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

he had asked for a knife and that his enemy and he be permitted to fight to the death. After all to have ended, then and there, the feud between them would have been the better course; for he well knew Miller’s desperate character, that he had killed more than one white man, and that now a fair fight might not be possible. Well, he thought, what did it matter? He was not going to worry himself. He did not care much, one way or another. He had no home; he could not make one without the woman he loved. He was a Soldier of Fortune; he was at the mercy of Fate, and he would drift along and let what came be welcome. A soft footfall on the stairs and a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened and Wetzel strode into the room.

“I come over to say somethin’ to you,” said the hunter, taking the chair by the window and placing his rifle over his knee.

“I will be pleased to listen or talk, as you desire,” said Alfred.

“I don’t mind tellin’ you that the punch you give Miller was what he deserved. If he and Girty didn’t hatch up that trick to ketch Betty, I don’t know nothin’. But we can’t prove nothin’ on him yet. Mebbe he knew about the redskins; mebbe he didn’t. Personally, I think he did. But I can’t kill a white man because I think somethin’. I’d have to know fer sure. What I want to say is to put you on your guard against the baddest man on the river.”

“I am aware of that,” answered Alfred. “I knew his record at Ft. Pitt. What would you have me do?”

“Keep close till he’s gone.”

“That would be cowardly.”

“No, it wouldn’t. He’d shoot you from behind some tree or cabin.”

“Well, I’m much obliged to you for your kind advice, but for all that I won’t stay in the house,” said Alfred, beginning to wonder at the hunter’s earnest manner.

“You’re in love with Betty, ain’t you?”

The question came with Wetzel’s usual bluntness and it staggered Alfred. He could not be angry, and he did not know what to say. The hunter went on:

“You needn’t say so, because I know it. And I know she loves you and that’s why I want you to look out fer Miller.”

“My God! man, you’re crazy,” said Alfred, laughing scornfully. “She cares nothing for me.”

“That’s your great failin’, young feller. You fly off’en the handle too easy. And so does Betty. You both care fer each other and are unhappy about it. Now, you don’t know Betty, and she keeps misunderstandin’ you.”

“For Heaven’s sake! Wetzel, if you know anything tell me. Love her? Why, the words are weak! I love her so well that an hour ago I would have welcomed death at Miller’s hands only to fall and die at her feet defending her. Your words set me on fire. What right have you to say that? How do you know?”

The hunter leaned forward and put his hand on Alfred’s shoulder. On his pale face was that sublime light which comes to great souls when they give up a life long secret, or when they sacrifice what is best beloved. His broad chest heaved: his deep voice trembled.

“Listen. I’m not a man fer words, and it’s hard to tell. Betty loves you. I’ve carried her in my arms when she was a baby. I’ve made her toys and played with her when she was a little girl. I know all her moods. I can read her like I do the moss, and the leaves, and the bark of the forest. I’ve loved her all my life. That’s why I know she loves you. I can feel it. Her happiness is the only dear thing left on earth fer me. And that’s why I’m your friend.”

In the silence that followed his words the door opened and closed and he was gone.

Betty awoke with a start. She was wide awake in a second. The moonbeams came through the leaves of the maple tree near her window and cast fantastic shadows on the wall of her room. Betty lay quiet, watching the fairy-like figures on the wall and listening intently. What had awakened her? The night was still; the crow of a cock in the distance proclaimed that the hour of dawn was near at hand. She waited for Tige’s bark under her window, or Sam’s voice, or the kicking and trampling of horses in the barn⁠—sounds that usually broke her slumbers in the morning. But no such noises were forthcoming. Suddenly she heard a light, quick tap, tap, and then a rattling in the corner. It was like no sound but that made by a pebble striking the floor, bounding and rolling across the room. There it was again. Someone was tossing stones in at her window. She slipped out of bed, ran, and leaned on the window sill and looked out. The moon was going down behind the hill, but there was light enough for her to distinguish objects. She saw a dark figure crouching by the fence.

“Who is it?” said Betty, a little frightened, but more curious.

“Sh-h-h, it’s Miller,” came the answer, spoken in low voice.

The bent form straightened and stood erect. It stepped forward under Betty’s window. The light was dim, but Betty recognized the dark face of Miller. He carried a rifle in his hand and a pack on his shoulder.

“Go away, or I’ll call my brother. I will not listen to you,” said Betty, making a move to leave the window.

“Sh-h-h, not so loud,” said Miller, in a quick, hoarse whisper. “You’d better listen. I am going across the border to join Girty. He is going to bring the Indians and the British here to burn the settlement. If you will go away with me I’ll save the lives of your brothers and their families. I have aided Girty and I have