Betty Zane Zane Grey (desktop ebook reader TXT) 📖

time will come. Don’t worry about that,” said Alfred, jestingly, and then, turning to the others he continued, earnestly. “I will apologize for the manner in which I disregarded Miss Zane’s wish not to help her. I am sure I could do no less. I believe my rudeness has spared her considerable suffering.”

“What did he mean, Betts?” asked Isaac, going back to his sister after he had closed the door. “Didn’t you want him to help you?”

Betty did not answer. She sat on the couch while Mrs. Zane held the little bare foot and slowly poured the hot water over the swollen and discolored ankle. Betty’s lips were pale. She winced every time Mrs. Zane touched her foot, but as yet she had not uttered even a sigh.

“Betty, does it hurt much?” asked Isaac.

“Hurt? Do you think I am made of wood? Of course it hurts,” retorted Betty. “That water is so hot. Bessie, will not cold water do as well?”

“I am sorry. I won’t tease any more,” said Isaac, taking his sister’s hand. “I’ll tell you what, Betty, we owe Alfred Clarke a great deal, you and I. I am going to tell you something so you will know how much more you owe him. Do you remember last month when that red heifer of yours got away? Well, Clarke chased her all day and finally caught her in the woods. He asked me to say I had caught her. Somehow or other he seems to be afraid of you. I wish you and he would be good friends. He is a mighty fine fellow.”

In spite of the pain Betty was suffering a bright blush suffused her face at the words of her brother, who, blind as brothers are in regard to their own sisters, went on praising his friend.

Betty was confined to the house a week or more and during this enforced idleness she had ample time for reflection and opportunity to inquire into the perplexed state of her mind.

The small room, which Betty called her own, faced the river and fort. Most of the day she lay by the window trying to read her favorite books, but often she gazed out on the quiet scene, the rolling river, the everchanging trees and the pastures in which the red and white cows grazed peacefully; or she would watch with idle, dreamy eyes the flight of the crows over the hills, and the graceful motion of the hawk as he sailed around and around in the azure sky, looking like a white sail far out on a summer sea.

But Betty’s mind was at variance with this peaceful scene. The consciousness of a change, which she could not readily define, in her feelings toward Alfred Clarke, vexed and irritated her. Why did she think of him so often? True, he had saved her brother’s life. Still she was compelled to admit to herself that this was not the reason. Try as she would, she could not banish the thought of him. Over and over again, a thousand times, came the recollection of that moment when he had taken her up in his arms as though she were a child. Some vague feeling stirred in her heart as she remembered the strong yet gentle clasp of his arms.

Several times from her window she had seen him coming across the square between the fort and her brother’s house, and womanlike, unseen herself, she had watched him. How erect was his carriage. How pleasant his deep voice sounded as she heard him talking to her brother. Day by day, as her ankle grew stronger and she knew she could not remain much longer in her room, she dreaded more and more the thought of meeting him. She could not understand herself; she had strange dreams; she cried seemingly without the slightest cause, and she was restless and unhappy. Finally she grew angry and scolded herself. She said she was silly and sentimental. This had the effect of making her bolder, but it did not quiet her unrest. Betty did not know that the little blind God, who steals unawares on his victim, had marked her for his own, and that all this sweet perplexity was the unconscious awakening of the heart.

One afternoon, near the end of Betty’s siege indoors, two of her friends, Lydia Boggs and Alice Reynolds, called to see her.

Alice had bright blue eyes, and her nut brown hair hung in rebellious curls around her demure and pretty face. An adorable dimple lay hidden in her rosy cheek and flashed into light with her smiles.

“Betty, you are a lazy thing!” exclaimed Lydia. “Lying here all day long doing nothing but gaze out of the window.”

“Girls, I am glad you came over,” said Betty. “I am blue. Perhaps you will cheer me up.”

“Betty needs someone of the sterner sex to cheer her,” said Alice, mischievously, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t you think so, Lydia?”

“Of course,” answered Lydia. “When I get blue⁠—”

“Please spare me,” interrupted Betty, holding up her hands in protest. “I have not a single doubt that your masculine remedies are sufficient for all your ills. Girls who have lost their interest in the old pleasures, who spend their spare time in making linen and quilts, and who have sunk their very personalities in a great big tyrant of a man, are not liable to get blue. They are afraid he may see a tear or a frown. But, thank goodness, I have not yet reached that stage.”

“Oh, Betty Zane! Just you wait! Wait!” exclaimed Lydia, shaking her finger at Betty. “Your turn is coming. When it does do not expect any mercy from us, for you shall never get it.”

“Unfortunately, you and Alice have monopolized the attentions of the only two eligible young men at the fort,” said Betty, with a laugh.

“Nonsense. There plenty of young men all eager for your favor, you little coquette,” answered Lydia. “Harry Martin, Will Metzer, Captain Swearengen, of Short Creek, and others too numerous to count. Look