Betty Zane, Zane Grey [top 10 books to read txt] 📗

teach you many things; the language of my people, their ways and thoughts, but I have failed to civilize you. I cannot make you understand that it is unwomanly⁠—do not turn away. I am not indifferent. I have learned to care for you. Your beauty and tenderness have made anything else impossible.”

“Myeerah is proud of her beauty, if it pleases the Eagle. Her beauty and her love are his. Yet the Eagle’s words make Myeerah sad. She cannot tell what she feels. The pale face’s words flow swiftly and smoothly like rippling waters, but Myeerah’s heart is full and her lips are dumb.”

Myeerah and Isaac stopped under a spreading elm tree the branches of which drooped over and shaded the river. The action of the high water had worn away the earth round the roots of the old elm, leaving them bare and dry when the stream was low. As though Nature had been jealous in the interest of lovers, she had twisted and curled the roots into a curiously shaped bench just above the water, which was secluded enough to escape all eyes except those of the beaver and the muskrat. The bank above was carpeted with fresh, dewy grass; blue bells and violets hid modestly under their dark green leaves; delicate ferns, like wonderful fairy lace, lifted their dainty heads to sway in the summer breeze. In this quiet nook the lovers passed many hours.

“Then, if my White Chief has learned to care for me, he must not try to escape,” whispered Myeerah, tenderly, as she crept into Isaac’s arms and laid her head on his breast. “I love you. I love you. What will become of Myeerah if you leave her? Could she ever be happy? Could she ever forget? No, no, I will keep my captive.”

“I cannot persuade you to let me go?”

“If I free you I will come and lie here,” cried Myeerah, pointing to the dark pool.

“Then come with me to my home and live there.”

“Go with you to the village of the pale faces, where Myeerah would be scorned, pointed at as your captor, laughed at and pitied? No! No!”

“But you would not be,” said Isaac, eagerly. “You would be my wife. My sister and people will love you. Come, Myeerah save me from this bondage; come home with me and I will make you happy.”

“It can never be,” she said, sadly, after a long pause. “How would we ever reach the fort by the big river? Tarhe loves his daughter and will not give her up. If we tried to get away the braves would overtake us and then even Myeerah could not save your life. You would be killed. I dare not try. No, no, Myeerah loves too well for that.”

“You might make the attempt,” said Isaac, turning away in bitter disappointment. “If you loved me you could not see me suffer.”

“Never say that again,” cried Myeerah, pain and scorn in her dark eyes. “Can an Indian Princess who has the blood of great chiefs in her veins prove her love in any way that she has not? Some day you will know that you wrong me. I am Tarhe’s daughter. A Huron does not lie.”

They slowly wended their way back to the camp, both miserable at heart; Isaac longing to see his home and friends, and yet with tenderness in his heart for the Indian maiden who would not free him; Myeerah with pity and love for him, and a fear that her long cherished dream could never be realized.

One dark, stormy night, when the rain beat down in torrents and the swollen river raged almost to its banks, Isaac slipped out of his lodge unobserved and under cover of the pitchy darkness he got safely between the lines of tepees to the river. He had just the opportunity for which he had been praying. He plunged into the water and floating down with the swift current he soon got out of sight of the flickering campfires. Half a mile below he left the water and ran along the bank until he came to a large tree, a landmark he remembered, when he turned abruptly to the east and struck out through the dense woods. He traveled due east all that night and the next day without resting, and with nothing to eat except a small piece of jerked buffalo meat which he had taken the precaution to hide in his hunting shirt. He rested part of the second night and next morning pushed on toward the east. He had expected to reach the Ohio that day, but he did not and he noticed that the ground seemed to be gradually rising. He did not come across any swampy lands or saw grass or vegetation characteristic of the lowlands. He stopped and tried to get his bearings. The country was unknown to him, but he believed he knew the general lay of the ridges and the watercourses.

The fourth day found Isaac hopelessly lost in the woods. He was famished, having eaten but a few herbs and berries in the last two days; his buckskin garments were torn in tatters; his moccasins were worn out and his feet lacerated by the sharp thorns.

Darkness was fast approaching when he first realized that he was lost. He waited hopefully for the appearance of the north star⁠—that most faithful of hunter’s guides⁠—but the sky clouded over and no stars appeared. Tired out and hopeless he dragged his weary body into a dense laurel thicket and lay down to wait for dawn. The dismal hoot of an owl nearby, the stealthy steps of some soft-footed animal prowling round the thicket, and the mournful sough of the wind in the treetops kept him awake for hours, but at last he fell asleep.

VII

The chilling rains of November and December’s flurry of snow had passed and midwinter with its icy blasts had set in. The Black Forest had changed autumn’s gay crimson