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

The long black barrel started slowly to rise⁠—it seemed to the interested onlookers that it would never reach a level⁠—and when, at last, it became rigid, there was a single second in which man and rifle appeared as if carved out of stone. Then followed a burst of red flame, a puff of white smoke, a clear ringing report.

Many thought the hunter had missed altogether. It seemed that the nail had not changed its position; there was no bullet hole in the white lime wash that had been smeared round the nail. But on close inspection the nail was found to have been driven to its head in the wood.

“A wonderful shot!” exclaimed Col. Zane. “Lewis, I don’t remember having seen the like more than once or twice in my life.”

Wetzel made no answer. He moved away to his former position and commenced to reload his rifle. Betty came running up to him, holding in her hand the prize bullet pouch.

“Oh, Lew, if I dared I would kiss you. It pleases me more for you to have won my prize than if anyone else had won it. And it was the finest, straightest shot ever made.”

“Betty, it’s a little fancy for redskins, but it’ll be a keepsake,” answered Lewis, his eyes reflecting the bright smile on her face.

Friendly rivalry in feats that called for strength, speed and daring was the diversion of the youth of that period, and the pioneers conducted this good-natured but spirited sport strictly on its merits. Each contestant strove his utmost to outdo his opponent. It was hardly to be expected that Alfred would carry off any of the laurels. Used as he had been to comparative idleness he was no match for the hardy lads who had been brought up and trained to a life of action, wherein a ten mile walk behind a plow, or a cord of wood chopped in a day, were trifles. Alfred lost in the foot race and the sack race, but by dint of exerting himself to the limit of his strength, he did manage to take one fall out of the best wrestler. He was content to stop here, and, throwing himself on the grass, endeavored to recover his breath. He felt happier today than for some time past. Twice during the afternoon he had met Betty’s eyes and the look he encountered there made his heart stir with a strange feeling of fear and hope. While he was ruminating on what had happened between Betty and himself he allowed his eyes to wander from one person to another. When his gaze alighted on Wetzel it became riveted there. The hunter’s attitude struck him as singular. Wetzel had his face half turned toward the boys romping near him and he leaned carelessly against a white oak tree. But a close observer would have seen, as Alfred did, that there was a certain alertness in that rigid and motionless figure. Wetzel’s eyes were fixed on the western end of the island. Almost involuntarily Alfred’s eyes sought the same direction. The western end of the island ran out into a long low point covered with briars, rushes and sawgrass. As Alfred directed his gaze along the water line of this point he distinctly saw a dark form flit from one bush to another. He was positive he had not been mistaken. He got up slowly and unconcernedly, and strolled over to Wetzel.

“Wetzel, I saw an object just now,” he said in a low tone. “It was moving behind those bushes at the head of the island. I am not sure whether it was an animal or an Indian.”

“Injuns. Go back and be natur’l like. Don’t say nothin’ and watch Miller,” whispered Wetzel.

Much perturbed by the developments of the last few moments, and wondering what was going to happen, Alfred turned away. He had scarcely reached the others when he heard Betty’s voice raised in indignant protest.

“I tell you I did swim my pony across the river,” cried Betty. “It was just even with that point and the river was higher than it is now.”

“You probably overestimated your feat,” said Miller, with his disagreeable, doubtful smile. “I have seen the river so low that it could be waded, and then it would be a very easy matter to cross. But now your pony could not swim half the distance.”

“I’ll show you,” answered Betty, her black eyes flashing. She put her foot in the stirrup and leaped on Madcap.

“Now, Betty, don’t try that foolish ride again,” implored Mrs. Zane. “What do you care whether strangers believe or not? Eb, make her come back.”

Col. Zane only laughed and made no attempt to detain Betty. He rather indulged her caprices.

“Stop her!” cried Clarke.

“Betty, where are you goin’?” said Wetzel, grabbing at Madcap’s bridle. But Betty was too quick for him. She avoided the hunter, and with a saucy laugh she wheeled the fiery little pony and urged her over the bank. Almost before anyone could divine her purpose she had Madcap in the water up to her knees.

“Betty, stop!” cried Wetzel.

She paid no attention to his call. In another moment the pony would be off the shoal and swimming.

“Stop! Turn back, Betty, or I’ll shoot the pony,” shouted Wetzel, and this time there was a ring of deadly earnestness in his voice. With the words he had cocked and thrown forward the long rifle.

Betty heard, and in alarm she turned her pony. She looked up with great surprise and concern, for she knew Wetzel was not one to trifle.

“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Colonel Zane, looking in amazement at the hunter’s face, which was now white and stern.

“Why, Lew, you do not mean you would shoot Madcap?” said Betty, reproachfully, as she reached the shore.

All present in that watching crowd were silent, awaiting the hunter’s answer. They felt that mysterious power which portends the revelation of strange events. Col. Zane and Jonathan knew the instant they saw Wetzel that something extraordinary was coming. His face had