Betty Zane Zane Grey (desktop ebook reader TXT) 📖

wooing may go well. I like him very much. But I’m afraid. Betty has such a spirit that it is quite likely she will refuse him for no other reason than that he built his cabin before he asked her.”

“Nonsense. He asked her long ago. Never fear, Bess, my sister will come back as meek as a lamb.”

Meanwhile Betty and Alfred were strolling down the familiar path toward the river. The October air was fresh with a suspicion of frost. The clear notes of a hunter’s horn came floating down from the hills. A flock of wild geese had alighted on the marshy ground at the end of the island where they kept up a continual honk! honk! The brown hills, the red forest, and the yellow fields were now at the height of their autumnal beauty. Soon the November north wind would thrash the trees bare, and bow the proud heads of the daisies and the goldenrod; but just now they flashed in the sun, and swayed back and forth in all their glory.

“I see you limp. Are you not entirely well?” Betty was saying.

“Oh, I am getting along famously, thank you,” said Alfred. “This one foot was quite severely burned and is still tender.”

“You have had your share of injuries. I heard my brother say you had been wounded three times within a year.”

“Four times.”

“Jonathan told of the axe wound; then the wound Miller gave you, and finally the burns. These make three, do they not?”

“Yes, but you see, all three could not be compared to the one you forgot to mention.”

“Let us hurry past here,” said Betty, hastening to change the subject. “This is where you had the dreadful fight with Miller.”

“As Miller did go to meet Girty, and as he did not return to the Fort with the renegade, we must believe he is dead. Of course, we do not know this to be actually a fact. But something makes me think so. Jonathan and Wetzel have not said anything; I can’t get any satisfaction on that score from either; but I am sure neither of them would rest until Miller was dead.”

“I think you are right. But we may never know. All I can tell you is that Wetzel and Jack trailed Miller to the river, and then they both came back. I was the last to see Lewis that night before he left on Miller’s trail. It isn’t likely I shall forget what Lewis said and how he looked. Miller was a wicked man; yes, a traitor.”

“He was a bad man, and he nearly succeeded in every one of his plans. I have not the slightest doubt that had he refrained from taking part in the shooting match he would have succeeded in abducting you, in killing me, and in leading Girty here long before he was expected.”

“There are many things that may never be explained, but one thing Miller did always mystifies us. How did he succeed in binding Tige?”

“To my way of thinking that was not so difficult as climbing into my room and almost killing me, or stealing the powder from Capt. Boggs’s room.”

“The last, at least, gave me a chance to help,” said Betty, with a touch of her odd roguishness.

“That was the grandest thing a woman ever did,” said Alfred, in a low tone.

“Oh, no, I only ran fast.”

“I would have given the world to have seen you, but I was lying on the bench wishing I were dead. I did not have strength to look out of a porthole. Oh! that horrible time! I can never forget it. I lie awake at night and hear the yelling and shooting. Then I dream of running over the burning roofs and it all comes back so vividly I can almost feel the flames and smell the burnt wood. Then I wake up and think of that awful moment when you were carried into the blockhouse white, and, as I thought, dead.”

“But I wasn’t. And I think it best for us to forget that horrible siege. It is past. It is a miracle that anyone was spared. Ebenezer says we should not grieve for those who are gone; they were heroic; they saved the Fort. He says too, that we shall never again be troubled by Indians. Therefore let us forget and be happy. I have forgotten Miller. You can afford to do the same.”

“Yes, I forgive him.” Then, after a long silence, Alfred continued, “Will you go down to the old sycamore?”

Down the winding path they went. Coming to a steep place in the rocky bank Alfred jumped down and then turned to help Betty. But she avoided his gaze, pretended to not see his outstretched hands, and leaped lightly down beside him. He looked at her with perplexity and anxiety in his eyes. Before he could speak she ran on ahead of him and climbed down the bank to the pool. He followed slowly, thoughtfully. The supreme moment had come. He knew it, and somehow he did not feel the confidence the Colonel had inspired in him. It had been easy for him to think of subduing this imperious young lady; but when the time came to assert his will he found he could not remember what he had intended to say, and his feelings were divided between his love for her and the horrible fear that he should lose her.

When he reached the sycamore tree he found her sitting behind it with a cluster of yellow daisies in her lap. Alfred gazed at her, conscious that all his hopes of happiness were dependent on the next few words that would issue from her smiling lips. The little brown hands, which were now rather nervously arranging the flowers, held more than his life.

“Are they not sweet?” asked Betty, giving him a fleeting glance. “We call them ‘black-eyed Susans.’ Could anything be lovelier than that soft, dark brown?”

“Yes,” answered Alfred, looking into her eyes.

“But⁠—but you are not looking at my daisies