“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 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 — well, 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 who hasn’t been to see me.”

  “I do not wait 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 are 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 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 flushing 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 borderman.

  “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 custom, for my sake?”

  “How?”

  “Come to see me when you are in the settlement?”

  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 demand 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 friendship, 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 had 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 know 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 borderman’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 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 little 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 full-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 request from Jonathan, and secondly in regard to what little he really did know of Roger Brandt.

  “Well, Jack, I can’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 fellow. 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 people, 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 I showed him I didn’t care for company,” 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 twilight 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.

  Colonel Zane knew what that clutch signified. Some faint noise, too low for ordinary ears, had roused the borderman. The colonel listened, but heard nothing save the familiar evening 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 daughter.”

  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 softly.”

  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!”

  “By the Lord Harry! Now they’re gone; but I couldn’t mistake 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.

  “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 can’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 off 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 down the road. He followed swiftly, silently. Presently 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 entertaining some of the young people.

  The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jonathan made certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and he knew his eyesight too well not to trust to it absolutely. Advancing 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.

  “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 believe 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 beside 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 hosses.”

  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.

  “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 replied 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 like such impulsive 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.

  “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 with 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 dignity. 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 beside her, and a man in the act of rising from the ground.

  “You?” whispered Helen, recognizing the tall figure as Jonathan’s.

  The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping his hand inside his hunting frock. 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 sometimes 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.