Betty Zane Zane Grey (desktop ebook reader TXT) 📖

grown cold and gray; his lips were tightly compressed; his eyes dilated and shone with a peculiar lustre.

“Where were you headin’ your pony?” asked Wetzel.

“I wanted to reach that point where the water is shallow,” answered Betty.

“That’s what I thought. Well, Betty, hostile Injuns are hidin’ and waitin’ fer you in them high rushes right where you were makin’ fer,” said Wetzel. Then he shouldered his rifle and walked rapidly away.

“Oh, he cannot be serious!” cried Betty. “Oh, how foolish I am.”

“Get back up from the river, everybody,” commanded Col. Zane.

“Col. Zane,” said Clarke, walking beside the Colonel up the bank, “I saw Wetzel watching the island in a manner that I thought odd, under the circumstances, and I watched too. Presently I saw a dark form dart behind a bush. I went over and told Wetzel, and he said there were Indians on the island.”

“This is most d⁠⸺⁠n strange,” said Col. Zane, frowning heavily. “Wetzel’s suspicions, Miller turns up, teases Betty attempting that foolhardy trick, and then⁠—Indians! It may be a coincidence, but it looks bad.”

“Col. Zane, don’t you think Wetzel may be mistaken?” said Miller, coming up. “I came over from the other side this morning and I did not see any Indian sign. Probably Wetzel has caused needless excitement.”

“It does not follow that because you came from over the river there are no Indians there,” answered Col. Zane, sharply. “Do you presume to criticize Wetzel’s judgment?”

“I saw an Indian!” cried Clarke, facing Miller with blazing eyes. “And if you say I did not, you lie! What is more, I believe you know more than anyone else about it. I watched you. I saw you were uneasy and that you looked across the river from time to time. Perhaps you had better explain to Col. Zane the reason you taunted his sister into attempting that ride.”

With a snarl more like that of a tiger than of a human being, Miller sprang at Clarke. His face was dark with malignant hatred, as he reached for and drew an ugly knife. There were cries of fright from the children and screams from the women. Alfred stepped aside with the wonderful quickness of the trained boxer and shot out his right arm. His fist caught Miller a hard blow on the head, knocking him down and sending the knife flying in the air.

It had all happened so quickly that everyone was as if paralyzed. The settlers stood still and watched Miller rise slowly to his feet.

“Give me my knife!” he cried hoarsely. The knife had fallen at the feet of Major McColloch, who had concealed it with his foot.

“Let this end right here,” ordered Col. Zane. “Clarke, you have made a very strong statement. Have you anything to substantiate your words?”

“I think I have,” said Clarke. He was standing erect, his face white and his eyes like blue steel. “I knew him at Ft. Pitt. He was a liar and a drunkard there. He was a friend of the Indians and of the British. What he was there he must be here. It was Wetzel who told me to watch him. Wetzel and I both think he knew the Indians were on the island.”

“Col. Zane, it is false,” said Miller, huskily. “He is trying to put you against me. He hates me because your sister⁠—”

“You cur!” cried Clarke, striking at Miller. Col. Zane struck up the infuriated young man’s arm.

“Give us knives, or anything,” panted Clarke.

“Yes, let us fight it out now,” said Miller.

“Capt. Boggs, take Clarke to the blockhouse. Make him stay there if you have to lock him up,” commanded Col. Zane. “Miller, as for you, I cannot condemn you without proof. If I knew positively that there were Indians on the island and that you were aware of it, you would be a dead man in less time than it takes to say it. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and twenty-four hours to leave the Fort.”

The villagers dispersed and went to their homes. They were inclined to take Clarke’s side. Miller had become disliked. His drinking habits and his arrogant and bold manner had slowly undermined the friendships he had made during the early part of his stay at Ft. Henry; while Clarke’s good humor and willingness to help anyone, his gentleness with the children, and his several acts of heroism had strengthened their regard.

“Jonathan, this looks like some of Girty’s work. I wish I knew the truth,” said Col. Zane, as he, his brothers and Betty and Myeerah entered the house. “Confound it! We can’t have even one afternoon of enjoyment. I must see Lewis. I cannot be sure of Clarke. He is evidently bitter against Miller. That would have been a terrible fight. Those fellows have had trouble before, and I am afraid we have not seen the last of their quarrel.”

“If they meet again⁠—but how can you keep them apart?” said Silas. “If Miller leaves the Fort without killing Clarke he’ll hide around in the woods and wait for a chance to shoot him.”

“Not with Wetzel here,” answered Col. Zane. “Betty, do you see what your⁠—” he began, turning to his sister, but when he saw her white and miserable face he said no more.

“Don’t mind, Betts. It wasn’t any fault of yours,” said Isaac, putting his arm tenderly round the trembling girl. “I for another believe Clarke was right when he said Miller knew there were Indians over the river. It looks like a plot to abduct you. Have no fear for Alfred. He can take care of himself. He showed that pretty well.”

An hour later Clarke had finished his supper and was sitting by his window smoking his pipe. His anger had cooled somewhat and his reflections were not of the pleasantest kind. He regretted that he lowered himself so far as to fight with a man little better than an outlaw. Still there was a grim satisfaction in the thought of the blow he had given Miller. He remembered