 
 
 A short pause ensued. 
 
 "What will you do with the girl?" 
 
 "That's my affair." 
 
 "Marry her?" Mordaunt's voice was low and quiet. 
 
 "No!" cried Brandt. "She flaunted my love in my face, scorned 
 me! She saw that borderman strike me, and by God! I'll get even. 
 I'll keep her here in the woods until I'm tired of her, and when 
 her beauty fades I'll turn her over to Legget." 
 
 Scarcely had the words dropped from his vile lips when Mor- 
 daunt moved with tigerish agility. He seized a knife from the 
 belt of one of the Indians. 
 
 "Die!" he screamed. 
 
 Brandt grasped his tomahawk. At the same instant the man 
 who had acted as Mordaunt's guide grasped the EngUshman 
 from behind. 
 
178 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Brandt struck ineffectually at the struggling man. 
 
 "Fair play!" roared Case, leaping at Mordaunt's second assail- 
 ant. His long knife sheathed its glittering length in the man's 
 breast. Without even a groan he dropped. "Clear the decks!" 
 Case yelled, sweeping round in a circle. All fell back before that 
 whirling knife. 
 
 Several of the Indians started~as if to raise their rifles; but 
 Legget's stern command caused them to desist, 'x, 
 
 The Englishman and the outlaw now engaged in a fearful en- 
 counter. The -practiced, rugged, frontier desperado apparently 
 had found his match in this pale-faced, slender man. His border 
 skill with the hatchet seemed offset by Mordaunt's terrible rage. 
 Brandt whirled and swung the weapon as he leaped around his 
 antagonist. With his left arm the Englishman sought only to 
 protect his head, while with his right he brandished the knife. 
 Whirling here and there they struggled across the cleared space, 
 plunging out of sight among the willows. During a moment 
 there was a sound as of breaking brariches; then a dull blow, 
 horrible to hear, followed by a low moan, and then deep silence. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A BLACK weight was seemingly lifted from Helen's weary eye- 
 lids. The sun shone; the golden forest surrounded her; the brook 
 babbled merrily; but where were the struggling, panting men? 
 She noticed presently, when her vision had grown more clear, 
 that the scene differed entirely from the willow-glade where she 
 had closed her eyes upon the fight. Then came the knowledge 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 179 
 
 that she had fainted, and, during the time o£ unconsciousness, 
 been moved. 
 
 She lay upon a mossy mound a few feet higher than a swiftly 
 running brook. A magnificent chestnut tree spread its leafy 
 branches above her. Directly opposite, about an hundred feet 
 away, loomed a gray, ragged, moss-stained cliff. She noted this 
 particularly because the dense forest encroaching to its very edge 
 excited hgr admiration. Such wonderful coloring seemed unreal. 
 Dead gold and bright red foliage flamed everywhere. 
 
 Two Indians stood near by silent, immovable. No other of 
 Legget's band was visible. Helen watched the red men. 
 
 Sinewy,' muscular warriors they were, with bodies partially 
 painted, and long, straight hair, black as burnt wood, interwoven 
 with bits of white bone, and plaited around waving eagle plumes. 
 At first glance their dark faces and dark eyes were expressive of 
 craft, cunning, cruelty, courage, all attributes of the savage. 
 
 Yet wild as these savages appeared, Helen did not fear them as 
 she did the outlaws. Brandt's eyes, and Legget's, too, when 
 turned on her, emitted a flame that seemed to scorch and shrivel 
 her soul. When the savages met her gaze, which was but seldom, 
 she imagined she saw intelligence, even pity, in their dusky eyes. 
 Certain it was she did not shrink from them as from Brandt. 
 
 Suddenly, with a sensation of relief and joy,lhe remembered 
 Mordaunf s terrible onslaught upon Brandt. Although she could 
 not recollect the termination of that furious struggle, she did re- 
 call Brandt's scream of mortal agony, and the death of the other 
 at Case's hands. This meant, whether Brandt was dead or not, 
 that the fighting strength of her captors had been diminished. 
 Surely as the sun had risen that morning, Helen beUeved Jona- 
 than and Wetzel lurked on the trail of these renegades. She 
 prayed that her courage, hope, strength, might be continued. 
 
l8o THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Ugh!" exclaimed one of the savages, pointing across the open 
 space. A sUght swaying of the bushes told that some living 
 thing was moving among them, and an instant later the huge 
 frame of the leader came into view. The other outlaw, and Case, 
 followed closely. Farther down the margin of the thicket the 
 Indians appeared; but without the slightest noise or disturbance 
 of the shrubbery. 
 
 It required but a glance to shovs? Helen that Case was in high 
 spirits. His repulsive face glowed with satisfaction. He carried 
 a bundle, which Helen saw, with a sickening sense of horror, 
 was ipade up of Mordaunt's clothing. Brandt had killed the 
 Englishman. Legget also had a package under his arm, which 
 he threw down when he reached the ellestnut tree, to draw from 
 his pocket a long, leather belt, such as travelers use for the 
 Carrying of valuables. It was evidently heavy, and the musical 
 clink which accompanied his motion proclaimed the contents 
 to be gold, ^ ' 
 
 Brandt appeared next; he was white and held his hand to his 
 breast. There were dark stains on his hunting coat, which he 
 rembved to expose a shirt blotched with red. 
 
 "You ain't much hurt, I reckon?" inquired Legget solicitously. 
 
 "No; but I'm bleeding bad," replied Brandt coolly. He then 
 called an Indian and went among 'the willows skirting the 
 stream. 
 
 "So I'm to be in this border ci;ew?" asked Case, looking up 
 at Legget. 
 
 "Sure," replied the big outlaw. "You're a handy fellar, Case, 
 an' after I break you into border ways you will fit in here tip- 
 top. Now you'd better stick by me. When Eb Zane, his brother 
 Jack, an' Wetzel find out this here day's work, hell will be a 
 cool place compared with their whereabouts. You'll be safe with 
 
THE LAST TRAIL l8l 
 
 me, an' this is the only place on the border, I reckon, where 
 you can say your life is your own." 
 
 "I'm yer mate, cap'n. I've sailed with soldiers, pirates, sailors, 
 an' I guess I can navigate this borderland. Do we mess here? 
 You didn't come far." 
 
 "Wal, I ain't pertikuler, but I don't like eatin' with buzzards," 
 said Legget, with a grin. "Thet's why we moved a bit." 
 
 "What's buzzards.?" 
 
 "Ho! ho! Mebbe you'll hev 'em closer'n you'd like, some day, 
 if you'd only know it. Buzzards are fine birds, most particular 
 birds, as won't eat nothin' but flesh, an' white man or Injun is 
 pie fer 'em." 
 
 "Cap'n, I've seed birds as wouldn't wait till a man was dead," 
 said Case. 
 
 "Haw! haw! you can't come no sailor yarns on this fellar. Wal, 
 now, we've got ther Englishman's gold. One or t'other of us 
 might jest as well hev it all." 
 
 "Right yer are, cap'n. Dice, cards, anyways, so long as I knows 
 the game." 
 
 "Here, Jenks, hand over yer clickers, an' bring us a flat stone," 
 said Legget, sitting on the moss and emptying the belt in front 
 of him. Case took a small bag from the dark blue jacket that had 
 so lately covered Mordaunt's shoulders, and poured out its 
 bright contents. 
 
 "This coat ain't worth keepin'," he said, holding it up. The 
 garment was rent and slashed, and under the left sleeve was a 
 small, blood-stained hole where one of Brandt's blows had fallen. 
 "Hullo, what's this?" muttered the sailor, feeling in the pocket 
 of the jacket. "Blast my timbers, hooray!" 
 
 He held up a small, silver-mounted whiskey flask, unscrewed 
 the lid, and lifted the vessel to his mouth: 
 
l82 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "I'm kinder thirsty myself," suggested Legget, 
 
 "Cap'n, a nip an' no more," Case replied, holding the flask 
 to Legget's lips. 
 
 The outlaw called Jenks now returned with a flat stone which 
 he placed between the two men. The Indians gathered around. 
 With greedy eyes they bent their heads over the gamblers, and 
 watched every movement with breathless interest. At each click 
 of the dice, or clink of gold, they uttered deep exclamations. 
 
 "Luck's again' ye, cap'n," said Case, skilfully shaking the 
 ivory cubes. 
 
 "Hain't I got eyes?" growled the outlaw. 
 
 Steadily his pile of gold diminished^ and darker grew his face. 
 
 "Cap'n, I'm a bad wind to draw," Case rejoined, drinking 
 again from the flask. His naturally red face had become livid, 
 his skin moist, and his eyes wild with excitement. 
 
 "Hullo! If them dice wasn't Jenks's, an' I hadn't played afore 
 with him, I'd swear they's loaded." 
 
 "You ain't insinuatin' no thin', cap'n?" inquired Case softly, 
 hesitating with the dice in his hands, his evil eyes glinting at 
 Legget. 
 
 "No, you're fair enough," growled the leader. "It's my tough 
 luck." 
 
 The game progressed with infrequent runs of fortune for 
 the outlaw, and presently every piece of gold lay in a shining 
 heap before the sailor. 
 
 "Clean bunted!" exclaimed Legget in disgust. 
 
 "Can't you" find nothin' more?" asked Case. 
 
 The outlaw's Jjold eyes wandered here and there until they 
 rested upon the prisoner. 
 
 "I'll play ther lass against yer pile of gold," he growled. "Best 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 183 
 
 two throws out 'en three. See here, she's as much mine as 
 Brandt's." 
 
 "Make it half my pile an' I'll go you." 
 
 "Nary time. Bet, or give me back what yer win," replied Leg- 
 get grufBy. 
 
 "She's a trim little craft, no mistake," said Case, critically sur- 
 veying Helen. "All right, cap'n, I've sportin' blood, an' I'll bet. 
 Yer throw first." 
 
 Legget won the first cast, and Case the second. With delibera- 
 tion the outlaw shook the dice in his huge fist, and rattled them 
 out upon the stone. "Hah!" he cried in delight. He h^d come- 
 within one of the highest score possible. Case nonchalantly 
 flipped the little white blocks. The Indians crowded forward, 
 their dusky eyes shining. 
 
 Legget swore in a terrible voice which re-echoed from the 
 stony cliff. The sailor was victorious. The outlaw got up, kicked 
 the stone and dice in the brook^ and walked away from the 
 group. He strode to and fro under one of the trees. GrufBy 
 he gave an order to the Indians. Several of them began at once 
 to kindle a fire. Presently he called Jenks, who was fishing the 
 dice out of the brook, and began ]to converse earnestly with him, 
 making fierce gestures and casting lowering glances at the sailor. 
 
 Case was too drunk now to see that he had incurred the en- 
 mity of the outlaw leader. He drank the last of the rum, and 
 tossed the silver flask to an Indian, who received the present 
 with every show of delight. 
 
 Case then, with the slow, uncertain movements of a man 
 whose mind is befogged, began to count his gold; but only to 
 gather up a few pieces when they slipped out of his trembling 
 hands to roll on the moss. Laboriously, seriously, he kept at it 
 with the doggedness of a drunken man. Apparently he had for- 
 
184 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 gotten the others. Failing to learn the value of the coins by tak- 
 ing up each in turn, he arranged them in seA'eral piles, and began 
 to estimate his wealth in sections. 
 
 In the meanwhile Helen, who had not failed to take in the 
 slightest detail of what was going on, saw that a plot was hatch- 
 ing which boded ill to the sailor. Moreover, she heard Legget 
 knd Jenks whispering. 
 
 "I kin take him from right here 'atwixt his eyes," said Jenks 
 softly, and tapped his rifle significantly. 
 
 "Wal, go ahead, only I ruther hev it done quieter," answered 
 Legget. "We're yet a long ways, near thirty miles, from my 
 camp, an' there's no tellin' who's in ther woods. But we've got 
 ter git rid of ther fresh sailor, an' there's no surer way." 
 
 Cautiously cocking his rifle, Jenks deliberately raised it to his 
 shoulder. One of the Indian sentinels who stood near at hand, 
 sprang forward and struck up the weapon. He spoke a single 
 word to Legget, pointed to the woods above the cliff, and then 
 resumed his statue-like attitude. 
 
 "I told yer, Jenks, that it wouldn't do. The redskin scents 
 somethin' in the woods, an' ther's an Injun I never seed fooled. 
 We mustn't make a noise. Take yer kriife an' tomahawk, crawl 
 down below the edge o' the bank an' slip up on him. I'll give 
 half ther gold fer ther job." 
 
 Jenks buckled his belt more tightly, gave one threatening 
 glance at the sailor, and slipped over the bank. The bed of the 
 brook lay about six feet below the level of the ground. This 
 afforded an opportunity for the outlaw to get behind Case 
 without being observed. A moment passed. Jenks disappeared 
 round a bend of the stream. Presently his grizzled head ap- 
 peared above the bank. He was immediately behind the sailor; 
 but still some thirty feet away. This ground must be covered 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 1 85 
 
 quickly and noiselessly. The outlaw began to crawl. In his right 
 hand he grasped a tomahawk, and between his teeth was a long 
 knife. He looked like a huge, yellow bear. 
 
 The savages, with the exception of the sentinel who seemed 
 absorbed in the dense thicket on the cHflE, sat with their knees 
 between their hands, watching the impending tragedy. 
 
 Nothing but the merest chance, or some extraordinary inter- 
 vention, could avert Case's doom. He was gloating over his 
 gold. The creeping outlaw made no more noise than a snake. 
 Nearer and nearer he came; his sweaty face shining in the sun; 
 his eyes tigerish; his long body slipping silently over the grass. 
 At length he was within five feet of the sailor. His knotty hands 
 were dug into the sward as he gathered energy for a sudden 
 spring. 
 
 At that very moment Case, with his hand on his knife, rose 
 quickly and turned round. 
 
 The outlaw, discovered in the act of leaping, had no alterna- 
 tive, and spring he did, like a panther. 
 
 The little sailor stepped out of hne with remarkable quick- 
 ness, and as the yellow body whirled past him, his knife flashed 
 blue-bright in the sunshine. 
 
 Jenks fell forward, his knife buried in the grass beneath him, 
 and his outstretched hand still holding the tomahawk. 
 
 "Tryin' ter double-cross me fer my gold," muttered the sailor, 
 sheathing his weapon. He never looked to see whether or no 
 his blow had been fatal. "These border fellars might think a 
 man as sails the seas can't handle a knife." He calmly began 
 gathering up his gold, evidently indifferent to further attack. 
 
 Helen saw Legget raise his own rifle, but only to have it 
 struck aside as had Jenks's. This time the savage whispered 
 earnestly to Legget, who called the other Indians around him. 
 
l86 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 The sentinel's low throaty tones mingled with the soft babbling 
 of the stream. No sooner had he ceased speaking than the effect 
 of his words showed how serious had been the information, 
 warning or advice. The Indians cast furtive glances toward the 
 woods. Two of them melted like shadows into the red and gold 
 thicket. Another stealthily slipped from tree to tree until he 
 reached the open ground, then dropped into the grass, and was 
 seen no more until his dark body rose under the cliff. He stole 
 along the green-stained wall, climbed a rugged corner, and van- 
 ished amid the dense foliage. 
 
 Helen felt that she was almost past discernment or thought. 
 The events of the day succeeding one another so swiftly, and 
 fraught with panic, had, despite her hope and fortitude, reduced 
 her to a helpless condition of piteous fear. She understood that 
 the savages scented danger, or had, in their mysterious way, re- 
 ceived intelligence such as rendered them wary and watchful. 
 
 "Come on, now, an' make no noise," said Legget to Case. 
 "Bring the girl, an' see that she steps light." 
 
 "Ay, ay, cap'n," replied the sailor. "Where's Brandt?" 
 
 "He'll be comin' soon's his cut stops bleedin'. I reckon he's 
 weak yet." 
 
 Case gathered up his goods, and, tucking it under his arm, 
 grasped Hehen's arm. She was leaning against the tree, and 
 when he pulled her, she wrenched herself free, rising with 
 difficulty. His disgusting touch and revolting face had revived 
 her sensibilities. 
 
 "Yer kin begin duty by carryin' thet," said Case, thrusting the 
 package into Helen's arms. She let it drop without moving a 
 hand. 
 
 "I'm runnin' this ship. Yer belong to me," -hissed Case, and 
 then he struck her on the head. Helen uttered a low cry of dis- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 1 87 
 
 is, and half staggered against the tree. The sailor picked up 
 package. This time she took it, trembling with horror. 
 
 Thet's right. Now, give ther cap'n a kiss," he leered, and 
 
 :led against her. 
 
 lelcn pushed him violently. With agonized eyes she appealed 
 
 :he Indians, They were engaged tying up their packs. Legget 
 
 ked on with a lazy grin. 
 
 Oh! oh!" breathed Helen as Case seized her again. She tried 
 
 scream, but could not make a sound. The evil eyes, the beastly 
 
 :, transfixed her with terror. 
 
 )ase struck her twice, then roughly pulled her toward him. 
 
 ialf-fainting, unable to move, Helen gazed at the heated, 
 
 ated face approaching hers. 
 
 Vhen his coarse lips were within a few inches of her lips 
 
 lething hot hissed across her brow. Following so closely as to 
 an accompaniment, rang out with singular clearness the 
 
 trp crack of a rifle. 
 
 >ase's face changed. The hot, surging flush faded; the expres- 
 
 n became shaded, dulled into vacant emptiness; his eyes 
 
 led wildly, then remained fixed, with a look of dark surprise, 
 stood upright an instant, swayed with the regular poise of 
 
 ailing oak, and then plunged backward to the ground. His 
 
 e, ghastly and livid, took on the awful calm of death. 
 
 K. very small hole, reddish-blue round the edges, dotted the 
 
 Iter of his temple. 
 
 ^ggec stared aghast at the dead sailor; then he possessed 
 
 nself of the bag of gold. 
 
 'Saved me ther trouble," he muttered, giving Case a kick. 
 
 rhe Indians glanced at the little figure, then out into the 
 
 ning thickets. Each savage sprang behind a tree with incred- 
 
l88 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 ible quickness. Legget saw this, and grasping Helen, he quickly 
 led her widijn cover of the chestnut. 
 
 Brandt appeared with his Indian companion, and both leaped 
 to shelter behind a clump of birches near where Legget stood. 
 Brandt's hawk eyes flashed upon the dead Jenks and Case. 
 Without asking a question he seemed to take in the situation. 
 He stepped over and grasped Helen by the arm. 
 
 "Who killed Case?" he asked in a whisper, staring at the little 
 blue hole in the sailor's temple. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 The two Indians who had gone into the woods to the right 
 of the stream, now returned. Hardly were they under the trees 
 with their party, when the savage who had gone off alone arose 
 out of the grass in the left of the brook, took it with a flying 
 leap, and darted into their midst. He was the sentinel who had 
 knocked up the weapons, thereby saving Case's life twice. He 
 was lithe and supple, but not young. His grave, shadowy-lined, 
 iron visage showed the traces of time and experience. All gazed 
 at him as at one whose wisdom was greater than theirs, 
 
 "Old Horse," said Brandt in English. "Haven't I seen bullet* 
 holes like this?" I 
 
 The Chippewa bent over Case, and then slowly straightened*, 
 his tall form, 
 
 "Deathwind!" he replied, answering in the white man's 
 language. 
 
 His Indian companions uttered low, plaintive murmurs, not 
 signifying fear so much as respect. 
 
 Brandt turned as pale as the clean birch-bark on the tree neat 
 him. The gray flare of his eyes gave out a terrible light of cer- 
 tainty and terror. 
 
 "Legget, you needn't try to hide your trail," he hissed, and it 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I09 
 
 seemed as if there was a bitter, reckless pleasure in these words. 
 Then the Chippewa glided into the low bushes bordering 
 the creek. Lcgget followed him, with Brandt leading Helen, 
 and the other Indians brought up the rear, each one sending 
 wild, savage glances into the dark, surrounding forest. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A DENSE white fog rose from the river, obscuring all objects, 
 when the bordermen rolled out of their snug bed of leaves. The 
 air was cool an<d bracing, faintly fragrant with dying foliage 
 and the damp, dewy luxuriance of the ripened season. Wetzel 
 pulled from under the protecting ledge a bundle of bark and 
 sticks he had put there to keep dry, and built a fire, while 
 Jonathan fashioned a cup from a green fruit resembling a gourd, 
 filling it at a spring near by. 
 
 "Lew, there's a frosty nip in the water this mornin'," said 
 Jonathan. 
 
 "I reckon. It's gettin' along into fall now. Any clear, still 
 night'll fetch all the leaves, an' strip the trees bare as burned 
 timber," answered Wetzel, brushing the ashes off the strip of 
 meat he had roasted. "Get a stick, an' help me cook the rest of 
 this chunk of bison. The sun'U be an hour breakin' up thet mist, 
 an' we can't clear out till then. Mebbe we won't have no chance 
 to light another fire soon." 
 
 With these bordermen everything pertaining to their lonely 
 lives, from the lighting of a fire to the trailing of a redskin, was 
 singularly serious. No gladsome song ever came from their lips; 
 
190 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 there was no jollity around their camp-fire. Hunters had their 
 moments of rapturous delight; bordermfen knew the peace, the 
 content of the wilderness, but their" pursuits racked nerve and 
 heart. Wetzel had his moments of frenzied joy, but they passed 
 with the echo of his vengeful yell. Jonathan's happiness, such as 
 it was, had been to roam the forests. That, before a woman's eyes 
 had dispelled it, had been enough, and compensated him for 
 the gloomy, bloody phantoms which haunted him. 
 
 The bordermen, having partaken of the frugal breakfast, 
 stowed in their spacious pockets all the meat that was left, and 
 were ready for the day's march. They sat silent for a time wait- 
 ing for the mist to lift. It broke in places, rolled in huge billows, 
 sailed aloft like great white clouds, and again hung tenaciously 
 to the river and the plain. Away in the west blue patches of sky 
 shone through the rifts, and eastward banks of misty vapor 
 reddened beneath the rising sun. Suddenly from beneath the 
 silver edge of the rising pall the sun burst gleaming gold, dis- 
 closing the winding valley with its steaming river. 
 
 "We'll make up stream fer Two Islands, an' cross there if so 
 be we've reason," Wetzel had said. 
 
 Through the dewy dells, avoiding the wet grass and bushes, 
 along the dark, damp glades with their yellow carpets, under 
 the thinning arches of the trees, down the gentle slopes of the 
 ridges, rich with green moss, the bordermen glided like gray 
 shadows. The forest was yet asleep. A squirrel frisked up an 
 oak and backed quarrelsomely at these strange, noiseless visitors. 
 A crow cawed, from somewhere overhead. These were the only 
 sounds disturbing the quiet early hour. 
 
 As the bordermen advanced the woods lightened and awoke 
 to life and joy. Birds sang, trilled, warbled, or whistled their 
 plaintive songs, pecuUar to the dying season, and in harmony 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 19I 
 
 with the glory of the earth. Birds that In earlier seasons would 
 have screeched and fought, now sang and fluttered side by side, 
 in fraternal parade on their slow pilgrimage to the far south. 
 
 "Bad time fer us, when the birds are so tame, an' chipper. 
 We can't put faith in them these days," said Wetzel. "Seems 
 like they never was wild. I can tell, 'cept at this season, by the 
 way they whistle an' act in the woods, if there's been any In- 
 juns along the trails." 
 
 The greater part of the morning passed thus with the border- 
 men steadily traversing the forest; here, through a spare and 
 gloomy wood, blasted by fire, worn by age, with many a de- 
 throned monarch of bygone times rotting to punk and duff 
 under the ferns, with many a dark, seamed and ragged king still 
 standing, but gray and bald of head and almost ready to take 
 his place in the forest of the past; there, through a maze of 
 young saplings where each ash, maple, hickory and oak added 
 some new and beautiful hue to the riot of color. 
 
 "I just had a glimpse of the lower island, as we passed an 
 opening in the thicket," said Jonathan. 
 
 "We ain't far away," replied Wetzel. 
 
 The bordermen walked less rapidly in order to proceed with 
 more watchfulness. Every rod or two they stopped to listen. 
 
 "You think Legget's across the river.'" asked Jonathan. 
 
 "He was two days back, an' had his gang with him. He's up 
 to some bad work, but I can't make out what. One thing, I 
 never seen his trail so near Fort Henry." 
 
 They emerged at length into a more open forest which skirted 
 the river. At a point still some distance ahead, but plainly in 
 sight, two small islands rose out of the water. 
 
 "Hist! What's that?" whispered Wetzel, slipping his hand ia 
 Jonathan's arm. 
 
192 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 A hundred yards beyond lay a long, dark figure stretched at 
 full length under one of the trees close to the bank. 
 
 "Looks like a man," said Jonathan. 
 
 "You've hit the mark. Take a good peep roun* now, Jack, fer 
 we're comin' somewhere near the trail we want." 
 
 Minutes passed while the patient bordermen searched the for- 
 est with their eyes, seeking out every tree within rifle range, or 
 surveyed the level glades, scrutinized the hollows, and bent 
 piercing eyes upon the patches of ferns. 
 
 "If there's a redskin around he ain't big enough to hold a 
 gun," said Wetzel, moving forward again, yet still with that 
 same stealthy step and keen caution. 
 
 Finally they were gazing down upon the object which had 
 attracted Wetzel's attention. 
 
 "Will Sheppard!" cried Jonathan. "Is he dead? What's this 
 mean?" 
 
 Wetzel leaned over the prostrate lad, and then quickly turned 
 to his companion. 
 
 "Get some water. Take his cap. No, he ain't even hurt bad, 
 unless he's got some wound as don't show." 
 
 Jonathan returned with the water, and Wetzel bathed the 
 bloody face. When the gash on Will's forehead was clean, it 
 told the bordermen much. 
 
 "Not an hoiur old, that blow," muttered Wetzel. 
 
 "He's comin' to," said Jonathan as Will stirred uneasily and 
 moaned. Presently the lad opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. 
 He looked bewildered for a moment, and felt of his head while 
 gazing vaguely at the bordermen. Suddenly he cried: 
 
 "I remember! We were captured, brought here, and I was 
 struck down by that villain Case." 
 
 "We? Who was with you?" asked Jonathan slowly. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I93 
 
 "Helen. ,We came after flowers and leaves. While in full sight 
 of the fort I saw an Indian. We hurried back," he cried, and 
 proceeded with broken, panting voice to tell his story. 
 
 Jonathan Zane leaped to his feet with face deathly white and 
 eyes blue-black, like burning stars. 
 
 "Jack, study the trail while I get the lad acrost the river, an' 
 steered fer home," said Wetzel, and then he asked Will if he 
 could swim. 
 
 "Yes; but you will find a canoe there in those willows." 
 
 "Come, lad, we've no time to spare," added Wetzel, sliding 
 down the bank and entering the willows. He came out almost 
 immediately with the canoe which he launched. 
 
 Will turned that he might make a parting appeal to Jonathan 
 to save Helen; but could not speak. The expression on the 
 borderman's face frightened him. 
 
 Motionless and erect Jonathan stood, his arms folded and his 
 white, stern face distorted with the agony of remorse, fear, and 
 anguish, which, even as Will gazed, froze into an awful, deadly 
 look of fateful purpose. 
 
 Wetzel pushed the canoe off, and paddled with powerfu' 
 strokes; he left Will on the opposite bank, and returned £< 
 swiftly as he could propel the light craft. 
 
 The bordermen met each other's glance, and had little need 
 of words. Wetzel's great shoulders began to sag slightly, and his 
 head lowered as his eyes sought the grass; a dark and gloomy 
 shade overcast his features. Thus he passed from borderman 
 to Deathwdnd. The sough of the wind overhead among the 
 almost naked branches might well have warned Indians and 
 renegades that Deathwind was on the trail! 
 
 "Brandt's had a hand in this, an' the Englishman's a fool!" 
 said Wetzel. 
 
194 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "An hour ahead; can we come up with them before they 
 join Brandt an' Legget?" 
 
 "We can try, but like as not we'll fail. Legget's gang is thir- 
 teen strong by now. I said it I Somethin' told me — a hard trail, 
 a long trail, an' our last trail." 
 
 "It's over thirty miles to Legget's camp. We know the woods, 
 an' every stream, an' every cover," hissed Jonathan Zane, 
 
 With no further words Wetzel took the trail on the run, and 
 so plain was it to his keen eyes that he did not relax his steady 
 lope except to stop and listen at regular intervals. Jonathan 
 followed with easy swing. Through forest and meadow, over 
 hill and valley, they ran, fleet and tireless. Once, with unerring 
 instinct, they abruptly left the broad trail and cut far across a 
 wide'^and rugged ridge to come again upon the tracks of the 
 marching band. Then, in open country they reduced their speed 
 to a walk. Ahead, in a narrow valley, rose a thicket of willows, 
 yellow in the sunlight, and impenetrable to human vision. Like 
 hujge snakes the bdrdermen crept into this copse, over the sand, 
 under the low branches, hard on the trail. Finally, in a light, 
 open space, where the sun shone through a network of yellow 
 branches and foliage, Wetzel's hand was laid upon Jonathan's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Listen! Hear thati" he whispered. 
 
 Jonathan heard the flapping of wings, and a low, hissing sound, 
 not unlike that made by a goose. 
 
 "Buzzards!" he said, with a dark, grim smile. "Mebbe Brandt 
 has begun our work. Come." 
 
 Out into the open they crawled to put to flight a flock of 
 huge black birds with grisly, naked necks, hooked beaks, and 
 long, yellow claws. Upon the green grass lay three half-naked 
 men, ghastly, bloody, in terribly limp ^nd lifeless positions. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I95 
 
 "Metzar's man Smith, Jenks, the outlaw, and Mordaunt!" 
 
 Jonathan Zane gazed darkly into the steely, sightless eyes o£ 
 the traitor. Death's awful calm had set the expression; but the 
 man's whole life was there, its better part sadly shining forth 
 among the cruel shadows. 
 
 His body was mutilated in a frightful manner. Cuts, stabs, 
 and slashes told the tale of a long encounter, brought to an end 
 by one clean stroke. 
 
 "Come here, Lew. You've seen men chopped up; but look at 
 this dead Englishman," called Zane. 
 
 Mordaunt lay weltering in a crimson tide. Strangely though, 
 his face was uninjured. A black bruise showed under his fair 
 hair. The ghost of a smile seemed to hover around his set lips, 
 yet almost intangible though it was, it showed that at last he 
 had died a man. His left shoulder, side and arm showed where 
 the brunt of Brandt's attack had fallen. 
 
 "How'd he ever fight so?" mused Jonathan. 
 
 "You never can tell," replied Wetzel. "Mebbe he killed this 
 other fellar, too; but I reckon not. Come, we must go slow now, 
 fer Legget is near at hand." 
 
 Jonathan brought huge, flat stones from the brook, and laid 
 them over Mordaunt; then, cautiously he left the glade on Wet- 
 zel's trail. 
 
 Five hundred yards farther on Wetzel had ceased following 
 the outlaw's tracks to cross the creek and climb a ridge. He was 
 beginning his favorite trick of making a wide detour. Jonathan 
 hurried forward, feeling he was safe from observation. Soon he 
 distinguished the tall, brown figure of his comrade gliding 
 ahead from tree to tree, from bush to bush. 
 
 "See them maples an' chestnuts down thar," said Wetzel 
 
196 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 wken Jonathan had conae up, pointing through an epening in 
 the foliage. "They've stopped ier some reason." 
 
 On through the forest the bordermen glided. They kept near 
 the summit of the ridge, under the best cover they could find, 
 and passed swiftly over this half-circle. When beginning once 
 more to draw toward the open grove in the valley, they saw a 
 long, irregular cliff, densely wooded. They swerved a little, and 
 made for this excellent covert. 
 
 They crawled the last hundred yards and never shook a fern, 
 moved a leaf, or broke a twig. Having reached the brink of the 
 low precipice, they saw the grassy meadow below, the straggling 
 trees, the brook, the group of Indians crowding round the white 
 men. 
 
 "See that point of rock thar? It's better cover," whispered 
 Wetzel. 
 
 Patiently, with no hurry or excitement, they slowly made their 
 difficult way among the rocks and ferns to the vantage point 
 desired. Taking a position like this was one the bordermen 
 strongly favored. They could see everywhere in front, and had 
 the thick woods at their backs. 
 
 "What are they up to?" whispered Jonathan, as he and Wet- 
 zel lay close together under a mass of grapevine still tenacious 
 of its broad leaves. 
 
 "Dicin'," answered Wetzel. "I can see 'em throw; anyways, 
 nothin' but bettin' ever makes redskins act like that." 
 
 "Who's playin'? Where's Brandt?" 
 
 "I can make out Legget; see his shaggy head. The other must 
 be Case. Brandt ain't in sight. Nursin' a hurt perhaps. Ah! See 
 thar! Over under the big tree as stands dark-like agin the 
 thicket. Thet's an Injun, an' he looks too quiet an' keen to suit 
 me. We'll have a care of him." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I97 
 
 "Must be playin' fer Mordaunt's gold." 
 
 "Like as not, for where'd them ruffians get any 'cept they stole 
 it." 
 
 "Aha! They're gettin' up I See Legget walk away shakin' his 
 big head. He's mad. Mebbe he'll be madder presently," growled 
 Jonathan. 
 
 "Case's left alone. He's countin' his winnin's. Jack, look out 
 fer more work took off our hands." 
 
 "By gum! See that Injun knock up a leveled rifle." 
 
 "I told you, an' thet redskin has his suspicions. He's seen us 
 down along ther ridge. There's Helen, sittin' behind the biggest 
 tree. Thet Injun guard, 'afore he moved, kept us from seein' 
 her." 
 
 Jonathan made no answer to this; but his breath literally 
 hissed through his clenched teeth. 
 
 "Thar goes the other outlaw," whispered Wetzel, as if his 
 comrade could not see. "It's all up with Case. See the sneak 
 bendin' down the bank. Now, thet's a poor way. It'd better be 
 done from the front, walkin' up natural-like, instead of tryin' 
 to cover thet wide stretch. Case'U see him or hear him sure. 
 Thar, he's up now, an' crawlin'. He's too slow, too slow. Aha! 
 I knew it — Case turns. Look at the outlaw spring! Well, did you 
 see thet little cuss whip his knife? One more less fer us to quiet. 
 Thet makes four. Jack, an' mebbe, soon, it'll be five." 
 
 "They're holdin' a council," said Jonathan. 
 
 "I see two Injuns sneakin' off into the woods, an' here comes 
 thet guard. He's a keen redskin, Jack, fer we did come light 
 through the brush. Mebbe it'd be well to stop his scoutin'." 
 
 "Lew, that villain Case is bullyin' Helen!" cried Jonathan. 
 
 "Sh-sh-h," whispered Wetzel, 
 
 "See! He's pulled her to her feet. Oh! He struck her! Oh!" 
 
198 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Jonathan leveled his rifle and would have fired, but for the 
 iron grasp on his wrist. 
 
 "Hev you lost yer senses? It's full two hundred paces, an' too 
 far fer your piece," said Wetzel in a whisper. "An' it ain't sense 
 to try from here." 
 
 "Lend me your gun! Lend me, your gunl" 
 
 Silently Wetzel handed him the long, black rifle. 
 
 Jonathan raised it, but trembled so violently that the barrel 
 wavered like a leaf in the breeze. 
 
 "Take it, I can't cover him," groaned Jonathan. "This is new 
 to me. I ain't myself. God! Lew, he struck her again! Againt 
 He's tryin' to kiss her! Wetzel, if you're my friend, kill him!" 
 
 "Jack, it'd be better to wait, an' " 
 
 "I love her," breathed Jonathan. 
 
 The long, black barrel swept up to a level and stopped. White 
 smoke belched from among the green leaves; the report rang 
 throughout the forest. 
 
 "Ah! I saw him stop an' pause," hissed Jonathan. "He stands, 
 he sways, he falls! Death for yours, you sailor-beast!" 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 The bordermen watched Legget and his band disappear into 
 the thicket adjoining the grove. When the last dark, lithe form 
 glided out of sight among the yellowing copse, Jonathan leaped 
 from the low clifl, and had hardly reached the ground before 
 Wetzel dashed down to the grassy turf. 
 Again they followed the outlaw's trail, darker-faced, fiercer- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL I99 
 
 visaged than ever, with cocked, tightly-gripped rifles thrust 
 well before them, and light feet that scarcely brushed the leaves. 
 
 Wetzel halted after- a long tramp up and down the ridges, 
 and surveyed with keen intent the lay of the ]and ahead. 
 
 "Sooner or later we'll hear from that redskin as discovered 
 us a ways back," whispered he. "I wish we might get a crack 
 at him afore he hinders us bad. I ain't seen many keener Injuns. 
 It's lucky we fixed ther arrow-shootin' Shawnee. We'd never 
 hev beat thet combination. An' fer all of thet I'm worrin' some 
 about the goin' ahead." 
 
 "Ambush?" Jonathan asked. 
 
 "Like as not. Legget'U send thet Injun back, an' mebbe more'n 
 him. Jack, see them little footprints.? They're Helen's. Look 
 how she's draggin' along. Almost tuckered out. Legget can't 
 travel many more miles to-day. He'll make a stand somewheres, 
 an' lose all his redskins afore he gives up the lass." 
 
 "I'll never live through to-night with her in that gang. She'll 
 be saved, or dead, before the stars pale in the light of the moon." 
 
 "I reckon we're nigh the end for some of us. It'll be moon- 
 light an hour arter dusk, an' now it's only the middle of the 
 arternoon; we've time enough fer any thin'. Now, Jack, let's not 
 tackle the trail straight. We'll split, an' go round to head 'em 
 off. See thet dead white oak standin' high-over thar?" 
 
 Jonathan looked out between the spreading branches of a 
 beech, and saw, far over a low meadow, luxuriant with grasses 
 and rushes and bright with sparkling ponds and streams, a 
 dense wood out of which towered a bare, bleached tree-top. 
 
 "You slip around along the right side of this meader, an' I'll 
 take the left side. Go slow, an' hev yer eyes open. We'll meet 
 under thet big dead tree. I allow we can see it from anywhere 
 around. We'll leave the trail here, an' take it up farther on. 
 
aOO THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 Legget's goin' straight for his camp; he ain't losin* an inch. 
 He wants to get in that rocky hole of his'n." 
 
 Wetzel stepped off the trail, glided into the woods, and van- 
 ished. 
 
 Jonathan turned to the right, traversed the summit of the 
 ridge, softly traveled down its slope, and, after crossing a slow, 
 eddying, quiet stream, gained the edge of the forest on that 
 side of the swamp- A fringe bf briars and prickly thorns bor- 
 dered this wood affording an excellent cover. On the right the 
 land rose rather abruptly. He saw that by walking up a few 
 paces he could command a view of the entire swamp, as well as 
 the ridge beyond, which contained Wetzel, and, probably, the 
 outlaw and his band. 
 
 Remembering his comrade's admonition, Jonathan curbed his 
 unusual impatience and moved slowly. The wind swayed the 
 tree-tops, and rustled the fallen leaves. Birds sang as if thinking 
 the warm, soft weather was summer come again. Squirrel? 
 dropped heavy nuts that cracked on the limbs, or fell with. a 
 thud to the ground, and they scampered over the dry earth, 
 scratching up the leaves as they barked and scolded. Crows 
 cawed clamorously after a hawk that had darted under the 
 tree-tops to escape them; deer loped swiftly up the hill, and a 
 lordly elk rose from a wallow in the grassy swamp, crashing 
 into the thicket. 
 
 When two-thirds around this oval plain, which was a mile 
 long and perhaps one-fourth as wide, Jonathan ascended the 
 hill to make a survey. The grass waved bright brown and golden 
 in the sunshine, swished in the wind, and swept like a choppy 
 sea to the opposite ridge. The hill was not densely wooded. 
 In many places the red-brown foliage opened upon irregular 
 patches, some black, as if having been burned over, others show- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 201 
 
 ing the yellow and purple colors of the low thickets and the 
 gray, barren stones. 
 
 Suddenly Jonathan saw something darken one of these sunlit 
 plots. It might have been a deer. He studied the rolling, rounded 
 tree-tops, the narrow strips between the black trunks, and the 
 open places that were clear in the sunshine. He had nearly come 
 to beheve he had seen a small animal or bird flit across the white 
 of the sky far in the background, when he distinctly saw dark 
 figures stealing along past a green-gray rock, only to disappear 
 under colored banks of foliage. Presently, lower down, they re- 
 appeared and crossed an open patch of yellow fern. Jonathan 
 counted them. Two were rather yellow in color, the hue of 
 buckskin; another, slight of stature as compared with the first, 
 and light gray by contrast. Then six black, slender, gliding forms 
 crossed the space. Jonathan then lost sight of them, and did not 
 get another glimpse. He knew them to be Legget and his band. 
 The slight figure was Helen. 
 
 Jonathan broke into a run, completed the circle around the 
 swamp, and slowed into a walk when approaching the big dead 
 tree where he was to wait for Wetzel. 
 
 Several rods beyond the lowland he came to a wood of white 
 oaks, all giants rugged and old, with scarcely a sapUng inter- 
 mingled with them. Although he could not see the objective point, 
 he knew from his accurate sense of distance that he was near it. 
 As he entered the wood he swept its whole length and width 
 with his eyes, he darted forward twenty paces to halt suddenly 
 behind a tree. He knew full well that a sharply moving object 
 was more difficult to see in the woods, than, one stationary. 
 Again he ran, fleet and light, a few paces ahead to take up a 
 position as before behind a tree. Thus he traversed the forest. 
 
202 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 On the other side he found the dead oak of which Wetzel had 
 spoken. 
 
 Its trunk was hollow. Jonathan squeezed himself into the 
 blackened space, with his head in a favorable position behind a 
 projecting knot, where he could see what might occur near at 
 hand. 
 
 He waited for what seemed to him a long while, during which 
 he neither saw nor heard anything, and then, suddenly, the 
 report of a rifle rang out. A single, piercing scream followed. 
 Hardly had the echo ceased when three hollow reports, dis- 
 tinctly different in tone from the first, could be heard from 
 the same direction. In quick succession short, fierce yells at- 
 tended rather than succeeded, the reports. 
 
 Jonathan stepped out of the hiding-place, cocked his rifle, and 
 fixed a sharp eye on the ridge before him whence those startling 
 cries had come. The first rifle-shot, unlike any other in its short, 
 spiteful, stinging quality, was unmistakably Wetzel's. Zane 
 had heard it, followed many times, as now, by the wild death- 
 cry of a savage. The other reports were of Indian guns, and the 
 yells were the clamoring, exultant cries of Indians in pursuit. 
 
 Far down where the open forest met the gloom of the thickets, 
 a brown figure flashed across the yellow ground. Darting among 
 the trees, across the glades, it moved so swiftly that Jonathan 
 knew it was Wetzel, In another instant a chorus of yelps re- 
 sounded from the foliage, and three savages burst through the 
 thicket almost at right angles with the fleeing borderman, 
 running to intercept him. The borderman did not swerve from 
 his course; but came on straight toward the dead tree, with 
 the wonderful fleetness that so often had served him well. 
 
 Even in that moment Jonathan thought of what desperate 
 chances his comrade had taken. The trick was plain. Wetzel 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 203 
 
 had, most likely, shot the dangerous scout, and, taking to his 
 heels, raced past the others, trusting to his speed and their poor 
 marksmanship to escape with a whole skin. 
 
 When within a hundred yards of the oak Wetzel's strength 
 apparently gave out. His speed deserted him; he ran awk- 
 wardly, and limped. The savages burst out into full cry like a 
 pack of hungry wolves. They had already emptied their rifles 
 at him, and now, supposing one of the shots had taken effect, 
 redoubled their efforts, making the forest ring with their short, 
 savage yells. One gaunt, dark-bodied Indian with a long, power- 
 ful, springy stride easily distanced his companions, and, evi- 
 dently sure of gaining the coveted scalp of the borderman, 
 rapidly closed the gap between them as he swung aloft his 
 tomahawk, yelling the war-cry. 
 
 The sight on Jonathan's rifle had several times covered this 
 savage's dark face; but when he was about to press the trigger 
 Wetzel's y fleeting form, also in line with the savage, made it 
 extremely hazardous to take a shot. 
 
 Jonathan stepped from his place of concealment, and let out 
 a yell that pealed high over the cries of the savages. 
 
 Wetzel suddenly dropped flat on the ground. 
 
 With a whipping crack of Jonathan's rifle, the big Indian 
 plunged forward on his face. 
 
 The other Indians, not fifty yards away, stopped aghast at 
 the fate of their comrade, and were about to seek the shelter 
 of trees when, with his terrible yell, Wetzel sprang up and 
 charged upon them. He had left his rifle where he fell; but his 
 tomahawk glittered as he ran. The lameness had been a trick, 
 for now he covered ground with a swiftness which caused his 
 former progress to seem slow. 
 
 The Indians, matured and seasoned warriors though they 
 
204 1^^ LAST TRAIL 
 
 were, gave but one glance at this huge, brown figure bearing 
 down upon them Hke a fiend, and, uttering the Indian name of 
 Deathwind, wavered, broke and ran. 
 
 One, not so fleet as his companion, Wetzel overtook and cut 
 down with a single stroke. The other gained an hundred-yard 
 start in the slight interval of Wetzel's attack, and, spurred on 
 by a pealing, awful cry in the rear, sped swiftly in and out 
 among the trees until he was lost to view. 
 
 Wetzel scalped the two dead savages, and, after returning to 
 regain his rifle, joined Jonathan at the dead oak. 
 
 "Jack, you can never tell how things is comin' out. Thet red- 
 skin I allowed might worry us a bit, fooled me as slick as you 
 ever saw, an' I hed to shoot him. Knowin' it was a case of 
 runnin', I just cut fer this oak, drew the redskins' fire, an' hed 
 'em arter me quicker 'n you'd say Jack Robinson. I was hopin' 
 you'd be here; but wasn't sure till I'd seen your rifle. Then I 
 kinder got a kink in my leg jest to coax the brutes on." 
 
 "Three more quiet," said Jonathan Zane. "What now.'"' 
 
 "We've headed Legget, an' we'll keep nosin' him off his course. 
 Already he's lookin' fer a safe campin' place for the night." 
 
 "There is none in these woods, fer him." 
 
 "We didn't plan this gettin' between him an' his camp; but 
 couldn't be better fixed. A mile farther along the ridge, is a 
 campin' place, with a spring in a little dell close under a big 
 stone, an' well wooded. Legget's headin' straight fer it. With 
 a couple of Injuns guardin' thet spot, he'll think he's safe. But 
 I know the place, an' can crawl to thet rock the darkest night 
 thet ever was an' never crack a stick." 
 
 In the gray of the deepening twilight Jonathan Zane sat alone. 
 An owl hooted dismally in the dark woods beyond the thicket 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 20$ 
 
 where the borderman crouched waiting for Wetzel. His listen- 
 ing ear detected a soft, rustling sound like the play o£ a mole 
 under the leaves. A branch trembled and swung back; a soft 
 footstep followed and Wetzel came into the retreat. 
 
 "Well?" asked Jonathan impatiently, as Wetzel deliberately 
 sat down and laid his rifle across his knees. 
 
 "Easy, Jack, easy. We've an hour to wait." 
 
 "The time I've already waited has been long for me." 
 
 "They're thar," said Wetzel grimly. 
 
 "How far from here?" 
 
 "A half-hour's slow crawl." 
 
 "Close by?" hissed Jonathan. 
 
 "Too near fer you to get excited." 
 
 "Let us go; it's as light now as in the gray of morninV 
 
 "Mornin' would be best. Injuns get sleepy along towards day. 
 I've ever found thet time the best. But we'll be lucky if we ketch 
 these redskins asleep." 
 
 "Lew, I can't wait here all night. I won't leave her longer 
 with that renegade. I've got to free or kill her." 
 
 "Most likely it'll be the last," said Wetzel simply. 
 
 "Well, so be it then," and the borderman hung his head. 
 
 "You needn't worry none, 'bout Helen. I jest had a good look 
 at her, not half an hour back. She's fagged out; but full of spunk 
 yet. I seen thet when Brandt went near her. Legget's got his 
 hands full jest now with the redskins. He's hevin' trouble 
 keepin' them on this slow trail. I ain't say in' they're skeered; 
 but they're mighty restless." 
 
 "Will you take the chance now?" 
 
 "I reckon you needn't hev asked thet." 
 
 "Tell me the lay of the land." 
 
 "Wal, if we get to this rock I spoke 'bout, we'll be right over 
 
206 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 'em. It's ten feet high, an' we can jump straight amongst 'em. 
 Most likely two or three'U be guardin' the openin' which is a 
 little ways to the right. Ther's a big tree, the only one, low 
 down by the spring. Helen's under it, half-si)ttin', half-leanin' 
 against the roots. When I first looked, her hands were free; but 
 I saw Brandt bind her feet. An' he had to get an Injun to help 
 him, fer she kicked like a spirited little filly. There's moss under 
 the tree an' there's where the redskins'll lay down to rest." 
 
 "I've got that; now out with your plan." 
 
 "Wal, I calkilate it's this. The moon'U be up in about an 
 hour. We'll crawl as we've never crawled afore, because Helen's 
 life depends as much on our not makin' a noise, as it does on 
 fightin' when the time comes. If they hear us afore we're ready 
 to shoot, the lass'll be tomahawked quicker'n lightnin'. If they 
 don't suspicion us, when the right moment comes you shoot 
 Brandt, yell louder'n you ever did afore, leap amongst 'em, an' 
 cut down the first Injun thet's near you on your way to Helen. 
 Swing her over your arm, an' dig into the woods." 
 
 "Well?" asked Jonathan when Wetzel finished. 
 
 "That's all," the borderman replied grimly. 
 
 "An' leave you all alone to fight Legget an' the rest of 'em.?" 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Not to be thought of." 
 
 "Ther's no other way." 
 
 "There must be! Let me think; I can't, I'm not myself." 
 
 "No other way," repeated Wetzel curtly. 
 
 Jonathan's broad hand fastened on Wetzel's shoulder and 
 wheeled him around. 
 
 "Have I ever left you alone.''" 
 
 "This's different," and Wetzel turned away again. His voice 
 was cold and hard. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 207 
 
 "How is it different? We've had the same thing to do, almost, 
 more than once." 
 
 "We've never had as bad a bunch to handle as Leggct's. 
 They're lookin' fer us, an' will be hard to beat," 
 
 "That's no reason." 
 
 "We never had to save a girl one of us loved." 
 
 Jonathan was silent. 
 
 "I said this'd be my last trail," continued Wetzel. "I felt it, 
 an' I know it'll be yours." 
 
 "Why.?" ^ 
 
 "If you get away with the girl she'll keep y»u at home, an' 
 it'll be well. If you don't succeed, you'll die tryin*, so it's sure 
 your last trail." 
 
 Wetzel's deep, cold voice rang with truth. 
 
 "Lew, I can't run away an' leave you to fight those devils 
 alone, after all these years we've been together, I can't." 
 
 "No other chance to save the lass." 
 
 Jonathan quivered with the force of his emotion. His black 
 eyes glittered; his hands grasped at nothing. Once more he was 
 between love and duty. Again he fought over the old battle, 
 but this time it left him weak. 
 
 "You love the big-eyed lass, don't you?" askeit Wetzel, turn- 
 ing with softened face and voice. 
 
 "I have gone mad!" cried Jonathan, tortured by the simple 
 question of his friend. Those big, dear, wonderful eyes he loved 
 so well, looked at him now from the gloom of the thicket. The 
 old, beautiful, soft glow, the tender light, was there, and more, 
 a beseeching prayer to save her. 
 
 Jonathan bowed his head, ashamed to let his friend'see the 
 tears that dimmed his eyes. 
 
 "Jack, we've follered the trail fer years together. Always you've 
 
208 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 been true an' staunch. This is our last, but whatever bides we'll 
 break up Legget's band to-night, an' the border'U be cleared, 
 mebbe, for always. At least his race is run. Let thet content you. 
 Our time'd have to come, sooner or later, so why not now? 
 I know how it is, that you want to stick by me; but the lass 
 draws you to her. I understand, an' want you to save her. Mebbe 
 you never dreamed it; but I can tell jest how you feel. All the 
 tremblin', an' softness, an' sweetness, an' delight you've got for 
 thet girl, is no mystery to Lew Wetzel." 
 
 "You loved a lass?" 
 
 Wetzel bowed his head, as perhaps he had never before in all 
 his life. 
 
 "Betty — always," he answered softly. 
 
 "My sister!" exclaimed Jonathan, and then his hand closed 
 hard on his comrade's, his mind going back to many things, 
 strange in tke past, but now explained. Wetzel had revealed 
 his secret. 
 
 "An' it's becH all my life, since she wasn't higher 'n my knee. 
 There was a time when I might hev been closer to you than I 
 am now. But I was a mad an' bloody Injun hater, so I never let 
 her know till I seen it was too late. Wal, wal, no more of me. I 
 only told it fer you." 
 
 Jonathan was silent. 
 
 "An' now to come back where we left off," continued Wetzel. 
 "Let's take a more hopeful look at this comin' fight. Sure I said 
 it was my last trail, but mebbe it's not. You can never tell. 
 Feelin' as we do, I iniagine they've no odds on us. Never in 
 my life did I say to you, least of all to any one else, what Iwas 
 goin' to do; but I'll tell it now. If I land uninjured amongst thet 
 bunch, I'll kiU them all." 
 
 The giant borderman's low voice hissed, and stung. His eyes 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 209 
 
 ^'littered with unearthly fire. His face was cold and gray. He 
 spread out his brawny arms and clenched his huge fists, mak- 
 ing the muscles of his broad shoulders roll and bulge. 
 
 "I hate the thought, Lew, I hate the thought. Ain't there no 
 other way.?" 
 
 "No other way." 
 
 "I'll do it, Lew, because I'd do the same for you; because I 
 have to, because I love her; but God! it hurts." 
 
 "Thct's right," answered Wetzel, his deep voice softening ' 
 until it was singularly low and rich. "I'm glad you've come to it. 
 An' sure it hurts. I want you to feel so at leavin' me to go it 
 alone. If we both get out alive, I'll come many times to see you 
 an' Helen. If you Hve an' I don't, think of me sometimes, think 
 of the trails we've crossed together. When the fall comes with 
 its soft, cool air, an' smoky mornin's an' starry nights, when 
 the wind's sad among the bare branches, an' the leaves drop 
 down, remember ■ they're fallin' on my grave." 
 
 Twilight darkened into gloom; the red tinge in the west 
 changed to opal light; through the trees over a dark ridge a 
 rim of silver glinted and moved. 
 
 The moon had risen; the hour was come. 
 
 The bordermen tightened their belts, replaced their leggings, 
 tied their hunting coats, loosened their hatchets, looked to the 
 priming of their rifles, and were ready. 
 
 Wetzel walked twenty paces and turned. His face was white 
 in the moonlight; his dark eyes softened into a look of love 
 as he gripped his comrade's outstretched hand. 
 
 Then he dropped flat on the ground, carefully saw to the 
 position of his rifle, and began to creep. Jonathan kept close 
 at his heels. 
 
 Slowly but steadily they crawled, minute after minute. The 
 
210 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 hazel-nut bushes above them had not yet shed their leaves; 
 the ground was clean and hard, and the course fatefully perfect 
 for their deadly purpose. 
 
 A slight rustling of their buckskin garments sounded like the 
 rustling of leaves in a faint breeze. 
 
 The moon came out above the trees and still Wetzel advanced 
 softly, steadily, surely. 
 
 The owl, lonely sentinel of that wood, hooted dismally. Even 
 his night eyes, which made the darkness seem clear as day, 
 missed those gliding figures. Even he, sure guardian of the 
 wilderness, failed the savages. 
 
 Jonathan felt soft moss beneath him; he was now in the woods 
 under the trees. The thicket had been passed. 
 
 Wetzel's moccasin pressed softly against Jonathan's head. The 
 first signal! 
 
 Jonathan crawled forward, and slightly raised himself. 
 
 He was on a rock. The trees were thick and gloomy. Below, 
 the little hollow was almost in the wan moonbeams. Dark 
 figures lay close together. Two savages paced noiselessly to and 
 fro. A slight form rolled in a blanket lay against a tree. 
 
 Jonathan felt his arm gently squeezed. 
 
 -The second signal! 
 
 Slowly he thrust forward his rifle, and raised it 'in unison 
 with Wetzel's. Slowly he rose to his feet as if the same muscles 
 guided them both. 
 
 Over his head a twig snapped. In the darkness he had not 
 seen a low branch. 
 
 The Indian guards stopped suddenly, and became motionless 
 as stone. 
 
 They had heard; but too late. 
 
 With the blended roar of the rifles both dropped, lifeless. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 211 
 
 Almost under the spouting flame and white cloud or smoke, 
 Jonathan leaped behind Wetzel, over the bank. His yells were 
 mingled with Wetzel's vengeful cry. Like leaping shadows the 
 bordermen were upon their foes. 
 
 An Indian sprang up, raised a weapon, and fell beneath 
 Jonathan's savage blow, to rise no more. Over his prostrate 
 body the borderman bounded. A dark, nimble form darted 
 upon the captive. He swung high a blade that shone like silver 
 in the moonlight. His shrill war-cry of death rang out with 
 Helen's scream of despair. Even as he swung back her head 
 with one hand in her long hair, his arm descended; but it fell 
 upon the borderman's body. Jonathan and the Indian rolled 
 upon the moss. There was a terrific struggle, a whirling blade, 
 a dull blow which silenced the. yell, and the borderman rose 
 alone. 
 
 He lifted Helen as if she were a child, leaped the brook, and 
 plunged into the thicket. 
 
 The noise of the fearful conflict he left behind, swelled high 
 and hideously on the night air. Above the shrill cries of the 
 Indians, and the furious yells of Legget, rose the mad, booming 
 roar of Wetzel. No rifle cracked; but sodden blows, the clash 
 of steel, the threshing of struggling men, told of the dreadful 
 strife. 
 
 Jonathan gained the woods, sped through the moonlit glades, 
 and far on under light and shadow. 
 
 The shrill cries ceased; only the hoarse yells and the mad roar 
 could be heard. Gradually these also died away, and the forest 
 was still. 
 
212 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 NfixT MORNING, whcii the mist was breaking and rolling away 
 under the warm rays of the Indian-summer sun, Jonathan Zane 
 beached his. canoe on the steep bank before Fort Henry. A pio- 
 neer, attracted by the borderman's halloo, ran to the bluff and 
 sounded the alarm with shrill whoops, Amonj; the hurrying, 
 brown-clad figures that answered this summons, was Colonel 
 Zane. 
 
 "It's Jack, kurnel, an' he's got her!" cried one. 
 
 The doughty colonel gained the bluff to see his brother 
 climbing the bank with a white-faced girl in his arms. 
 
 "Well?" he asked, looking darkly at Jonathan. Nothing 
 kindly or genial was visible in his manner now; rather grim and 
 forbidding he seemed, thus showing he had the same blood in, 
 his veins as the borderman. 
 
 "Lend a hand," said Jonathan. "As far as I know she's not 
 hurt." 
 
 They carried Helen toward Colonel Zane's cabin. Many 
 women of the settlement saw them as they passed, and looked 
 gravely at one another, but none spoke. This return of an ab- 
 ducted girl was by no means a strange event. 
 
 "Somebody run for Sheppard," ordered Colonel Zane, as they 
 entered his cabin. 
 
 Betty, who was in the sitting-room, sprang up and cried: "Oht 
 Eb! Ebl Don't say she's " 
 
 "No, no, Betts, she's all right. Where's my wife? Ah! BesSy 
 here, get to work." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 21 3 
 
 The colonel left Helen in the tender, skilful hands of his wife 
 and sister, and followed Jonathan into the kitchen. 
 
 "I was just ready for breakfast when I heard some one yell," 
 said he. "Come, Jack, eat something." 
 
 They ate in silence. From the sitting-room came excited 
 whispers, a joyous cry from Betty, and a faint voice. Then heavy, 
 hurrying footsteps, followed by Sheppard's words of thanks- 
 giving. 
 
 "Where's Wetzel?" began Colonel Zane. 
 
 The borderman shook his head gloomily. 
 
 "Where did you leave him?" 
 
 "We jumped Legget's bunch last night, when the moon was 
 about an hour high. I reckon about fifteen miles northeast. I 
 got away with the lass." 
 
 "Ah! Left Lew fighting?" 
 
 The borderman answered the question with bowed head. 
 
 "You got off well. Not a hurt that I can see, and more than 
 lucky to save Helen. Well, Jack, what do you think about Lew?" 
 
 "I'm goin' back," replied Jonathan. 
 
 "No! no!" 
 
 The door opened to admit Mrs. Zane. She looked bright and 
 cheerful. "Hello, Jack; glad you're home. Helen's all right, only 
 faint from hunger and over-exertion. I want something for her 
 to eat — well! you men didn't leave much." 
 
 Colonel Zane went into the sitting-room. Sheppard sat beside 
 the couch where Helen lay, white and wan. Betty and Nell were 
 looking on with their hearts in their eyes. Silas Zane was there, 
 and his wife, with several women neighbors. 
 
 "Betty, go fetch Jack in here," whispered the colonel in his 
 sister's ear. "Drag him, if you have to," he added fiercely. 
 
 The young woman left the room, to reappear clirectly with 
 her brother. He came in reluctantly. 
 
214 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 As the stern-faced borderman crossed the threshold a smilcj 
 beautiful to see, dawned in Helen's eyes. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you're comin' round," said Jonathan, but he 
 spoke dully as if his mind was on other things. 
 
 "She's a little flighty; but a night's sleep will cure that," cried 
 Mrs. Zane from the kitchen. 
 
 "What. do you think?" interrupted the colonel. "Jack's not 
 satisfied to get back with Helen unharmed, and a whole skin 
 himself; but he's going on the trail again." 
 
 "No, Jack, no, nol" cried Betty. 
 
 "What's that I hear?" asked Mrs. Zane as she came in. "Jack's 
 going out again? Well, all I want to say is that he's as mad as 
 a March hare." 
 
 "Jonathan, look here," said Silas seriously. "Can't you stay 
 home now?" 
 
 "Jack, listen," whispered Betty, going close to him. "Not 
 one of us ever expected to see either you or Helen again, and 
 ohi we are so happy. Do not go away again. You are a man; you 
 do not know, you cannot understand all a woman feels. She 
 must sit and wait, and hope, and pray for the safe return of 
 husband or brother or sweetheart. The long days! Oh,,'the long 
 sleepless nights, with the wail of the wind in the pines, and the 
 rain on the roof! It is maddening. Do not leave us! Do not 
 leave me! Do not leave Helen! Say you will not. Jack." 
 
 To these entreaties the borderman remained silent. He stood 
 leaning on his rifle, a tall, dark, strangely sad and stern man. 
 
 "Helen, beg him to stay!" implored Betty. 
 
 Colonel Zane took Helen's hand, and stroked it. "Yes," he 
 said, "you ask him, lass. I'm sure you can persuade him to stay." 
 
 Helen raised her head. "Is Brandt dead?" she whispered 
 faintly. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 215 
 
 Still the borderman failed to speak, but his silence was not 
 an affirmative. 
 
 "You said you loved me," she cried wildly. "You said you 
 loved me, yet you didn't kill that monster!" 
 
 The borderman, moving quickly like a startled Indian, went 
 out of the door. 
 
 Once more Jonathan Zane entered the gloomy, quiet aisles 
 of the forest with his soft, tireless tread hardly stirring the leaves. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he had long left Two Islands 
 behind, and arrived at the scene of Mordaunt's death. Satisfied 
 with the distance he had traversed, he crawled into a thicket to 
 rest. 
 
 Daybreak found him again on the trail. He made a short cut 
 over the ridges and by the time the mist had lifted from the 
 valley he was within stalking distance of the glade. He ap- 
 proached this in the familiar, slow, cautious manner, and halted 
 behind the big rock from which he and Wetzel had leaped. The 
 wood was solemnly quiet. No twittering of birds could be heard. 
 The only sign of life was a gaunt timber-wolf slinking away 
 amid the foliage. Under the big tree the savage who had been 
 killed as he would have murdered Helen, lay a crumpled mass 
 where he had fallen. Two dead Indians were in the center of 
 the glade, and on the other side were three more bloody, life- 
 less forms. Wetzel was not there, nor Legget, nor Brandt. 
 
 "I reckoned so," muttered Jonathan as he studied the scene. 
 The grass had been trampled, the trees barked, the bushes 
 crushed aside. 
 
 Jonathan went out of the glade a short distance, and, circling 
 it, began to look for Wetzel's trail. He found it, and near the 
 light footprints of his comrade were the great, broad moccasin 
 
2l6 ' THE LAST THRAIL 
 
 tracks o£ the outlaw. Further searching disclosed the fact that 
 Brandt must have traveled in line with the others. 
 
 With the certainty that Wetzel had killed three of the In- 
 dians, and, in some wonderful manner characteristic of hiiji, 
 routed the outlaws of whom he was now in pursuit, Jonathan's 
 smoldering emotion burst forth into full flame. Love for his 
 old comrade, deadly hatred of the outlaws, and passionate 
 thirst for their blood, rioted in his heart. 
 
 Like a lynx scenting its quarry, the borderman started on the 
 trail, tireless and unswervable. The traces left by the fleeing out- 
 laws and their pursuer were plain to Jonathan. It was not 
 necessary for him to stop. Legget and Brandt, seeking to escape 
 the implacable Nemesis, were traveling with all possible speed, 
 regardless of the broad trail such hurried hiovemehts left be- 
 hind. They knew full well it would be difficult to throw this 
 wolf off the scent; understood that if any attempt was made to 
 ambush the trail, they must cope with woodcraft keener than 
 an Indian's. Flying in desperation, they hoped to reach the rocky 
 retreat, where, like foxes in their burrows, they believed them- 
 selves safe. 
 
 When the sun sloped low toward the western horizon, length- 
 ening Jonathan's shadow, he slackened pace. He was entering 
 the rocky, rugged country which marked the approach to the 
 distant Alleghcnies. From the top of a ridge he took his bear- 
 ings, deciding that he was within a few miles of Legget's hid- 
 , ing-place. 
 
 At the foot of this ridge, where a murmuring brook sped 
 softly over its bed, he halted. Here a number of horses had 
 forded the brook. They were iron-shod, which indicated almost 
 to a certainty, that they were stolen horses, and in the hands of 
 Indians. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL IVJ 
 
 Jonathan saw where the trail of the steeds was merged into 
 that of the outlaws. He suspected that the Indians and Leggct 
 had held a short council. As he advanced the borderman found 
 only the faintest impression of Wetzel's trail. Legget and 
 Brandt no longer left any token of their course. They were rid- 
 ing the horses. 
 
 All the borderman cared to know was if Wetzel still pursued. 
 He passed on swiftly up a hill, through a wood of birches where 
 the trail showed on a line of broken ferns, then out upon a low 
 ridge where patches of grass grew sparsely. Here he saw in this 
 last ground no indication of his comrade's trail; nothing was to 
 be seen save the imprints of the horses' hoofs. Jonathan halted 
 behind the nearest underbrush. This sudden move on the part 
 of Wetzel was token that, suspecting an ambush, he had made 
 a detour somewhere, probably in the grove of birches. 
 
 All the while his eyes searched the long, barren reach ahead. 
 No thicket, fallen tree, or spHntered rocks, such as Indians 
 utilized for an ambush, could be seen. Indians always sought 
 the densely matted underbrush, a windfall, or rocky retreat 
 and there awaited a pursuer. It was one of the borderman's 
 tricks of woodcraft that he could recognize such places. 
 
 Far beyond the sandy ridge Jonathan came to a sloping, 
 wooded hillside, upon which were scattered big rocks, some 
 mossy and lichen-covered, and one, a giant boulder, with a 
 crown of ferns and laurel gracing its flat surface. It was such a 
 place as the savages would select for ambush. He knew, how- 
 ever, that if an Indian had hidden himself there Wetzel would 
 have discovered him. When opposite the rock Jonathan saw a 
 broken fern hanging over the edge. The heavy trail of the 
 horses ran close beside it. 
 
 Then with that thoroughness of search which made the 
 
2l8 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 bordertnan what he was, Jonathan leaped upon the rock. There, 
 lying in the midst of the ferns, lay an Indian with sullen, som- 
 ber face set in the repose of death. In his side was a small bullet 
 hole. 
 
 Jonathan examined the savage's rifle. It had been discharged. 
 The rock, the broken fern, the dead Indian, the discharged 
 rifle, told the story of that woodland tragedy. * 
 
 Wetzel had discovered the ambush. Leaving the trail, he had 
 tricked the redskin into firing, then getting a, glimpse of the 
 Indian's red body through the sights of his fatal weapon, the 
 deed was done. 
 
 With greater caution Jonathan advanced once more. Not far 
 beyond the rock he found Wetzel's trail. The afternoon was 
 drawing to a close. He could not travel much farther, yet he 
 kept on, hoping to overtake his comrade before darkness set in. 
 From time to time he whistled; but got no answering signal. 
 
 When the tracks of the horses were nearly hidden by the 
 gathering dusk, Jonathan decided to halt for the night. He 
 whistled one more note, louder and clearer, and awaited the re- 
 sult with strained ears. The deep silence of the wilderness pre- 
 vailed, suddenly to be broken by a faint, far-away, melancholy 
 call of the hermit-thrush. It was the answering signal the bor- 
 derman had hoped to hear. 
 
 Not many moments elapsed before he heard another call, low, 
 and near at hand, to which he replied. The bushes parted noise- 
 lessly on his left, and the tall form of Wetzel appeared silently' 
 out of the gloom. 
 
 The two gripped hands in silence. 
 
 "Hev you any meat.''" Wetzel asked, and as Jonathan handed 
 him his knapsack, he continued, "I was kinder lookin' fcr you. 
 Did you get out all right with the lass?" 
 
THE LAST TRAIL Zip 
 
 "Nary a scratch." 
 
 The giant borderman grunted his satisfaction. 
 
 "How'd Legget and Brandt get away?" asked Jonathan. 
 
 "Cut an' run Hke scared bucks. Never got a hand on either of 
 'em." 
 
 "How many redskins did they meet back here a spell?" 
 
 "They was seven; but now .there are only six, an' all snug in 
 Legget's place by this time." 
 
 "I reckon we're near his den." 
 
 "We're not far off." 
 
 Night soon closing down upon the bordermen found them 
 wrapped in slumber, as if no deadly foes were near at hand. 
 The soft night wind sighed dismally among the bare trees. A 
 few bright stars twinkled overhead. In the darkness of the for- 
 est the bordermen were at home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 In Legget's rude log cabin a fire burned low, lightening the 
 forms of the two border outlaws, and showing in the back- 
 ground the dark forms of Indians sitting motionless on the 
 floor. Their dusky eyes emitted a baleful glint, seemingly a re- 
 flection of their savage souls caught by the firelight. Legget wore 
 a look of ferocity and sullen fear strangely blended. Brandt's 
 face was hard and haggard, his lips set, his gray eyes smolder- 
 ing. 
 
 "Safe?" he hissed. "Safe you say? You'll see that it's the same 
 now as on the other night, when those border-tigers jumped us 
 
220 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 and we ran like cowards. I'd have fought it out here, but for 
 you." 
 
 "Thet man Wetzel is ravin' mad, I tell you," growled Legget. 
 "I reckon I've stood my ground enough to. know I ain't no 
 coward. But this fellar's crazy. He hed the Injuns slashin' each 
 other like a pack of wolves round a buck." 
 
 "He's no more mad than you or I," declared Brandt. "I know 
 all about him. His moaning in the woods, and wdld yells are 
 only tricks. He knows the Indian nature, and he makes their 
 very superstition and religion aid him in his fighting. I told you 
 what he'd do. Didn't I beg you to kill Zane when we 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. "Re- 
 member 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 no- 
 where 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 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 221 
 
 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 day- 
 light, 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 gloom- 
 ily, "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 out- 
 law 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 water- 
 fall splashed softly. 
 
 The darkest hour came, and passed, and paled slowly to gray. 
 Birds began to twitter. Through the door of the cdjin 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 start- 
 
222 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 ing 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 break- 
 fast 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 con- 
 tinued their meal. 
 
 "Whistler'll come in presently to tell us who's doin' thet 
 sheotin'," said Legget. "He's a keen Injun." 
 
 "He's not very keen now," replied Brandt, with bitter .cer- 
 tainty. "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, prob- 
 ably, 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.?" 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 223 
 
 "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 un- 
 seen foe who can't be shaken oil, 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. Be- 
 sides, they'll cut and run presently, for they're scared and sus- 
 picious. 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 pale- 
 face hunter, Deathwind, lies hid in the woods." 
 
 "Last night the Shawnee heard the wind of death mourn 
 through the trees," replied the chief gloomily. 
 
224 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "See! What did I say?" cried Brandt. "The superstitious fool I 
 He would begin his death-chant almost without a iight. Wc 
 can't count on the redskins. What's to be done?" 
 
 The outlaw threw himself upon the bed of boughs, and. Leg- 
 get sat down with his rifle across his knees. The Indians main- 
 tained the same stoical composure. The moments dragged by 
 into hours. 
 
 "Ughl" 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 pro- 
 truded, 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 the hut shook under a heavy 
 blow. 
 
 "What's thet?" No one replied. Legget glanced from Brandt's 
 cold, determined face to the uneasy savages. They were restless, 
 and handling their weapons. The chief strode across the floor 
 with stealthy steps. 
 
 "Thud!" 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 22$ 
 
 A repetition of the first blow caused the Indians to jump, and 
 drew a fierce imprecation from their outlaw leader. 
 
 Brandt eyed him narrowly. "It's coming to you, Legget. They 
 are shooting arrows of fire into the roof from the cliff. Zane is 
 doin' that. He can make a bow and draw one, too. We're to be 
 burned out. Now, damn you! take your medicine! I wanted you 
 to kill him when you had the chance. If you had done so we'd 
 never have come to this. Burned out, do you get that.? Burned 
 out!" 
 
 "Fire!" exclaimed Legget. He sat down as if the strength had 
 left his legs. 
 
 The Indians circled around the room like caged tigers. 
 
 "Ugh!" The chief suddenly reached up and touched the birch- 
 bark roof of the hut. 
 
 His action brought the attention of all to a faint crackling of 
 burning wood. 
 
 "It's caught all right," cried Brandt in a voice which cut the 
 air like a blow from a knife. 
 
 "I'll not be smoked like a ham, fer all these tricky bordermen," 
 roared Legget. Drawing his knife he hacked at the heavy buck- 
 skin hinges of the rude door. When it dropped free he measured 
 it against the open space. Sheathing the blade, he grasped his 
 rifle in his right hand and swung the door on his left arm. Heavy 
 though it was he carried it easily. The roughly hewn planks 
 afforded a capital shield for all except the lower portion of his 
 legs and feet. He went out of the hut with the screen of wood 
 between himself and the cliff, calling for the Indians to follow. 
 They gathered behind him, breathing hard, clutching their 
 weapons, and seemingly almost crazed by excitement. 
 
 Brandt, with no thought of joining this foolhardy attempt to 
 escape from the inclosure, ran to the little port-hole that he might 
 
226 THE LAST* TRAIL 
 
 see the outcome. Legget and his five redskins were running 
 toward the narrow outlet in the gorge. The awkward and futile 
 efforts of the Indians to remain behind the shield were almost 
 pitiful. They crowded each other for favorable positions, but, 
 struggle as they might, one or two were always exposed to the 
 cliff. Suddenly one, pushed to the rear, stopped simultaneously 
 with the crack of a rifle, threw up his arms and fell. Another 
 report, differing from the first, rang out. A savage staggered 
 from behind the speeding group with his hand at his side. Then 
 he dropped into the brook. 
 
 Evidently Legget grasped this as a golden opportunity, for he 
 threw aside the heavy shield and sprang forward, closely followed 
 by his red-skinned allies. Immediately they came near the cliff, 
 where the trail ran into the gorge, a violent shaking of the dry 
 ferns overhead made manifest the activity of some hgavy body. 
 Next instant a huge yellow figure, not tmlike a leaping cata- 
 mount, plunged down with a roar so terrible as to sound in- 
 human. Legget, Indians, and newcomer rolled along the declivity 
 toward the brook in an indistinguishable mass. 
 
 Two of the savages shook themselves free, and bounded to 
 their feet nirribly as cats, but Legget and the other redskin 
 became engaged in a terrific combat. It was a wrestling whirl, 
 so fierce and rapid as to render blows ineffectual. The leaves 
 scattered as if in a whirlwind. Legget's fury must have been 
 awful, to judge from his hoarse screams; the Indians' fear mad- 
 dening, as could be told by their shrieks. The two savages ran 
 wildly about the combatants, one trying to level a rifle, the other 
 to get in a blow with a tomahawk. But the movements of the . 
 trio, locked in deadly embrace, were too swift. 
 
 Above all the noise of the contest rose that strange, thrilling 
 roar. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 227 
 
 "Wetzel!" muttered Brandt, with a chill, creeping shudder as 
 he gazed upon the strife with fascinated eyes. 
 
 "Bang!" Again from the cliff came that heavy bellow. 
 
 The savage with the rifle shrunk back as if stung, and without 
 a cry fell limply in a heap. His companion, uttering a frightened 
 cry, fled from the glen. 
 
 The struggle seemed too deadly, too terrible, to last long. The 
 Indian and the outlaw were at a disadvantage. They could not 
 strike freely. The whirling conflict grew more fearful. During 
 one second the huge, brown, bearish figure of Legget appeared 
 on top; then the dark-bodied, half-naked sayage, spotted like a 
 hyena, and finally the lithe, powerful, tiger-shape of the border- 
 man. 
 
 Finally Legget wrenched himself free at the same instant that 
 the bloody-stained Indian rolled, writhing in convulsions, away 
 from Wetzel. The outlaw dashed with desperate speed up the 
 trail, and disappeared in the gorge. The borderman sped toward 
 the cliff, leaped on a projecting ledge, grasped an overhanging 
 branch, and pulled himself up. He was out of sight almost as 
 quickly as Legget. 
 
 "After his rifle," Brandt muttered, and then realized that he 
 had watched the encounter without any idea of aiding his com- 
 rade. He consoled himself with the knowledge that such an 
 attempt would have been useless. From the moment the border- 
 man sprang upon Legget, until he scaled the cliff, his movements 
 had been incredibly swift. It would have been hardly possible to 
 cover him with a rifle, and the outlaw grimly understood that he 
 needed to be careful of that charge in his weapon. 
 
 "By Heavens, Wetzel's a. wonder!" cried Brandt in unwilling 
 admiration. "Now he'll go after Legget and the redskin, while 
 Zane stays here to get me. Well, he'll succeed, most likely, but 
 I'll never quit. What's this.?" 
 
228 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 He felt something slippery and warm on his hand. It was 
 blood running from the inside of his sleeve. A slight pain made 
 itself felt in his side. Upon examination he found, to his dismay, 
 that his wound had reopened. With a desperate curse he pulled 
 a linsey jacket off a peg, tore it into strips, and bound up the 
 injury as tightly as possible. 
 
 Then he grasped his rifle, and watched the cliff and the gorge 
 with flaring eyes. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe; his 
 throat was parched, his eyes smarted. Then the odor of wood- 
 smoke brought him to a realization that the cabin was* burning. 
 It was only now he understood that the room was full of blue 
 clouds. He sank into the corner, a wolf at bay. 
 
 Not many moments passed before the outlaw understood that 
 he could not withstand the increasing heat and stifling vapor of 
 the room. Pieces of burning birch dropped from the roof. The 
 crackling above grew into a steady roar. 
 
 "I've got to run for it," he gasped. Death awaited him outside 
 the door, but that was more acceptable than death by fire. Yet 
 to face the final moment when he desired with all his soul to 
 live, required almost super-human courage. Sweating, panting, 
 he glared around. "God! Is there no other way?" he cried in 
 agony. At this moment he saw an ax on the floor. 
 
 Seizing it he attacked the wall of the cabin. Beyond this parti- 
 tion was a hut which had been used for a stable. Half a dozen 
 strokes of the ax opened a hole large enough for him to pass 
 through. With his rifle, and a piece of venison which hung near, 
 he literally fell through the hole, where he lay choking, almost 
 fainting. After a time he crawled across the floor to a door. Out- 
 side was a dense laurel thicket, into which he crawled. 
 
 The crackling and roaring of the fire grew louder. He could 
 see the column of yellow and black smoke. Once fairly under 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 22^ 
 
 way, the flames rapidly consumed the pitch-pine logs. In an hour 
 Legget's cabins were a heap o£ ashes. 
 
 The afternoon waned. Brandt lay watchful, slowly recovering 
 his strength. He felt secure under this cover, and only prayed 
 for night to come. As the shadows began to creep down the 
 sides of the cliffs, he indulged in hope. If he could slip out in 
 the dark he had a ^ood chance to elude the borderman. In the 
 passionate desire to escape, he had forgotten his fatalistic words 
 to Legget. He reasoned that he could not be trailed until day- 
 light j that a long night's march would put him far in the lead,' 
 and there was just a possibility of Zane's having gone away with 
 Wetzel. 
 
 When darkness had set in he slipped out of the covert and 
 began his journey for life. Within a few yards he reached the 
 brook. He had only to follow its course in order to find the out- 
 let to the glen. Moreover, its rush and gurgle over the stones 
 would drown any slight noise he might make. 
 
 Slowly, patiently he crawled, stopping every moment to listen. 
 What a long time be was in coming to the mossy stones over 
 which the brook dashed through the gorge! But he reached them 
 at last. Here if anywhere Zane would wait for him. 
 
 With teeth clenched desperately, and an inward tightening of 
 his chest, for at any moment he expected to see the red flame of 
 a rifle, he slipped cautiously over the mossy stones. Finally his 
 hands touched the dewy grass, and a breath of cool wind fanned 
 his hot cheek. He had succeeded in reaching the open. Crawling 
 some rods farther on, he lay still a while and listened. The solemn 
 wilderness calm was unbroken. Rising, he peered about. Behind 
 loomed the black hill with its narrow cleft just discernible. Fac- 
 ing the north star, he went silently out into the darkness. 
 
230 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 At DAYLIGHT Jonathan Zane rolled from his snug bed of leaves 
 under the side of a log, and with the flint, steel and punk he 
 always carried, began building a fire. His actions were far from 
 being hurried. They were deliberate, and seemed strange on the 
 part of a man whose stern face suggested some dark business to 
 be done. When his little fire had been made, he warmed, 
 some slices of venison which had already been cooked, and thus 
 satisfied his hunger. Carefully extinguishing the fire and looking 
 to the priming of his rifle, he was ready for the trail. • 
 
 He stood near the edge of the cliff from which he could com- 
 mand a view of the glen. The black, smoldering ruins of the 
 burned cabins defaced a picturesque scene. 
 
 "Brandt must have lit out last night, for I could have seen even 
 a rabbit hidin' in that laurel patch. He's gone, an' it's what I 
 wanted," thought the borderman. 
 
 He made his way slowly around the edge of the inclosure and 
 clambered down on the splintered cliff at the end of the gorge. 
 A wide, well-trodden trail extended into the forest below. Jona- 
 than gave scarcely a glance to the beaten path before him; but 
 bent keen eyes to the north, and carefully scrutinized the mossy 
 stones along the brook. Upon a little sand bar running out from 
 the bank he found the light imprint of a hand. 
 
 "It was a black night. He'd have to travel by the, stars, an' 
 north's the only safe direction for him," muttered the border- 
 man. 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 23! 
 
 On the bank above he found oblong indentations in the grass, 
 barely perceptible, but owing to the peculiar position of the 
 blades of grass, easy for him to follow. 
 
 "He'd better have learned to walk light as an Injun before he 
 took to outlawin'," said the borderman in disdain. Then he re- 
 turned to the gorge and entered the inclosure. At the foot of 
 the Httle rise of ground where Wetzel had leaped upon his 
 quarry, was one of the dead Indians. Another lay partly sub- 
 merged in the brown water. 
 
 Jonathan carried the weapons of the savages to a dry place 
 under a projecting ledge in the cliff. Passing on down the glen, 
 he stopped a moment where the cabins had stood. Not a log re- 
 mained. The horses, with the exception of two, were tethered 
 in the copse of laurel. He recognized Colonel Zane's thorough- 
 bred, and Betty's pony. He cut them loose, positive they would 
 not stray from the glen, and might easily be secured at another 
 time. 
 
 He set out upon the trail of Brandt with a long, swinging 
 stride. To him the outcome of that pursuit was but a question of 
 time. The consciousness of superior endurance, speed, and craft 
 spoke in his every movement. The consciousness of being in 
 right, a factor so powerfully potent for victory, spoke in the 
 intrepid front with which he faced the north. 
 
 It was a gloomy November day. Gray, steely clouds drifted 
 overhead. The wind wailed through the bare trees, sending dead 
 leaves scurrying and rustUng over the brown earth. 
 
 The borderman advanced with a step that covered glade and 
 glen, forest and field, with astonishing swiftness. Long since he 
 had seen that Brandt was holding to the lowland. This did not 
 strike him as singular until for the third time he found the trail 
 lead a short distance up the side of a ridge, then descend, seeking 
 
232 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 a level. With this discovery came the certainty that Brandt's pace 
 viras lessening. He had set out w^ith a hunter's stride, but it had 
 begun to shorten. The outlaw had shirked the hills, and shifted 
 from his northern course. Why? The man was weakening; he 
 could not climb; he was favoring a wound. 
 
 What seemed more serious for the outlaw, was the fact that he 
 had left a good trail, and entered the low, wild land north of 
 the Ohio. Even the Indians seldom penetrated this tangled belt 
 of laurel and thorn. Owing to the dry season the swamps were 
 shallow, which was another factor against Brandt. No doubt he 
 had hoped to hide his trail by wading, and here it showed up 
 like the track of a bison. 
 
 Jonathan kept steadily on, knowing the farther Brandt pene- 
 trated into this wilderness the worse off he would be. The out- 
 law dared not take to the river until below Fort Henry, which 
 was distant many a weary mile. The trail grew more ragged as 
 the afternoon wore away. When twilight rendered further track- 
 ing impossible, the borderman built a fire in a sheltered place, 
 ate his supper, and went to sleep. 
 
 In the dim, gray morning light he awoke, fancying he had 
 been startled by a distant rifle shot. He roasted his strips of 
 venison carefully, and ate with a hungry hunter's appreciation, 
 yet sparingly, as befitted a borderman who knew how to keep 
 up his strength upon a long trail. 
 
 Hardly had he traveled a mile when Brandt's footprints cov- 
 ered another's. Nothing surprised the borderman; but he had 
 expected this least of all. A hasty examination convinced him 
 that Legget and his Indian ally had fled this way with Wetzel 
 in pursuit. 
 
 The morning passed slowly. The borderman kept to the trail 
 like a hound. The afternoon wore on. Over sandy reaches thick 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 233 
 
 with willows, and through long, matted, dried-out cranberry 
 marshes and copses of prickly thorn, the borderman hung to his 
 purpose. His legs seemed never to lose their spring, but his chest 
 began to heave, his head bent, and his face shone with sweat. 
 
 At dusk he tired. Crawling into a dry thicket, he ate his scanty 
 meal and fell asleep. When he awoke it was gray daylight. He 
 was wet and chilled. Again he kindled a fire, and sat over it 
 while cooking breakfast. ■■•' 
 
 Suddenly he was brought to his feet by the sound of a rifle 
 shot; then two others followed in rapid succession. Though they 
 were faint, and far away to the west, Jonathan recognized the 
 first, which could have come only from Wetzel's weapon, and 
 he felt reasonably certain of the third, which was Brandt's. 
 There might have been, he reflected grimly, a good reason for 
 Legget's not shooting. However, he knew that Wetzel had 
 rounded up the fugitives, and again he set out. 
 
 It "was another dismal day, such a one as would be fitting for a 
 dark deed of border justice. A cold, drizzly rain blew from the 
 northwest. Jonathan wrapped a piece of oil-skin around his rifle- 
 breech, and faced the downfall. Soon he was wet to the skin. 
 He kept on, but his free stride had shortened. Even upon his 
 iron muscles this soggy, sticky ground had begun to tell. 
 
 The morning passed but the storm did not; the air grew colder 
 and darker. The short afternoon would afford him little time, 
 especially as the rain and running rills of water were obliterating 
 the trail. 
 
 In the midst of a dense forest of great cottonwoods and syca- 
 mores he came upon a little pond, hidden among the bushes, and 
 shrouded in a windy, wet gloom. Jonathan recognized the place. 
 He had been there in winter hunting bears when all the swamp- 
 land was locked by ice. 
 
234 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 The borderman searched along the banks for a time, then went 
 back to the trail, patiently following it. Around the pond it led 
 to the side of a great, shelving rock. He saw an Indian leaning 
 against this, and was about to throw forward his- rifle when the 
 strange, fixed, position of the savage told of the. tragedy. A 
 wound extended from his shoulder to his waist. Near by on the 
 ground lay Legget. He, too, was dead. His gigantic frame wel- 
 tered in blood. His big feet were wide apart; his arms spread, 
 and from the middle of his chest protruded the haft of a ki^fe. 
 
 The level space surrounding the bodies showed evidence of a 
 desperate struggle. A bush had been rolled upon and crushed by 
 heavy bodies. On the ground was blood as on the stones and 
 leaves. The blade Legget still clutched was red, and the wrist of 
 the hand which held it showed a dark, discolored band, where it 
 had felt the relentless grasp of Wetzel's steel grip. The dead 
 man's buckskin coat was cut into ribbons. On his broad face a 
 demoniacal expression had set in eternal rigidity; the animal 
 terror of death was frozen in his wide staring eyes. The outlaw 
 chief had died as he -had lived, desperately. 
 
 Jonathan found Wetzel's trail leading directly toward the river, 
 and soon understood that the borderman was on the track of 
 Brandt. The borderman had surprised the worn, starved, sleepy 
 fugitives in the gray, misty dawn. The Indian, doubtless, was 
 the sentinel, and had fallen asleep at his post never to awaken. 
 Legget and Brandt must have discharged their weapons in- 
 effectually. Zane could not understand why his comrade had 
 missed Brandt at a few rods' distance. Perhaps he had wounded 
 the younger outlaw; but certainly he had escaped while Wetzel 
 had closed in on Legget to meet the hardest battle of his career. 
 
 While going over his version of the attack, Jonathan followed 
 Brandt's trail, as had Wetzel, to where it ended in the river. The 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 235 
 
 old borderman had continued on down stream along the sandy 
 shore. The outlaw remained in the water to hide his trail. 
 
 At one point Wetzel turned north. This move puzzled Jona- 
 than, as did also the peculiar tracks. It was more perplexing 
 because not far below Zane discovered where the fugitive had 
 left the water to get around a ledge of rock. 
 
 The trail was approaching Fort Henry. Jonathan kept on down 
 the river until arriving at the head of the island which lay oppo- 
 site the settlement. Still no traces of Wetzel! Here Zane lost 
 Brandt's trail completely. He waded the first channel, which was 
 shallow and narrow, and hurried across the island. Walking out 
 upon a sand-bar he signaled with his well-known Indian cry. 
 Almost immediately came an answering shout. 
 
 While waiting he glanced at the sand, and there, pointing 
 straight toward the fort, he found Brandt's straggling trail! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Colonel zane paced to and fro on the porch. His genial smile 
 had not returned; he was grave and somber. Information had 
 just reached him that Jonathan had hailed from the island, and 
 that one of the settlers had started across the river in a boat. 
 
 Betty came out accompanied by Mrs. Zane. 
 
 "What's this I hear.?" asked Betty, flashing an anxious glance 
 toward the river. "Has Jack really come in?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the colonel, pointing to a throng of mea on the 
 river bank. 
 
 "Now there'll be trouble," said Mrs. Zane nervously. "I wish 
 
236 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 with all my heart Brandt had not thrown himself, as he called it, 
 on your mercy." 
 
 "So do I," declared Colonel Zane. 
 
 "What will be done?" she asked. "There! that's Jack! Silas 
 has hold of his arm." 
 
 "He's lame. He has been hurt," replied her husband. 
 
 A little procession of men and boys followed the borderman 
 from the river, and from the cabins appeared the settlers and 
 their wives. But there was no excitement except among the chil- 
 dren. The crowd filed into the colbnel's yard behind Jonathan 
 and Silas. 
 
 Colonel Zane silently greeted his brother with an iron grip of 
 the hand which was more expressive than words. No unusual 
 sight was it to see the borderman wet, ragged, bloody, worn 
 with long marches, hollow-eyed and gloomy; yet he had never 
 before presented such an appearance at Fort Henry. Betty ran 
 forward, and, though she clasped his arm, shrank back. There 
 was that in the borderman's presence to cause fear. 
 
 "Wetzel?" Jonathan cried sharply. 
 
 The colonel raised both hands, palms open, and returned his 
 brother's keen glance. Then he spoke. "Lew hasn't come in. He 
 chased Brandt across the river. That's all I know." 
 
 "Brandt's here, then?" hissed the borderman. 
 
 The colonel nodded gloomily. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In the long room over the fort. I locked him in there." 
 
 "Why did he come here?" 
 
 Colonel Zane shrugged his shoulders. "It's beyond me. He 
 said he'd rather place himself in my hands than be run down by 
 Wetzel or you. He didn't crawl;, I'll say that for him. He just 
 said, 'I'm your prisoner.' He's in pretty bad shape; barked over 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 237 
 
 the temple, lame in one foot, cut under the arm, starved and 
 worn out." 
 
 "Take me to him," said the borderman, and he threw his rifle 
 on a bench. 
 
 "Very well. Come along," replied the colonel. He frowned at 
 those following them. "Here, you women, clear out!" But they 
 did not obey him. 
 
 It was a sober-faced group that marched in through the big 
 stockade gate, under the huge, bulging front of the fort, and up 
 the rough stairway. Colonel Zane removed a heavy bar from 
 before a door, and thrust it open with his foot. The long guard- 
 room brilliantly lighted by sunshine coming through the port- 
 holes, was empty save for a ragged man lying on a bench. 
 
 The noise aroused him; he sat up, and then slowly labored to 
 ' his feet. It was the same flaring, wild-eyed Brandt, only fiercer 
 and more haggard. He wore a bloody bandage round his head. 
 When he saw the borderman he backed, with involuntary, in- 
 stinctive action, against the wall, yet showed no fear. 
 
 In the dark glance Jonathan shot at Brandt shone a pitiless 
 implacability; no scorn, nor hate, nor passion, but something 
 which, had it not been so terrible, might have been justice. 
 
 "I think Wetzel was hurt in the fight with Legget," said Jona- 
 than deliberately, "an' ask if you know?" 
 
 "I believe he was," replied Brandt readily. "I was asleep when 
 he jumped us, and was awakened by the Indian's yell. Wetzel 
 must have taken a snap shot at me as I was getting up, which 
 accounts, probably, for my being alive. I fell, but did not lose 
 consciousness. I heard Wetzel and Legget fighting, and at last 
 struggled to my feet. Although dizzy and bewildered, I could see 
 to shoot; but missed. For a long time, it seemed to me, I watched 
 that terrible fight, and then ran, finally reaching the river, where 
 I recovered somewhat-" 
 
238 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Did you see Wetzel again?" 
 
 "Once, about a quarter of a mile behind me. He was stagger- 
 ing along on my, trail." 
 
 At this juncture there was a commotion among the settlers 
 crowding behind Colonel Zane and Jonathan, and Helen Shep- 
 pard appeared, white, with her big pyes strangely dilated. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried breathlessly, clasping both hands around 
 Jonathan's arm. "I'm not too late.? ^ou're not going to " 
 
 "Helen, this is no place for you," said Colonel Zane sternly. 
 "This is business for men. You must not interfere." 
 
 Helen gazed at him, at Brandt, and then up at the borderman. 
 She did not loose his arm. 
 
 "Outside some one told me you intended to shoot him. Is it 
 true.?" 
 
 Colonel Zane evaded the searching gaze of those strained, 
 brilUant eyes. Nor did he answer. 
 
 As Helen stepped slowly back a hush fell upon the crowd. 
 The whispering, the nervous coughing, and shuffling of feet, 
 ceased. 
 
 In those around her Helen saw the spirit of the border. Colonel 
 Zane and Silas wore the same look, cold, hard, almost brutal. 
 The women were strangely grave. Nellie Douns' sweet face 
 seemed changed; there was pity, even suffering on it, but no 
 relenting. Even Betty's face, always so warm, piquant, and whole- 
 some, had taken on a shade of doubt, of gloom, of something 
 almost sullen, which blighted its dark beauty; "What hurt Helen 
 most cruelly was the borderman's glittering eyes. 
 
 She fought against a shuddering weakness which threatened 
 to overcome her. 
 
 "Whose prisoner is Brandt?" she asked of Colonel Zane. 
 
 "He gave himself up to me, naturally, as I am in authority 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 239 
 
 here," replied the colonel. "But that signifies little. I can do no 
 less than abide by Jonathan's decree, which, after all, is the decree 
 of the border." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "Death to outlaws and renegades." 
 
 "But cannot you spare him?" implored Helen. "I know he is a 
 bad man; but he might become a better one. It seems like murder 
 to me. To kill him in cold blood, wounded, suffering as he is, 
 when he claimed your mercy. Oh! it is dreadful!" 
 
 The usually kind-hearted colonel, soft as wax in the hands of 
 a girl, .was now colder and harder than flint. 
 
 "It is useless," he replied curtly. "I am sorry for you. We all 
 understand your feelings, that yours are not the principles of the 
 border. If you had lived long here you could appreciate what 
 these outlaws and renegades have done to us. This man is a 
 hardened criminal; he is a thief, a murderer." 
 
 "He did not kill Mordaunt," replied Helen quickly. "I saw 
 him draw first and attack Brandt." 
 
 "No matter. Come, Helen, cease. No more of this," Colonel 
 Zane cried with impatience. 
 
 "But I will not!" exclaimed Helen, with ringing voice and 
 flashing eye. She turned to her girl friends and besought them to 
 intercede for the outlaw. But Nell only looked sorrowfully on, 
 while Betty met her appealing glance with a fire in her eyes that 
 was no dim reflection of her brother's. 
 
 "Then I must make my appeal to you," said Helen, facing the 
 borderman. There could be no mistaking how she regarded him. 
 Respect, honor and love breathed from every line of her beautiful 
 face. 
 
 "Why do you want him to go free?" demanded Jonathan. "You 
 told me to kill him." 
 
240 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 "Oh, I know. But I was not in my right mind. Listen to me, 
 please. He must have been very difierent once; perhaps had 
 sisters. For their sake give him another chance. I know he has a 
 better nature. I feared him, hated him, scorned him, as i£ he were 
 a snake, yet he saved me from that monster Legget!" 
 
 "For himself!" 
 
 "Well, yes, I can't deny that. But he could have ruined me, 
 wrecked me, yet he did not. At least, he meant marriage by me. 
 He said if I would marry him he would flee over the border and 
 be an honest man." 
 
 "Have you no other reason?" 
 
 "Yes." Helen's bosom swelled and a glory shone in her splen- 
 did eyes. "The other reason is, my own happiness!" 
 
 Plain to all, if not through her words, from the light in her 
 eyes, that she could not love a man who was a party to what she 
 considered injustice. 
 
 The borderman's white face became flaming red. 
 
 It was difficult to refuse this glorious girl any sacrifice she 
 demanded for the sake of the love so openly avowed. 
 
 Sweetly and pityingly she turned to Brandt: "Will not you 
 help me?" 
 
 "Lass, if it were for me you were asking my life I'd swear it 
 yours for always, and I'd be a man," he replied with bitterness; 
 "but not to save my soul would I ask anything of him." 
 
 The giant passions, hate and jealousy, flamed in his gray eyes. 
 
 "If I persuade them to release you, will you go away, leave this 
 country, and never come back?" 
 
 "I'll promise that, lass, and honestly," he replied. 
 
 She wheeled toward Jonathan, and now the rosy color chased 
 the pallor from her cheeks. 
 
 "Jack, do you remember when we parted at my home; whea 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 24 1 
 
 you left on this terrible trail, now ended, thank God! Do you 
 remember what an ordeal that was for me? Must I go through 
 it again?" 
 
 Bewitchingly sweet she was then, with the girlish charm of 
 coquetry almost lost in the deeper, stranger power of the woman. 
 
 The borderman drew his breath sharply; then he wrapped his 
 long arms closely round her. She, understanding that victory was 
 hers, sank weeping upon his breast. For a moment he bowed 
 his face over her, and when he lifted it the dark and terrible 
 gloom had gone. 
 
 "Eb, let him go, an' at once," ordered Jonathan. "Give him a 
 rifle, some meat, an' a canoe, for he can't travel, an' turn him 
 loose. Only be quick about it, because if Wetzel comes in, God 
 himself couldn't save the outlaw." 
 
 It was an indescribable glance that Brandt cast upon the tearful 
 face of the girl who had saved his life. But without a word he 
 followed Colonel Zane from the room. 
 
 The crowd slowly filed down the steps. Betty and Nell lingered 
 behind, their eyes beaming through happy tears. Jonathan, long 
 so cold, showed evidence of becoming as quick and passionate 
 a lover as he had been a borderman. At least, Helen had to 
 release herself from his embrace, and it was a blushing, tear* 
 stained face she turned to her friends. 
 
 When they reached the stockade gate Colonel Zane was hurry- 
 ing toward the river with a bag in one hand, and a rifle and a 
 paddle in the other. Brandt limped along after him, the two 
 disappearing over the river bank. 
 
 Betty, Nell, and the lovers went to the edge of the bluff. 
 
 They saw Colonel Zane choose a canoe from among a number 
 on the beach. He laimched it, deposited the bag in the bottom, 
 handed the rifle and paddle to Brandt, and wheeled about. 
 
242 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 The outlaw stepped aboard, and, pushing o£E slowly, drifted 
 down and out toward mid-stream. When about fifty yards from 
 shore he gave a quick glance around, and ceased paddUng. His 
 face gleamed white, and his eyes glinted like bits of steel in the 
 sun. 
 
 Suddenly he grasped the rifle, and, leveling it with the swift- 
 ness of thought, fired at Jonathan. 
 
 The borderman saw the act, even from the beginning, and 
 must haye read the outlaw's motive, for as the weapon flashed 
 he dropped flat on the bank. The bullet sang harmlessly over 
 him, imbedding itself in the stockade fence with a distinct thud. 
 
 The girls were so numb with horror that they could not even 
 scream. 
 
 Colonel Zane swore lustily. "Where's my gun? Get me a gun. 
 Oh! What did I tell you?" 
 
 "Look!" cried Jonathan as he rose to his feet. 
 
 Upon the sand-bar opposite stood a tall, dark, familiar figure, 
 
 "By all that's holy, Wetzel!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. 
 
 They saw the giant borderman raise a long, black rifle, which , 
 wavered and fell, and rose again. A little puff of white smoke ! 
 leaped out, accompanied by a clear, stinging report. 
 
 Brandt dropped the paddle he had hurriedly begun plying 
 after his traitor's act. His white face was turned toward the 
 shore as it sank forward to rest at last upon the gunwale of the 
 canoe. Then his body slowly settled, as if seeking repose. His 
 hand trailed outside in the water, drooping inert and lifeless. 
 The little craft drifted down stream. 
 
 "You see, Helen, it had to be," said Colonel Zane gently. 
 "What a dastard! A long shot, Jack! Fate itself must have 
 glanced down the sights of Wetzel's rifle." 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 243 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A YEAR rolled round; once again Indian summer veiled the 
 golden fields and forests in a soft, smoky haze. Once more from 
 the opal-blue sky of autumn nights, shone the great white stars, 
 and nature seemed wrapped in a melancholy hush. 
 
 November the third was the anniversary of a memorable event 
 on the frontier — the marriage of the younger borderman. 
 
 Colonel Zane gave it the name of "Independence Day," and 
 arranged a holiday, a feast and dance where all the settlement 
 might meet in joyful thankfulness for the first year of freedom 
 on the border. 
 
 With the wiping out of Legget's fierce band, the yoke of the 
 renegades and outlaws was thrown off forever. Simon Girty 
 migrated to Canada and lived with a few Indians who remained 
 true to him. His confederates slowly sank into oblivion. The 
 Shawnee tribe sullenly retreated westward, far into the interior 
 of Ohio; the Dela wares buried the war hatchet, and smoked the 
 pipe of peace they had ever before refused. For them the dark, 
 mysterious, fatal wind had ceased to moan along the trails, or 
 sigh through tree-tops over lonely Indian camp-fires. 
 
 The beautiful Ohio valley had been wrested from the savages 
 and from those parasites who for years had hung around the 
 necks of the red men. 
 
 This day was the happiest of Colonel Zane's life. The task 
 he had set himself, and which he had hardly ever hoped to see 
 completed, was ended. The West had been won. What Boone 
 
244 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 achieved in Kentucky he had accompHshed in Ohio and West 
 Virginia. 
 
 The feast was spread on the colonel's lawn. Every man, woman 
 and child in the settlement was there. Isaac Zane, with his In- 
 dian wife and child, had come from the far-off Huron town. 
 Pioneers from Yellow Creek and eastward to Fort Pitt attended. 
 The spirit of the occasion manifested itself in such joyousness as 
 had never before Been experienced in Fort Henry. The great 
 feast was equal to the event. Choice cuts of beef and venison, 
 savory viands, wonderful loaves of bread and great plump pies, 
 sweet cider and old wine, delighted the merry party. 
 
 "Friends, neighbors, dear ones," said Colonel Zane, "my heart 
 is almost too full for speech. This occasion, commemorating the 
 day of our freedom on the border, is the Beginning of the reward 
 for stern labor, hardship, silenced hearths of long, relentless years. 
 I did not think I'd live to see it. The seed we have sown has 
 taken root; in years to come, perhaps, -a great people will grow 
 up on these farms'-we call our homes. And as we hope those 
 coming afterward will remember us, we should stop a moment 
 to think of the heroes who have gone before. Many there are 
 whose names will never be written on the roll of fame, whose 
 graves will be unmarked in history. But we who worked, fought, 
 bled beside them, who saw them die for those they left behind, 
 will render them all justice, honor and love. To them we give 
 the victory. They were true; then let us, who begin to enjoy the 
 freedom, happiness .and prosperity they won with their" lives, 
 likewise be true in memory of them, in deed to ourselves, and. 
 in grace to God." 
 
 By no means the least of the pleasant features of this pleasant 
 day was the fact that three couples blushingly presented them- 
 selves before the colonel, and confided to him their sudden con- 
 
THE LAST TRAIL 245 
 
 elusions in regard to the felicitousness of the momdit. The happy 
 colonel raced around until he discovered Jim Douns, the minis- 
 ter, and there amid the merry throng he gave the brides away, 
 being the first to kiss them. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the villagers dispersed to 
 their homes and left the colonel to his own circle. With his 
 strong, dark face beaming, he mounted the old porch step. 
 
 "Where are my Zane babies?" he asked. "Ah! here you are! 
 Did anybody ever see anything to beat that? Four wonderful 
 babies! Mother, here's your Daniel — ^if you'd only named him 
 Eb! Silas, come for Silas junior, bad boy that he is. Isaac, take 
 your Indian princess; ah! little Myeerah with the dusky face. 
 Woe be to him who looks into those eyes when you come to age. 
 Jack, here's little Jonathan, the last of the bordermen; he, too, 
 has beautiful eyes, big like his mother's. Ah! well, I don't believe 
 I have left a wish, unless " 
 
 "Unless?" suggested Betty with her sweet smile. 
 
 "It might be " he said and looked at her. 
 
 Betty's warm cheek was close to his as she whispered: "Dear 
 Eb!" The rest only the colonel heard. 
 
 "Well! By all that's glorious!" he exclaimed, and attempted to 
 
 seize her; but with burning face Betty fled. 
 
 ****** ^ 
 
 "Jack, dear, how the leaves are falling!" exclaimed Helen. "See 
 them floating and whirling. It reminds me of the day I lay a 
 prisoner in the forest glade praying, waiting for you." 
 
 The borderman was silent. 
 
 They passed down the sandy lane under the colored maple 
 trees, to a new cottage on the hillside. 
 
 "I am perfectly happy to-day," continued Helen. "Everybody 
 seems to be content, except you. For the first time in weeks I see 
 
246 THE LAST TRAIL 
 
 that shade on your face, that look in your eyes. Jack, you do not 
 regret the new life?" 
 
 "My love, no, a thousand times no," he answered, smiling down 
 into her eyes. They were . changing, shadowing with thought, 
 bright as in other days, and with an added beauty. The wilful 
 spirit had been softened by love. 
 
 "Ah, I know, you miss the old friend." 
 
 The yellow thicket on the slope opened to let out a tall, dark 
 man who came down with lithe and springy stride. 
 
 "Jack, it's Wetzel!" said Helen softly. 
 
 No words were spoken as the comrades gripped hands. 
 
 "Let me see the boy?" asked Wetzel, turning to Helen. 
 
 Little Jonathan blinked up at the grave borderman with great 
 round eyes, and pulled with friendly, chubby fingers at the 
 fringed buckskin coat. 
 
 "When you're a man the forest trails will be corn fields," mut- 
 tered Wetzel. 
 
 The bordermen strolled together up the brown hillside, and 
 wandered along the river bluff. The air was cool; in the west 
 the ruddy light darkened behind bold hills; a blue mist stream- 
 ing in the valley shaded into gray as twilight fell.