“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. Whatever 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 indifference 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 instant 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.
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 maintained 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 “Injuns! Wetzel!” and there were none others with more power to affect hearers on the border. The colonel believed that Wetzel had signaled to Jonathan.
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 difficult route. He had no doubt seen Indian signs, and had communicated the intelligence to Jonathan by their system of night-bird calls. The 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 Indians 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 stolen on him after he had heard and seen the thieves was indeed 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 realized 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 twittering 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 eastern 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.
“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 Shawnee 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 bordermen. As it was now broad daylight he felt convinced that further 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 glimpse of Jack or Lew?” asked Silas.
“No; but I’m expecting 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 don’t allow a man, soldier or farmer, to leave the clearing until further orders. Perhaps there were only three of those Shawnees, 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 fort being besieged, 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