“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.”
“Oh, I know. But I was not in my right mind. Listen to me, please. He must have been very different 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 if 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 splendid 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; when 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 hurrying 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 launched it, deposited the bag in the bottom, handed the rifle and paddle to Brandt, and wheeled about.
The outlaw stepped aboard, and, pushing off slowly, drifted down and out toward mid-stream. When about fifty yards from shore he gave a quick glance around, and ceased paddling. 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 swiftness of thought, fired at Jonathan.
The borderman saw the act, even from the beginning, and must have 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.”
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 Delawares 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 achieved in Kentucky he had accomplished 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 Indian 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