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The day may pass off as many other days of drinking bouts have, without anything serious, and on the other hand there's liable to be trouble." Jonathan's preparations were characteristic of the borderman. He laid aside his rifle, and, removing his short coat, buckled on a second belt containing a heavier tomahawk and knife than those he had been wearing.
Instantly from somewhere in the darkness overhanging the road, came a low, warning whistle. "A signal!" exclaimed Colonel Zane. "Quick, Eb! Look toward Metzar's light. One, two, three, shadows Injuns!" "By the Lord Harry! Now they're gone; but I couldn't mistake those round heads and bristling feathers." "Shawnees!" said the borderman, and his teeth shut hard like steel on flint.
Before Helen lost herself in slumber on that eventful evening, she vowed to ignore the borderman; assured herself that she did not want to see him again, and, rather inconsistently, that she would cure him of his indifference. When Colonel Zane's guests had retired, and the villagers were gone to their homes, he was free to consult with Jonathan.
Sitting on a log, he deliberately surveyed the robust shoulders and long, heavy limbs of the young man, with a keen appreciation of their symmetry and strength. Agility, endurance and courage were more to a borderman than all else; a new-comer on the frontier was always "sized-up" with reference to these "points," and respected in proportion to the measure in which he possessed them.
Brandt flew the coop last night. Wetzel found this hid in his room." Colonel Zane took a long, feathered arrow from where it lay on a bench, and held it out to Jonathan. "The Shawnee signal! Wetzel had it right," muttered the borderman. "Exactly. Lew found where the arrow struck in the wall of Brandt's room.
"H' are you, Metzar. I just dropped in to see if I could make a trade for your sorrel mare," replied Jonathan. Being well aware that the innkeeper would not part with his horse, the borderman had made this announcement as his reason for entering the bar-room. "Nope, I'll allow you can't," replied Metzar. As he turned to go, Jonathan's eyes roamed around the bar-room.
But our men were between the two, a compact body, each borderman fighting independently, but knowing the game. I heard no word of command, no shout of direction from either Farrell or Duval, yet we ripped them asunder with sweeping rifle butts, and, almost before I could catch a second breath, the few who remained on their feet were helplessly trapped.
Therefore Colonel Zane gave way to anger. "Well, I'm not so damned surprised! What's to be done?" "Find out what men are there?" "That's easy. I'll go to see George and soon have the truth." "Won't do," said the borderman decisively. "Go back to the barn, an' look after the hosses."
The evening, tranquil and gray, crept over them with all its mystery. He was a part of it. She could not hope to understand him; but saw clearly that his was no common personality. She wanted to speak, to voice a sympathy strong within her; but she did not know what to say to this borderman.
No unusual sight was it to see the borderman wet, ragged, bloody, worn with long marches, hollow-eyed and gloomy; yet he had never before presented such an appearance at Fort Henry. Betty ran forward, and, though she clasped his arm, shrank back. There was that in the borderman's presence to cause fear. "Wetzel?" Jonathan cried sharply.
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