The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ think of this Ralfe Miller? He has been much with Betty of late.”

      “I do not know the fellow, Bessie. He seems agreeable. He is a good-looking young man. Why do you ask?”

      “The Major told me that Miller had a bad name at Pitt, and that he had been a friend of Simon Girty before Girty became a renegade.”

      “Humph! I’ll have to speak to Sam. As for knowing Girty, there is nothing terrible in that. All the women seem to think that Simon is the very prince of devils. I have known all the Girtys for years. Simon was not a bad fellow before he went over to the Indians. It is his brother James who has committed most of those deeds which have made the name of Girty so infamous.”

      “I don’t like Miller,” continued Mrs. Zane in a hesitating way. “I must admit that I have no sensible reason for my dislike. He is pleasant and agreeable, yes, but behind it there is a certain intensity. That man has something on his mind.”

      “If he is in love with Betty, as you seem to think, he has enough on his mind. I’ll vouch for that,” said Col. Zane. “Betty is inclined to be a coquette. If she liked Clarke pretty well, it may be a lesson to her.”

      “I wish she were married and settled down. It may have been no great harm for Betty to have had many admirers while in Philadelphia, but out here on the border it will never do. These men will not have it. There will be trouble come of Betty’s coquettishness.”

      “Why, Bessie, she is only a child. What would you have her do? Marry the first man who asked her?”

      “The clod-hoppers are coming,” said Mrs. Zane as the jingling of sleigh bells broke the stillness.

      Col. Zane sprang up and opened the door. A broad stream of light flashed from the room and lighted up the road. Three powerful teams stood before the door. They were hitched to sleds, or clod-hoppers, which were nothing more than wagon-beds fastened on wooden runners. A chorus of merry shouts greeted Col. Zane as he appeared in the doorway.

      “All right! all right! Here she is,” he cried, as Betty ran down the steps.

      The Colonel bundled her in a buffalo robe in a corner of the foremost sled. At her feet he placed a buckskin bag containing a hot stone Mrs. Zane thoughtfully had provided.

      “All ready here. Let them go,” called the Colonel. “You will have clear weather. Coming back look well to the traces and keep a watch for the wolves.”

      The long whips cracked, the bells jingled, the impatient horses plunged forward and away they went over the glistening snow. The night was clear and cold; countless stars blinked in the black vault overhead; the pale moon cast its wintry light down on a white and frozen world. As the runners glided swiftly and smoothly onward showers of dry snow like fine powder flew from under the horses’ hoofs and soon whitened the black-robed figures in the sleds. The way led down the hill past the Fort, over the creek bridge and along the road that skirted the Black Forest. The ride was long; it led up and down hills, and through a lengthy stretch of gloomy forest. Sometimes the drivers walked the horses up a steep climb and again raced them along a level bottom. Making a turn in the road they saw a bright light in the distance which marked their destination. In five minutes the horses dashed into a wide clearing. An immense log fire burned in front of a two-story structure. Streams of light poured from the small windows; the squeaking of fiddles, the shuffling of many feet, and gay laughter came through the open door.

      The steaming horses were unhitched, covered carefully with robes and led into sheltered places, while the merry party disappeared into the house.

      The occasion was the celebration of the birthday of old Dan Watkins’ daughter. Dan was one of the oldest settlers along the river; in fact, he had located his farm several years after Col. Zane had founded the settlement. He was noted for his open-handed dealing and kindness of heart. He had loaned many a head of cattle which had never been returned, and many a sack of flour had left his mill unpaid for in grain. He was a good shot, he would lay a tree on the ground as quickly as any man who ever swung an axe, and he could drink more whiskey than any man in the valley.

      Dan stood at the door with a smile of welcome upon his rugged features and a handshake and a pleasant word for everyone. His daughter Susan greeted the men with a little curtsy and kissed the girls upon the cheek. Susan was not pretty, though she was strong and healthy; her laughing blue eyes assured a sunny disposition, and she numbered her suitors by the score.

      The young people lost no time. Soon the floor was covered with their whirling forms.

      In one corner of the room sat a little dried-up old woman with white hair and bright dark eyes. This was Grandma Watkins. She was very old, so old that no one knew her age, but she was still vigorous enough to do her day’s work with more pleasure than many a younger woman. Just now she was talking to Wetzel, who leaned upon his inseparable rifle and listened to her chatter. The hunter liked the old lady and would often stop at her cabin while on his way to the settlement and leave at her door a fat turkey or a haunch of venison.

      “Lew Wetzel, I am ashamed of you.” Grandmother Watkins was saying. “Put that gun in the corner and get out there and dance. Enjoy yourself. You are only a boy yet.”

      “I’d better look on, mother,” answered the hunter.

      “Pshaw! You can hop and skip around like any of then and laugh too if you want. I hope that pretty sister of Eb Zane has caught your fancy.”

      “She is not for the like of me,” he said gently “I haven’t the gifts.”

      “Don’t talk about gifts. Not to an old woman who has lived three times and more your age,” she said impatiently. “It is not gifts a woman wants out here in the West. If she does ’twill do her no good. She needs a strong arm to build cabins, a quick eye with a rifle, and a fearless heart. What border-women want are houses and children. They must bring up men, men to drive the redskins back, men to till the soil, or else what is the good of our suffering here.”

      “You are right,” said Wetzel thoughtfully. “But I’d hate to see a flower like Betty Zane in a rude hunter’s cabin.”

      “I have known the Zanes for forty year’ and I never saw one yet that was afraid of work. And you might win her if you would give up running mad after Indians. I’ll allow no woman would put up with that. You have killed many Indians. You ought to be satisfied.”

      “Fightin’ redskins is somethin’ I can’t help,” said the hunter, slowly shaking his head. “If I got married the fever would come on and I’d leave home. No, I’m no good for a woman. Fightin’ is all I’m good for.”

      “Why not fight for her, then? Don’t let one of these boys walk off with her. Look at her. She likes fun and admiration. I believe you do care for her. Why not try to win her?”

      “Who is that tall man with her?” continued the old lady as Wetzel did not answer. “There, they have gone into the other room. Who is he?”

      “His name is Miller.”

      “Lewis, I don’t like him. I have been watching him all evening. I’m a contrary old woman, I know, but I have seen a good many men in my time, and his face is not honest. He is in love with her. Does she care for him?”

      “No, Betty doesn’t care for Miller. She’s just full of life and fun.”

      “You may be mistaken. All the Zanes are fire and brimstone and this girl is a Zane СКАЧАТЬ