“Miller must be safe from pursuit by this time,” said Betty.
“Safe for the present, yes,” answered Col. Zane, “but while Jonathan and Wetzel live I would not give a snap of my fingers for Miller’s chances. Hello, I hear someone talking. I sent for Jack and the Major.”
The Colonel threw open the door. Wetzel, Major McColloch, Jonathan and Silas Zane were approaching. They were all heavily armed. Wetzel was equipped for a long chase. Double leggins were laced round his legs. A buckskin knapsack was strapped to his shoulders.
“Major, I want you and Jonathan to watch the river,” said Col. Zane. “Silas, you are to go to the mouth of Yellow Creek and reconnoiter. We are in for a siege. It may be twenty-four hours and it may be ten days. In the meantime I will get the Fort in shape to meet the attack. Lewis, you have your orders. Have you anything to suggest?”
“I’ll take the dog,” answered Wetzel. “He’ll save time for me. I’ll stick to Miller’s trail and find Girty’s forces. I’ve believed all along that Miller was helpin’ Girty, and I’m thinkin’ that where Miller goes there I’ll find Girty and his redskins. If it’s night when I get back I’ll give the call of the hoot-owl three times, quick, so Jack and the Major will know I want to get back acrost the river.”
“All right, Lewis, we’ll be expecting you any time,” said Col. Zane.
“Betty, I’m goin’ now and I want to tell you somethin’,” said Wetzel, as Betty appeared in the door. “Come as far as the end of the path with me.”
“I’m sorry you must go. But Tige seems delighted,” said Betty, walking beside Wetzel, while the dog ran on before.
“Betty, I wanted to tell you to stay close like to the house, fer this feller Miller has been layin’ traps fer you, and the Injuns is on the warpath. Don’t ride your pony, and stay home now.”
“Indeed, I shall never again do anything as foolish as I did yesterday. I have learned my lesson. And Oh! Lew, I am so grateful to you for saving me. When will you return to the Fort?”
“Mebbe never, Betty.”
“Oh, no. Don’t say that. I know all this Indian talk will blow over, as it always does, and you will come back and everything will be all right again.”
“I hope it’ll be as you say, Betty, but there’s no tellin’, there’s no tellin’.”
“You are going to see if the Indians are making preparations to besiege the Fort?”
“Yes, I am goin’ fer that. And if I happen to find Miller on my way I’ll give him Betty’s regards.”
Betty shivered at his covert meaning. Long ago in a moment of playfulness, Betty had scratched her name on the hunter’s rifle. Ever after that Wetzel called his fatal weapon by her name.
“If you were going simply to avenge me I would not let you go. That wretch will get his just due some day, never fear for that.”
“Betty, ’taint likely he’ll get away from me, and if he does there’s Jonathan. This mornin’ when we trailed Miller down to the river bank Jonathan points acrost the river and says: ‘You or me,’ and I says: ‘Me,’ so it’s all settled.”
“Will Mr. Clarke live?” said Betty, in an altered tone, asking the question which was uppermost in her mind.
“I think so, I hope so. He’s a husky young chap and the cut wasn’t bad. He lost so much blood. That’s why he’s so weak. If he gets well he’ll have somethin’ to tell you.”
“Lew, what do you mean?” demanded Betty, quickly.
“Me and him had a long talk last night and—”
“You did not go to him and talk of me, did you?” said Betty, reproachfully.
They had now reached the end of the path. Wetzel stopped and dropped the butt of his rifle on the ground. Tige looked on and wagged his tail. Presently the hunter spoke.
“Yes, we talked about you.”
“Oh! Lewis. What did—could you have said?” faltered Betty.
“You think I hadn’t ought to speak to him of you?”
“I do not see why you should. Of course you are my good friend, but he—it is not like you to speak of me.”
“Fer once I don’t agree with you. I knew how it was with him so I told him. I knew how it was with you so I told him, and I know how it is with me, so I told him that too.”
“With you?” whispered Betty.
“Yes, with me. That kind of gives me a right, don’t it, considerin’ it’s all fer your happiness?”
“With you?” echoed Betty in a low tone. She was beginning to realize that she had not known this man. She looked up at him. His eyes were misty with an unutterable sadness.
“Oh, no! No! Lew. Say it is not true,” she cried, piteously. All in a moment Betty’s burdens became too heavy for her. She wrung her little hands. Her brother’s kindly advice, Bessie’s warnings, and old Grandmother Watkins’s words came back to her. For the first time she believed what they said—that Wetzel loved her. All at once the scales fell from her eyes and she saw this man as he really was. All the thousand and one things he had done for her, his simple teaching, his thoughtfulness, his faithfulness, and his watchful protection—all came crowding on her as debts that she could never pay. For now what could she give this man to whom she owed more than her life? Nothing. It was too late. Her love could have reclaimed him, could have put an end to that
