“Here is Wetzel,” said Col. Zane, who had risen and gone to the door. “Now, Betty, try and get Lew to tell us something.”

  “Come, Lewis, here is a seat by me,” said Betty. “We have been pleasantly passing the time. We have had bear stories, snake stories, ghost stories — all kinds of tales. Will you tell us one?”

  “Lewis, did you ever have a chance to kill a hostile Indian and not take it?” asked Col. Zane.

  “Never but once,” answered Lewis.

  “Tell us about it. I imagine it will be interesting.”

  “Well, I ain’t good at tellin’ things,” began Lewis. “I reckon I’ve seen some strange sights. I kin tell you about the only redskin I ever let off. Three years ago I was takin’ a fall hunt over on the Big Sandy, and I run into a party of Shawnees. I plugged a chief and started to run. There was some good runners and I couldn’t shake ’em in the open country. Comin’ to the Ohio I jumped in and swum across, keepin’ my rifle and powder dry by holdin’ ’em up. I hid in some bulrushes and waited. Pretty soon along comes three Injuns, and when they saw where I had taken to the water they stopped and held a short pow-wow. Then they all took to the water. This was what I was waitin’ for. When they got nearly acrosst I shot the first redskin, and loadin’ quick got a bullet into the others. The last Injun did not sink. I watched him go floatin’ down stream expectin’ every minute to see him go under as he was hurt so bad he could hardly keep his head above water. He floated down a long ways and the current carried him to a pile of driftwood which had lodged against a little island. I saw the Injun crawl up on the drift. I went down stream and by keepin’ the island between me and him I got out to where he was. I pulled my tomahawk and went around the head of the island and found the redskin leanin’ against a big log. He was a young brave and a fine lookin strong feller. He was tryin’ to stop the blood from my bullet-hole in his side. When he saw me he tried to get up, but he was too weak. He smiled, pointed to the wound and said: ‘Deathwind not heap times bad shot.’ Then he bowed his head and waited for the tomahawk. Well, I picked him up and carried him ashore and made a shack by a spring. I staid there with him. When he got well enough to stand a few days’ travel I got him across the river and givin’ him a hunk of deer meat I told him to go, and if I ever saw him again I’d make a better shot.

  “A year afterwards I trailed two Shawnees into Wingenund’s camp and got surrounded and captured. The Delaware chief is my great enemy. They beat me, shot salt into my legs, made me run the gauntlet, tied me on the back of a wild mustang. Then they got ready to burn me at the stake. That night they painted my face black and held the usual death dances. Some of the braves got drunk and worked themselves into a frenzy. I allowed I’d never see daylight. I seen that one of the braves left to guard me was the young feller I had wounded the year before. He never took no notice of me. In the gray of the early mornin’ when all were asleep and the other watch dozin’ I felt cold steel between my wrists and my buckskin thongs dropped off. Then my feet were cut loose. I looked round and in the dim light I seen my young brave. He handed me my own rifle, knife and tomahawk, put his finger on his lips and with a bright smile, as if to say he was square with me, he pointed to the east. I was out of sight in a minute.”

  “How noble of him!” exclaimed Betty, her eyes all aglow. “He paid his debt to you, perhaps at the price of his life.”

  “I have never known an Indian to forget a promise, or a kind action, or an injury,” observed Col. Zane.

  “Are the Indians half as bad as they are called?” asked Betty. “I have heard as many stories of their nobility as of their cruelty.”

  “The Indians consider that they have been robbed and driven from their homes. What we think hideously inhuman is war to them,” answered Col. Zane.

  “When I came here from Fort Pitt I expected to see and fight Indians every day,” said Capt. Boggs. “I have been here at Wheeling for nearly two years and have never seen a hostile Indian. There have been some Indians in the vicinity during that time but not one has shown himself to me. I’m not up to Indian tricks, I know, but I think the last siege must have been enough for them. I don’t believe we shall have any more trouble from them.”

  “Captain,” called out Col. Zane, banging his hand on the table. “I’ll bet you my best horse to a keg of gunpowder that you see enough Indians before you are a year older to make you wish you had never seen or heard of the western border.”

  “And I’ll go you the same bet,” said Major McColloch.

  “You see, Captain, you must understand a little of the nature of the Indian,” continued Col. Zane. “We have had proof that the Delawares and the Shawnees have been preparing for an expedition for months. We shall have another siege some day and to my thinking it will be a longer and harder one than the last. What say you, Wetzel?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ much, but I don’t calkilate on goin’ on any long hunts this summer,” answered the hunter.

  “And do you think Tarhe, Wingenund, Pipe, Cornplanter, and all those chiefs will unite their forces and attack us?” asked Betty of Wetzel.

  “Cornplanter won’t. He has been paid for most of his land and he ain’t so bitter. Tarhe is not likely to bother us. But Pipe and Wingenund and Red Fox — they all want blood.”

  “Have you seen these chiefs?” said Betty.

  “Yes, I know ’em all and they all know me,” answered the hunter. “I’ve watched over many a trail waitin’ for one of ‘em. If I can ever get a shot at any of ’em I’ll give up Injuns and go farmin’. Good night, Betty.”

  “What a strange man is Wetzel,” mused Betty, after the visitors had gone. “Do you know, Eb, he is not at all like any one else. I have seen the girls shudder at the mention of his name and I have heard them say they could not look in his eyes. He does not affect me that way. It is not often I can get him to talk, but sometimes he tells me beautiful thing about the woods; how he lives in the wilderness, his home under the great trees; how every leaf on the trees and every blade of grass has its joy for him as well as its knowledge; how he curls up in his little bark shack and is lulled to sleep by the sighing of the wind through the pine tops. He told me he has often watched the stars for hours at a time. I know there is a waterfall back in the Black Forest somewhere that Lewis goes to, simply to sit and watch the water tumble over the precipice.”

  “Wetzel is a wonderful character, even to those who know him only as an Indian slayer and a man who wants no other occupation. Some day he will go off on one of these long jaunts and will never return. That is certain. The day is fast approaching when a man like Wetzel will be of no use in life. Now, he is a necessity. Like Tige he can smell Indians. Betty, I believe Lewis tells you so much and is so kind and gentle toward you because he cares for you.”

  “Of course Lew likes me. I know he does and I want him to,” said Betty. “But he does not care as you seem to think. Grandmother Watkins said the same. I am sure both of you are wrong.”

  “Did Dan’s mother tell you that? Well, she’s pretty shrewd. It’s quite likely, Betty, quite likely. It seems to me you are not so quick witted as you used to be.”

  “Why so?” asked Betty, quickly.

  “Well, you used to be different somehow,” said her brother, as he patted her hand.

  “Do you mean I am more thoughtful?”

  “Yes, and sometimes you seem sad.”

  “I have tried to be brave and — and happy,” said Betty, her voice trembling slightly.

  “Yes, yes, I know you have, Betty. You have done wonderfully well here in this dead place. But tell me, don’t be angry, don’t you think too much of some one?”

  “You have no right to ask me that,” said Betty, flushing and turning away toward the stairway.

  “Well, well, child, don’t mind me. I did not mean anything. There, good night, Betty.”

  Long after she had gone up-stairs Col. Zane sat by his fireside. From time to time he sighed. He thought of the old Virginia home and of the smile of his mother. It seemed only a few short years since he had promised her that he would take care of the baby sister. How had he kept that promise made when Betty was a little thing bouncing on his knee? It seemed only yesterday. How swift the flight of time! Already Betty was a woman; her sweet, gay girlhood had passed; already a shadow had fallen on her face, the shadow of a secret sorrow.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  March with its blustering winds had departed, and now April’s showers and sunshine were gladdening the hearts of the settlers. Patches of green freshened the slopes of the hills; the lilac bushes showed tiny leaves, and the maple-buds were bursting. Yesterday a blue-bird — surest harbinger of spring — had alighted on the fence-post and had sung his plaintive song. A few more days and the blossoms were out mingling their pink and white with the green; the red-bud, the hawthorne, and the dog-wood were in bloom, checkering the hillsides.

  “Bessie, spring is here,” said Col. Zane, as he stood in the doorway. “The air is fresh, the sun shines warm, the birds are singing; it makes me feel good.”

  “Yes, it is pleasant to have spring with us again,” answered his wife. “I think, though, that in winter I am happier. In summer I am always worried. I am afraid for the children to be out of my sight, and when you are away on a hunt I am distraught until you are home safe.”

  “Well, if the redskins let us alone this summer it will be something new,” he said, laughing. “By the way, Bess, some new people came to the fort last night. They rafted down from the Monongahela settlements. Some of the women suffered considerably. I intend to offer them the cabin on the hill until they can cut the timber and run up a house. Sam said the cabin roof leaked and the chimney smoked, but with a little work I think they can be made more comfortable there than at the block-house.”

  “It is the only vacant cabin in the settlement. I can accommodate the women folks here.”

  “Well, we’ll see about it. I don’t want you and Betty inconvenienced. I’ll send Sam up to the cabin and have him fix things up a bit and make it more habitable.”

  The door opened, admitting Col. Zane’s elder boy. The lad’s face was dirty, his nose was all bloody, and a big bruise showed over his right eye.

  “For the land’s sake!” exclaimed his mother. “Look at the boy. Noah, come here. What have you been doing?”

  Noah crept close to his mother and grasping her apron with both hands hid his face. Mrs. Zane turned the boy around and wiped his discolored features with a wet towel. She gave him a little shake and said: “Noah, have you been fighting again?”

  “Let him go and I’ll tell you about it,” said the Colonel, and when the youngster had disappeared he continued: “Right after breakfast Noah went with me down to the mill. I noticed several children playing in front of Reihart’s blacksmith shop. I went in, leaving Noah outside. I got a plow-share which I had left with Reihart to be repaired. He came to the door with me and all at once he said: ‘look at the kids.’ I looked and saw Noah walk up to a boy and say something to him. The lad was a stranger, and I have no doubt belongs to these new people I told you about. He was bigger than Noah. At first the older boy appeared very friendly and evidently wanted to join the others in their game. I guess Noah did not approve of this, for after he had looked the stranger over he hauled away and punched the lad soundly. To make it short the strange boy gave Noah the worst beating he ever got in his life. I told Noah to come straight to you and confess.”

  “Well, did you ever!” ejaculated Mrs. Zane. “Noah is a bad boy. And you stood and watched him fight. You are laughing about it now. Ebenezer Zane, I would not put it beneath you to set Noah to fighting. I know you used to make the little niggers fight. Anyway, it serves Noah right and I hope it will be a lesson to him.”

  “I’ll make you a bet, Bessie,” said the Colonel, with another laugh. “I’ll bet you that unless we lock him up, Noah will fight that boy every day or every time he meets him.”

  “I won’t bet,” said Mrs. Zane, with a smile of resignation.

  “Where’s Betts? I haven’t seen her this morning. I am going over to Short Creek to-morrow or next day, and think I’ll take her with me. You know I am to get a commission to lay out several settlements along the river, and I want to get some work finished at Short Creek this spring. Mrs. Raymer’ll be delighted to have Betty. Shall I take her?”

  “By all means. A visit there will brighten her up and do her good.”

  “Well, what on earth have you been doing?” cried the Colonel. His remark had been called forth by a charming vision that had entered by the open door. Betty — for it was she — wore a little red cap set jauntily on her black hair. Her linsey dress was crumpled and covered with hayseed.

  “I’ve been in the hay-mow,” said Betty, waving a small basket. “For a week that old black hen has circumvented me, but at last I have conquered. I found the nest in the farthest corner under the hay.”

  “How did you get up in the loft?” inquired Mrs. Zane.

  “Bessie, I climbed up the ladder of course. I acknowledge being unusually light-hearted and happy this morning, but I have not as yet grown wings. Sam said I could not climb up that straight ladder, but I found it easy enough.”

  “You should not climb up into the loft,” said Mrs. Zane, in a severe tone. “Only last fall Hugh Bennet’s little boy slid off the hay down into one of the stalls and the horse kicked him nearly to death.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks, Bessie, I am not a baby,” said Betty, with vehemence. “There is not a horse in the barn but would stand on his hind legs before he would step on me, let alone kick me.”

  “I don’t know, Betty, but I think that black horse Mr. Clarke left here would kick any one,” remarked the Colonel.

  “Oh, no, he would not hurt me.”

  “Betty, we have had pleasant weather for about three days,” said the Colonel, gravely. “In that time you have let out that crazy bear of yours to turn everything topsy-turvy. Only yesterday I got my hands in the paint you have put on your canoe. If you had asked my advice I would have told you that painting your canoe should not have been done for a month yet. Silas told me you fell down the creek hill; Sam said you tried to drive his team over the bluff, and so on. We are happy to see you get back your old time spirits, but could you not be a little more careful? Your versatility is bewildering. We do not know what to look for next. I fully expect to see you brought to the house some day maimed for life, or all that beautiful black hair gone to decorate some Huron’s lodge.”

  “I tell you I am perfectly delighted that the weather is again so I can go out. I am tired to death of staying indoors. This morning I could have cried for very joy. Bessie will soon be lecturing me about Madcap. I must not ride farther than the fort. Well, I don’t care. I intend to ride all over.”

  “Betty, I do not wish you to think I am lecturing you,” said the Colonel’s wife. “But you are as wild as a March hare and some one must tell you things. Now listen. My brother, the Major, told me that Simon Girty, the renegade, had been heard to say that he had seen Eb Zane’s little sister and that if he ever got his hands on her he would make a squaw of her. I am not teasing you. I am telling you the truth. Girty saw you when you were at Fort Pitt two years ago. Now what would you do if he caught you on one of your lonely rides and carried you off to his wigwam? He has done things like that before. James Girty carried off one of the Johnson girls. Her brothers tried to rescue her and lost their lives. It is a common trick of the Indians.”

  “What would I do if Mr. Simon Girty tried to make a squaw of me?” exclaimed Betty, her eyes flashing fire. “Why, I’d kill him!”

  “I believe it, Betts, on my word I do,” spoke up the Colonel. “But let us hope you may never see Girty. All I ask is that you be careful. I am going over to Short Creek to-morrow. Will you go with me? I know Mrs. Raymer will be pleased to see you.”

  “Oh, Eb, that will be delightful!”

  “Very well, get ready and we shall start early in the morning.”

  Two weeks later Betty returned from Short Creek and seemed to have profited much by her short visit. Col. Zane remarked with satisfaction to his wife that Betty had regained all her former cheerfulness.

  The morning after Betty’s return was a perfect spring morning — the first in that month of May-days. The sun shone bright and warm; the mayflowers blossomed; the trailing arbutus scented the air; everywhere the grass and the leaves looked fresh and green; swallows flitted in and out of the barn door; the blue-birds twittered; a meadow-lark caroled forth his pure melody, and the busy hum of bees came from the fragrant apple-blossoms.

  “Mis’ Betty, Madcap ‘pears powerfo’ skittenish,” said old Sam, when he had led the pony to where Betty stood on the hitching block. “Whoa, dar, you rascal.”

  Betty laughed as she leaped lightly into the saddle, and soon she was flying over the old familiar road, down across the creek bridge, past the old grist-mill, around the fort and then out on the river bluff. The Indian pony was fiery and mettlesome. He pranced and side-stepped, galloped and trotted by turns. He seemed as glad to get out again into the warm sunshine as was Betty herself. He tore down the road a mile at his best speed. Coming back Betty pulled him into a walk. Presently her musings were interrupted by a sharp switch in the face from a twig of a tree. She stopped the pony and broke off the offending branch. As she looked around the recollection of what had happened to her in that very spot flashed into her mind. It was here that she had been stopped by the man who had passed almost as swiftly out of her life as he had crossed her path that memorable afternoon. She fell to musing on the old perplexing question. After all could there not have been some mistake? Perhaps she might have misjudged him? And then the old spirit, which resented her thinking of him in that softened mood, rose and fought the old battle over again. But as often happened the mood conquered, and Betty permitted herself to sink for the moment into the sad thoughts which returned like a mournful strain of music once sung by beloved voices, now forever silent.