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Updated: June 6, 2025
"I am sorry, too, because Wingenund was a fine Indian. But Wetzel is implacable." "Here's Nell, and Mrs. Clarke too. Come out, both of you," cried Jim. Nell appeared in the doorway with Colonel Zane's sister. The two girls came down the steps and greeted the young man. The bride's sweet face was white and thin, and there was a shadow in her eyes.
She released him, and ran sobbing from the room. Unsteady as a blind man, he groped for the door, found it, and went out. The longest day in Jonathan Zane's life, the oddest, the most terrible and complex with unintelligible emotions, was that one in which he learned that the wilderness no longer sufficed for him. He wandered through the forest like a man lost, searching for, he knew not what.
His brother Jonathan and the Indian guide, Tomepomehala, rendered valuable aid in blazing out the path through the wilderness. This road, famous for many years as Zane's Trace, opened the beautiful Ohio valley to the ambitious pioneer. For this service Congress granted Col.
I'll send Sam up to the cabin and have him fix things up a bit and make it more habitable." The door opened, admitting Col. Zane's elder boy. The lad's face was dirty, his nose was all bloody, and a big bruise showed over his right eye. "For the land's sake!" exclaimed his mother. "Look at the boy. Noah, come here. What have you been doing?"
An hour afterward he was sitting in Col. Zane's comfortable cabin, where all was warmth and cheerfulness. Blazing hickory logs roared and crackled in the stone fireplace. "Hello, Jack, where did you come from?" said Col. Zane, who had just come in. "Haven't seen you since we were snowed up. Come over to see about the horses?
From its appearance it might have been a powder keg, but the merry twinkle in the Colonel's eyes showed that the cask contained something as precious, perhaps, as powder, but not quite so dangerous. It was a cask of wine over thirty years old. With Col. Zane's other effects it had stood the test of the long wagon-train journey over the Virginia mountains, and of the raft-ride down the Ohio. Col.
It's a mighty pert piece of work. I've a mind it's some slick white fellar, with Injuns backin' him." Helen noted, when she was once more indoors, that Colonel Zane's wife appeared worried. Her usual placid expression was gone.
That evening there was sadness at Colonel Zane's supper table. They felt the absence of the Colonel's usual spirits, his teasing of Betty, and his cheerful conversation. He had nothing to say. Betty sat at the table a little while, and then got up and left the room saying she could not eat. Jonathan, on hearing of his brother's recapture, did not speak, but retired in gloomy silence.
Zane's men returned and Betty learned from Jonathan that Alfred had left them at Ft. Pitt, saying he was going south to his old home. At first she had expected some word from Alfred, a letter, or if not that, surely an apology for his conduct on that last evening they had been together.
Border lore coupled Jonathan Zane with a strange and terrible character, a border Nemesis, a mysterious, shadowy, elusive man, whom few pioneers ever saw, but of whom all knew. "Wetzel," answered Zane. With one accord the travelers gazed curiously at Zane's silent companion.
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