“A panther, most likely,” suggested Sheppard, in a voice which he intended should be reassuring. “I saw one today 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—listen. 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.
“Ugh!” 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 appearance. 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 Sheppard’s face, at the same time putting a finger on his lips to enjoin silence. Both Indians became statuesque in their immobility. 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 noiselessly 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 followed 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’ll 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.
Thus exposed to the glare of the flames, the foremost woodsman 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 replied. “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. Somethin’ went wrong with the plan, I reckon. Mebbe he 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 kindness you may show us. Of course you know him?”
“I am Jonathan Zane.”
Sheppard suddenly realized that he was facing the most celebrated 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 something 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.
“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