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Updated: May 11, 2025
The original owner, a sturdy soldier and pioneer, came to Fort Henry when Colonel Zane founded the settlement, and had been killed during Girty's last attack. His successor, another Metzar, was, according to Jonathan's belief, as bad as the whiskey he dispensed.
"You know me, Metzar," Colonel Zane said grimly. "I don't waste words. 'To hell with law! so you say. I can say that, too. Remember, the next drunken boy I see, or shady deal, or gambling spree, out you go for good." Metzar lowered his shaggy head and left the porch. Brandt and his friends, with serious faces, withdrew into the bar-room.
Her resolution fixed, Helen changed her skirt for one of buckskin, putting on leggings and moccasins of the same serviceable material. She filled the pockets of a short, rain-proof jacket with biscuits, and, thus equipped, sallied forth with a spirit and exultation she could not subdue. Only one thing she feared, which was that Brandt or Metzar might see her cross the river.
Metzar an' Brandt with their allies, whoever they are, will be in it, an' if Bing Legget's in the gang, we've got, as Wetzel said, a long, hard trail, which may be our last. More'n that, there'll be trouble about this chain-lightnin' girl, as Wetzel predicted.
Then, satisfied by the scrutiny he opened his hunting frock, taking forth a long object which he thrust toward Metzar. It was an Indian arrow. Metzar's dull gaze traveled from this to the ominous face of Brandt. "See there, you! Look at this arrow! Shot by the best Indian on the border into the window of my room. I hadn't been there a minute when it came from the island.
"Brandt an' Metzar, with Legget backin' them, an' the horses go overland to Detroit?" "I calkilate you've hit the mark." "What'll we do?" asked Jonathan. "Wait; that's best. We've no call to hurry. We must know the truth before makin' a move, an' as yet we're only suspicious. This lass'll find out more in a week than we could in a year. But Jack, have a care she don't fall into any snare.
Brandt uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Metzar a curse, as the lithe Indian leaped the brook. He was not young. His swarthy face was lined, seamed, and terrible with a dark impassiveness. "Paleface-brother-get-arrow," he said in halting English, as his eyes flashed upon Brandt. "Chief-want-make-sure."
The ugly stranger got rattlesnake-mad, and yanked out a big knife. Sam is hitching up the team now to haul what's left of him up on the hillside. Metzar resisted arrest, and got badly hurt. He's in the guardhouse. Case, who has been drunk for a week, got in Wetzel's way and was kicked into the middle of next week. He's been spitting blood for the last hour, but I guess he's not much hurt.
Several strangers of shiftless aspect bleared at him. "They wouldn't steal a pumpkin," muttered Jonathan to himself as he left the inn. Then he added suspiciously, "Metzar was talkin' to some one, an' 'peared uneasy. I never liked Metzar. He'll bear watchin'." The borderman passed on down the path thinking of what he had heard against Metzar.
The shadow of death was already stealing over the pallid face, but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a spirit which nothing but death could quench. "Quick!" the lad panted. "Send men to the south wall. The redskins are breakin' in where the water from the spring runs under the fence." "Where are Metzar and the other men?" "Dead! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night.
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