The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey (best ereader manga TXT) 📕

>“Lance, old fellow, how did I ever leave you!” murmured Joe, as he threw his arm over the arched neck. Mose stood by looking up, and wagging his tail in token of happiness at the reunion of the three old friends. There were tears in Joe’s eyes when, with a last affectionate caress, he turned away from his pet.

“Come, Jim, I’ll take you to Mr. Wells.”

They stated across the little square, while Mose went back under the wagon; but at a word from Joe he bounded after them, trotting contentedly at their heels. Half way to the cabins a big, raw-boned teamster, singing in a drunken voice, came staggering toward them. Evidently he had just left the group of people who had gathered near the Indians.

“I didn’t expect to see drunkenness out here,” said Jim, in a low tone.

“There’s lots of it. I saw that fellow yesterday when he, couldn’t walk. Wentz told me he was a bad customer.”

The teamster, his red face bathed in perspiration, and his sleeves rolled up, showing brown, knotty arms, lurched toward them. As they met he aimed a kick at the dog; but Mose leaped nimbly aside, avoiding the heavy boot. He did not growl, nor show his teeth; but the great white head sank forward a little, and the lithe body crouched for a spring.

“Don’t touch that dog; he’ll tear your leg off!” Joe cried sharply.

“Say, pard, cum an’ hev’ a drink,” replied the teamster, with a friendly leer.

“I don’t drink,” answered Joe, curtly, and moved on.

The teamster growled something of which only the word “parson” was intelligible to the brothers. Joe stopped and looked back. His gray eyes seemed to contract; they did not flash, but shaded and lost their warmth. Jim saw the change, and, knowing what it signified, took Joe’s arm as he gently urged him away. The teamster’s shrill voice could be heard until they entered the fur-trader’s cabin.

An old man with long, white hair flowing from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, sat near the door holding one of Mrs. Wentz’s children on his knee. His face was deep-lined and serious; but kindness shone from his mild blue eyes.

“Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has come in place of the man you expected from Williamsburg.”

The old minister arose, and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at the newcomer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in his quick scrutiny of the other’s face, for his lips were wreathed with a smile of welcome.

“Mr. Downs, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me. I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who is young enough to carry on the work when my days are done.”

“I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in my power,” answered Jim, earnestly.

“We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers who claim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fierce savages Christianity; but I know it can be done, and my heart is in the work. I have no fear; yet I would not conceal from you, young man, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must be great.”

“I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the redman. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature and believe the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war, and I want to help him into other paths.”

Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs. Wentz. The fur-trader’s wife was glowing with pleasure. She held in her hand several rude trinkets, and was explaining to her listener, a young woman, that the toys were for the children, having been brought all the way from Williamsburg.

“Kate, where’s Nell?” Joe asked of the girl.

“She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz.”

Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow, easy and consistent with her large, full, form. Her brown eyes and hair contrasted sharply with Nell’s. The greatest difference in the sisters lay in that Nell’s face was sparkling and full of the fire of her eager young life, while Kate’s was calm, like the unruffled surface of a deep lake.

“That’s Jim, my brother. We’re going with you,” said Joe.

“Are you? I’m glad,” answered the girl, looking at the handsome earnest face of the young minister.

“Your brother’s like you for all the world,” whispered Mrs. Wentz.

“He does look like you,” said Kate, with her slow smile.

“Which means you think, or hope, that that is all,” retorted Joe laughingly. “Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God for Jim!”

He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look at him wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; never until then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A moment’s silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the children who were playing with the trinkets; while Kate mused over the young man’s remark, and began studying his, half-averted face. She felt warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he had given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with much of this wild and reckless boy’s behavior. To Kate he had always seemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet here was proof that Master Joe loved his brother.

The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by a low cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, and then a husky voice,

 

“Hol’ on, my purty lass.”’

Joe took two long strides, and was on the doorstep. He saw Nell struggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster.

“I’ll jes’ hev’ to kiss this lassie fer luck,” he said in a tone of good humor.

At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth, the grizzled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell.

“Let me go!” cried Nell.

Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him, and was bending his red, moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped his neck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth opened, his tongue protruded; his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flung with a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in a heap on the grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple.

“What’s this?” cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up, and arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman.

“It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn’t hev’ did better myself, and I was comin’ for that purpose,” said the frontiersman. “Leffler was tryin’ to kiss the lass. He’s been drunk fer two days. That little girl’s sweetheart kin handle himself some, now you take my word on it.”

“I’ll agree Leff’s bad when he’s drinkin’,” answered the fur-trader, and to Joe he added, “He’s liable to look you up when he comes around.”

“Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I’ll kill him,” Joe cried in a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster, and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance was cutting, as if with the flash of cold gray steel. “Nell, I’m sorry I wasn’t round sooner,” he said, apologetically, as if it was owing to his neglect the affair had happened.

As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was the third time he had injured a man because of her. She had on several occasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had always frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were inside the building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly, and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry with him; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he considered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet and subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fear because of his strength was mingled with her pride in it. Any other girl would have been only too glad to have such a champion; she would, too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud.

“Look here, Nell, you haven’t spoken to me,” Joe cried suddenly, seeming to understand that she had not even heard what he said, so engrossed had she been with her reflections. “Are you mad with me yet?” he continued. “Why, Nell, I’m in—I love you!”

Evidently Joe thought such fact a sufficient reason for any act on his part. His tender tone conquered Nell, and she turned to him with flushed cheeks and glad eyes.

“I wasn’t angry at all,” she whispered, and then, eluding the arm he extended, she ran into the other room.

 

Chapter III.

Joe lounged in the doorway of the cabin, thoughtfully contemplating two quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One he recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour that morning; the red son of the woods was wrapped in slumber. He had placed under his head a many-hued homespun shirt which the young preacher had given him; but while asleep his head had rolled off this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attracting the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had found lodgment in Joe’s fertile brain.

The other sleeper was a short, stout man whom Joe had seen several times before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced in his mind, and was the butt of the settlers’ jokes, while the children called him “Loorey.” He, like the Indian, was sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s dissipation.

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an expression on his face which told that he thought in them were great possibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared within the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveying the village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a small basket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simply contained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as the Indians used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the fur-trader’s wares.

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were busy with their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckled when there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the Indians’ gaudy shirt, and, lifting Loorey, slipped it around him, shoved the latter’s arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it in front. He streaked the round face with red and white paint, and then, dexterously extracting the eagle plume from the Indian’s headdress, stuck it in Loorey’s thick shock of hair. It was all done in a moment, after which Joe replaced the basket, and went down to the river.

Several times that morning he had visited the rude wharf where Jeff Lynn, the grizzled old frontiersman, busied himself with preparations for the raft-journey down the Ohio. Lynn had been employed to guide the missionary’s party to Fort Henry, and, as the brothers had acquainted him with their intention of accompanying the travelers, he had constructed a raft for them and their horses.

Joe laughed when he saw the dozen two-foot logs fastened together, upon which a rude shack had been erected for shelter. This slight protection from sun and storm was all the brothers would have