Classic Audiobook Collection - The Last Trail by Zane Grey ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: June 6, 2023

The Last Trail by Zane Grey audiobook. Genre: adventure In the raw, river-laced wilderness of the Ohio Valley after the Revolutionary War, survival depends on sharp eyes, steady nerves, and trust that is never guaranteed. A lone family group, led by pioneer George Sheppard, pushes toward the tenuous safety of Fort Henry - only to discover that the greatest dangers are not always the ones that move through the trees. When a young woman is seized from the fort and carried into contested territory by a brutal mix of renegades and hostile warriors, two legendary border fighters, Jonathan Zane and the feared scout Lewis Wetzel, take up the pursuit. Their chase becomes a grim test of endurance across dark forests and winding trails where every footprint can be a trap and every campfire a beacon. Along the way, loyalties fracture, old frontier hatreds flare, and a fragile romance begins to form under the pressure of constant threat. Gritty, atmospheric, and steeped in the peril of early American settlement, The Last Trail follows a last, desperate venture into the unknown - with the promise that only the strongest will return unchanged. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:12:31) Chapter 02 (00:36:51) Chapter 03 (00:56:23) Chapter 04 (01:26:51) Chapter 05 (01:40:59) Chapter 06 (02:10:42) Chapter 07 (02:33:20) Chapter 08 (02:50:57) Chapter 09 (03:09:28) Chapter 10 (03:22:23) Chapter 11 (03:41:27) Chapter 12 (04:15:26) Chapter 13 (04:38:07) Chapter 14 (04:59:14) Chapter 15 (05:12:33) Chapter 16 (05:23:49) Chapter 17 (05:45:10) Chapter 18 (06:06:07) Chapter 19 (06:24:47) Chapter 20 (06:51:21) Chapter 21 (07:05:55) Chapter 22 (07:25:52) Chapter 23 (07:37:08) Chapter 24 (07:51:20) Chapter 25 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 1. Twilight of a certain summer day many years ago, shaded softly down over the wild Ohio valley, bringing keen anxiety to a traveler on the lonely river trail. He had expected to reach Fort Henry with his party on this night, thus putting a welcome in to the long, rough, hazardous journey through the wilderness. But the swift oncoming dusk made it imperative to halt. The narrow forest-girted trail, difficult to follow in broad daylight, apparently led into gloomy aisles in the woods.

His guide had abandoned him that morning, making excuse that his services were no longer needed. His teamster was new to the frontier, and altogether the situation caused him much uneasiness. I wouldn't so much mind another night in camp if the guide had not left us, he said, in a low tone to the teamster. That Worthy shook his shaggy head and growled while he began unhitching the horses. "'Uncle?' said a young man who had clamored out from the wagon. "'We must be within a few miles of Fort Henry.' "'How do you know we're near the fort?' interrupted the Teamster.

"'Or safe, either, for that matter. "'I don't know this country.' "'The guide assured me we could easily make Fort Henry by sundown. "'That guide, I tell you, Mr. Shepherd. "'Not so loud. Do not alarm my daughter,' "'Cautioned the man who had been called Shepard. "'Did you notice anything queer about?' that guide? asked the teamster, lowering his voice. Did you see how uneasy he was last night?

Did it strike you? He left us in a hurry, kind of excited like, in spite of his offhand banner. Yes, he acted odd, or so it seemed to me, replied Shepard. How about you, Will? Now to think of it, I believe he was queer. He behaved like a man who expected somebody or feared something might happen. I fancied, however, that it was simply the manner of a woodsman. "'Well, in my opinion,' said the Teamster. In a gruff whisper, "'he was in a hurry to be a-going, "'and wouldn't take no advice.

"'The fur trader at Fort Pitt "'didn't give this guy Jenks no good send-off. "'So anyone well-known around Pitt "'sept he could handle a knife some. "'What is your opinion?' asked Shepherd, "'as the Teamster paused. "'Well, the Valley below Pitt is full of renegades, "'outlaws and horse thieves.

"'Redskins ain't so bad as they used to be. But these white fellas were worse than ever. This guy Jenks might be in with him. That's all. Maybe I'm wrong. I hope so. The way he left us looks bad. We won't borrow trouble if we have come all this way without seeing either Indian or outlaw. In fact, without incident,

I feel certain we can perform the remainder of the journey in safety. Then Mr. Shepherd raised his voice. Here, Helen, you lazy girl, come out of that wagon. We want some supper. Well, you gather some firewood, and we'll soon give this gloomy little glen a more chival aspect. As Mr. Shepherd turned toward the canvas-covered wagon, a girl leaped out, lightly down beside him.

She was nearly as tall as he. Is this Fort Henry Shask? cheerily beginning to dance around him. Where's the inn? I'm so hungry how glad I am to get out of that wagon. I'd like to run. Isn't this a lonesome, lovely spot? A campfire soon crackled with hiss and sputter.

Fragrant wood smoke filled the air. Steaming kettle and savory stakes of venison cheered the hungry travelers, making them forget for the time the desertion of their guide and the fact that they might be lost. The last glow faded entirely out of the western sky. Night enveloped a forest, and the little glade was a bright spot in the gloom. The flickering light showed Mr. Shepard to be a well-preserved old man with gray hair and ruddy, kindly face.

The nephew had a boyish frank expression. The girl was a splendid special. of womanhood. Her large, laughing eyes were as dark as the shadows beneath the trees. Suddenly a quick start on Helen's part interrupted the merry flow of conversation. She sat bolt upright, with half-averted face. "'Cousin, what is the matter?' asked Will quickly. Helen remained motionless. "'A dear,' said Mr. Shepherd sharply. "'I heard a footstep,' she whispered, pointing with trembling finger toward the impertable blackness

beyond the campfire. All could hear a soft pattern. on the leaves, then distinct footfalls broke the silence. The tired teemster raised his shaggy head and glanced fearfully around the glade. Mr. Shepherd and Will glazed doubtfully towards the foliage, but Helen did not change her position. The travelers appeared stricken by the silence and solitude of the place. Faint hum of insects and the low moan of the night wind seemed accentuated by the almost painful stillness. A panther most likely suggested Shepherd, and a voice which he intended should be reassuring.

I saw one today slinking along the trail. I'd better get my gun from the wagon, said Will. How dark and wild it is here, exclaimed Helen nervously. I believe I was frightened. Perhaps I fancied it. And there, again, listen, uh-huh. Two tall figures emerged from the darkness into the circle of light, and with swift, supple steps, gained the camp.

fire before any of the travelers had time to move. They were Indians, and the brandishing of their tomahawks proclaimed that they were hostile. Woo! Gw! Gwenda Tuller Savage, as he looked down upon the defenseless, frightened group. As the menacing figures stood in the glare of the fire, gazing at the party, with shifty eyes, they presented a frightful appearance, fierce liniment's, all the more so because of bars of paint and hideous shaven heads adorned with tufts of hair. holding a single feather,

sinewy copper-colored limbs suggestive of action and endurance. The general aspect of untamed ferocity appalled the travelers and chilled their blood. Grunts and chuckles manifested the satisfaction with which the Indians fell upon the half-finished supper. They caused it to vanish with astonishing salarity and resembled wolves rather than human beings in their greediness. Helen looked timidly around as if hoping to see those who would aid,

and the savages regarded her with ill humor. A movement on the part of any member of the group caused muscular hands to steal towards the tomahawks. Suddenly the larger savage clutched his companion's knee, then lifting his hatchet, shook it with a significant gesture in Shepherd's face. At the same time, putting a finger to his lips to enjoin silence, both Indians became statuesque in their immobility. They crouched in an attitude of listening with heads bent,

On one side, nostrils dilated and mouths open. One, two, three moments passed. The silence of the forest appeared to be unbroken. But ears, as keen as those of a deer, had detected some sound. The larger savage dropped noiselessly to the ground where he lay stretched out with his ear to the ground. The other remained immovable. Only his beady eyes gave signs of life,

and these covered every point. Finally the big savage rose silently, pointed down the dark trail and strode out of the circle of light. His companion followed close at his heels. The two disappeared in the black shadows like spectres as silently as they had come. Wow, breathed Helen. I am immensely relieved, exclaimed Will. What do you make of such strange behavior, Shepard asked of the Teamster.

I suspect they got wind of somebody. Most like that guy, and he'll be back again. if they ain't, it's because they got switched off by some signs or token skeered, perhaps by the scent of the wind. Hardly at East cease speaking when again the circle of light was invaded by stalking forms. I've thought so. Here come the skulking varmets, whispered the teamster. But he was wrong.

A deep, calm voice spoke the single word. Friends. The two men in the brown garb of woodsmen approached. One approached the travelers, the other remained in the background. leaning upon a long black rifle. Thus exposed to the glare of the flames, the foremost woodsman presented a singularly picturesque figure. His costume was fringed buckskin of the border.

Fully six feet tall, this lithe-limbed young giant had something of the wild free grace of the Indian in his posture. He surveyed the wandering travelers with dark grave eyes. Did the Reddy's do any mischief, he asked. No, they didn't harm us, replied Shepherd. They ate our supper and slipped off into the woods without so much as touching one of us. But indeed, sir, we are mighty glad to see you. Will echoed this sentiment and Helen's big eyes were fastened upon the stranger in welcome and wonder. We saw your fireblazing through the

twilight and came up just in time to see the engines make off. Might they not hide in the bushes and shoot us, asked Will, who had listened to many a border story at Fort Pitt. It seems if we'd make good targets in this light. The gravity of the woodsman's face relaxed. Will you pursue them? asked Helen. They've melted into the night shadows long ago, he replied. Who was your guide? I hired him at Fort Pitt.

He left us suddenly this morning. A big man with black beard and bushy eyebrows. A bit of his ear had been shot or cut out, Shepard replied. Jenks, one of bing leggett's border arms. Hawks. You have his name right, and who may Bing Leggett be? He's an outlaw. Jenks has been trying to lead you into a trap. Likely he expected those engines to show up a day or two ago. Something went wrong with the plan, I reckon. Maybe he was waiting for five Shawnees. And maybe he'll never see three of them again. Something suggestive cold and grim in the last

words did not escape the listeners. How far are we from Fort Henry? Ask, Shepard. Eighteen miles of the crow flies, longer by trail. Treachery, exclaimed the old man. We were no more than that this morning. It is indeed fortunate that you found us. I take it you are from Fort Henry and will guide us there. I am an old friend of Colonel Zanes.

He will appreciate any kindness you may show us. Of course. You may know him. I'm Jonathan Zane. Shepard suddenly realized that he was facing the most celebrated scout on a a border. In revolutionary times, Zane's fame had extended even to the far-atlantic colonies. And your companion, asked Shepard with keen interest. He guessed what might be told. 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. In the dim background of the glow cast by the fire, he stood a gigantic figure, dark, quiet, and yet with something intangible in his shadowy outline. Suddenly he appeared to merge into the gloom as if he really were a phantom. A warning, est, came from the bushes.

With one swift kick, Zane scattered the campfire. The travelers waited with bated breast. nothing save the beating of their own hearts. They could not even see each other. Better go to sleep. Came in Zane's calm voice. What a relief it was. We'll keep watching.

At daybreak, guide you to Ford Henry. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti,

Mike Vendetti.com The Last Trail by Zane Gray Chapter 2 Colonel Zane, a rugged stalwart pioneer with a strong dark face sat listening to his old friend's dramatic story. At its close a genial smile twinkled on his fine dark eyes.

Well, well, Shepherd, no doubt it was a thrilling adventure to you, he said, it might have been a little more interesting and doubtless would had I not San Wenzel and Jonathan to look you up. You did? How on earth did you know I was on the border? I counted much on the surprise I should give you. My Indian runners leave Fort Pitt ahead of any travelers and acquaint me with the particulars. I remembered a fleet-looking Indian who seemed to be asking for information about us when we arrived at Fort Pitt.

I am sorry I did not take the fur trader's advice in regard to the guide, but I was in such a hurry to come and didn't feel. label to bear the expense of a raft or boat that we might come by a river. My nephew brought considerable gold, and I all my earthly possessions. All's well that ends well, replied Colonel Zane cheerily. But we must thank Providence that Wenssel and Jonathan came up in the nick of time. Indeed, yes, I'm not likely to forget those fierce savages, how they slipped off into the darkness. I wonder if Wetzel pursued them.

He disappeared last night, and we did not see him again. In fact, we hardly had a fair look at him. I questioned if I should recognize him now, unless by his great stature. He was ahead of Jonathan on the trail. That is Wetzel's way. In times of danger he is seldom seen, yet is always near. Come, let us go out and look around.

I am running up a log cabin which will come in handy for you. They passed out into the shade of pine and maples, A winding path led down a gentle slope, on the hillside under a spreading tree, a throng of bearded pioneers, clad in faded buckskins, and wearing white-ringed coon-skin caps, were erecting a log cabin. Life here on the border is keen, hard invigorating, said Colonel Zane. I tell you, George Shepard, in spite of your gray hair and your pretty daughter, you've come out west because you want to live among men who do things. "'Colonel, I won't gainsay I've still got hot blood,' replied Shepard. "'But I came to Fort Henry for land. "'My old home in Williamsburg has fallen into ruin together with the fortunes of my family.

"'I brought my daughter and my nephew because I wanted them to take root in new soil. "'Well, George, right glad we are to have you here. "'Where are your sons? I remember them, though it's sixteen long years since I left old Williamsburg. "' Gone. The revolution took my son. Helen is the last of the family. Well, well, indeed that's hard. Independence has cost you colonists a big price as border freedom has as pioneers.

Come old friend. Forget the past. A new life begins for you here, and it will be one which gives you much. See, up goes a cabin. That will soon be your home. Shepherd's eye marked the sturdy pioneers in a fast, diminishing pile of white oak logs.

Oh, he've, quiv! cried a brunny foreman. A dozen stout shoulders sagged beneath a well-trimmed log. Oh, heave! yelled the foreman. See, up she goes, cried the colonel, and tomorrow night she'll shed rain. They walked down a sandy lane bounded on the right by a wide green clearing, and on the left by a line of chestnuts and maples, outposts of the thick forest beyond. Yours is a fine sight for a house, observed Sheffered,

taking in the clean, trimmed field that extended up the hillside a brook-thage, clear and noisy, over stones to tarry in a little grass-bound lake, which forced water through half-hollowed logs into a spring house. I think so. This is the fourth time I've put up a cabin on this land, replied the colonel. How's that? The redskins are keen to burn things. Shepherd laughed at the pioneers' reply.

It's not difficult, Colonel Zane, to understand why, Fort Henry has stood all these years with you as its leader. Certainly the location of your cabin is the finest in the settlement. What a view! High upon a bluff overhanging the majestic, slow winding Ohio, the colonel's cabin afforded a commanding position from which to view the picturesque valley. Shepherd's eye first caught the outline of the huge, bold, time-blackened fort, which frowned protectively over surrounding log cabins.

Then he saw the white-sweeping river with its verdure. islands, golden sandy bars, and willow bordered shores, while beyond rolling pastures of wavy grass merging into green forests that swept upward, with slow swell until lost in the dim purple of distant mountains. Sixteen years ago I came out of the thicket upon yonder bluff and saw this valley. I was deeply impressed by its beauty, but more by its wonderful promise. Were you alone? Had my dog! There had been a few white men before me on the river, but I was the first to see this glorious valley from the bluff. Now, George, I'll let you have a hundred acres of well-cleared land.

The soil is so rich you can raise two crops and one season. With some stock and a few good hands, you'll soon be a busy man. I didn't expect so much land. I can't well afford to pay for it. Talk to me of payments when the farm yields an income. Is this young nephew of yours strong and willing? He is. He has gold enough to buy a big farm.

Let him keep his money and make a comfortable home for some good lass. We marry our young people early out here. And your daughter, George, is she fitted for this hard border life? Never fear for Helen. The brunt of this pioneer work falls on our women. God bless them. How heroic they've been, the life here is rough for a man, let alone a woman. But it is a man's game.

We need girls, girls who will be. bare, strong man, yet I am always saddened when I see one come out on the border. I think I knew what I was bringing Helen to, and she didn't flinch, said Shepard, somewhat surprised at the tone in which the colonel spoke. No one knows until he has lived on the border. Well, well, all this is discouraging to you. Ah, here's Miss Helen with my sister. The colonel's fine, dark face lost its sternness and brightened with a

smile. I hope you rested well after your long ride. I am seldom tired and I have been made most comfortable. I thank you and your sister, replied the girl, giving Colonel Zane her hand and including both him and his sister in the grateful glance. The Colonel's sister was a slender, handsome young woman whose dark beauty showed to most effective advantage by the contrast with her companions fair skin, golden hair and blue eyes. Beautiful as was Helen, and Shepard, it was her eyes that held Colonel Zane irresistibly. They were unusually large of a dark purple blue that changed, shaded, shadowed with her every thought. Come, let us walk, Colonel Zane said abruptly, and with Mr. Shepard, followed the girls down

the path. He escorted them to the fort, showed a long room with little squares cut in the rough-pune logs, many bullet holes, fire-charged timbers, and dark stains terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism, which the defense of that root structure had cost. Under Helen's eager questioning, Colonel Zane yielded to his weakness for storytelling and recited the history of the last siege of Fort Henry, how the renegade Gertie swooped down upon the settlement with hundreds of Indians and British soldiers, how for three days of whistling bullets, flaming arrows, screeching demons, fire, smoke, and attack following attack.

the brave defenders stood at their post, there to die before yielding. Grand, breathed Helen, and her eyes glowed. It was then Betty Zane ran with the powder. Oh, I've heard the story. Let my sister tell you of that, said to Colonel Smiling. You. Was it you? And Helen's eyes glowed brighter with the light of youth's glory in great deeds. My sister has been weddowed and widowed since then, said Colonel Zane,

reading in Helen's earnest scrutiny of his sister's calm, sad face, a wonder if this quiet woman could be the fearless and famed Elizabeth Zane. Impulsively, Helen's hands closed softly over her companions. Out of the girly sympathetic action, a warm friendship was born. I imagine things do happen here, said Mr. Shepherd, hoping to hear more from Colonel Zane. The Colonel smiled grimly. Every summer during 15 years has been a bloody one on the border. The sieges from Fort Henry and Crawford's defeat,

the biggest things we ever knew out here, are matters of history. Of course, you are familiar with them, but the numberless Indian forays and attacks, the women who have been carried into captivity by renegades, the murdered farmers, in fact, ceaseless war never long directed at any point, but carried on in the entire length of the river. are matters known only to the pioneers.

Within five miles of Fort Henry, I can show you where the Laurel Boises grow three feet high over the ashes of two settlements and many clearing where some unfortunate pioneer had staked his claim and thrown up a log cabin, only to die fighting for his wife and children. Between here and Fort Pitt,

there is only one settlement, Yellow Creek, and most of its inhabitants are survivors of villages further up the river. Last summer, we had a summer. had the Morvian massacre, the blackest, most inhuman deed ever committed. Since then, Simon Gertie and his bloody redskins have lain low. He must have always been a big force, said Shepard. We've managed always to be strong enough, though there never was a large number of men here.

During the last siege I had only forty in the fort, counting men, women, and boys. But I had pioneers and women who could handle a rifle and the best bordermen on the frontier. Do you make a distinction between pioneer and bordermen? Asked Shepard. Indeed, yes, I'm a pioneer. A borderman is an Indian hunter or scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam, and John McCallick, Bill Metzer, and John and Martin Whetzel,

all of whom are dead. Not one saved his scalp. Fort Henry is growing. It has pioneers, Rivermen, soldiers, but only two bordermen, Wetzel and Jonathan. are the only ones we have left, of these great men. They must be old, mused Helen, with a dreamy glow still in her eyes. Well, Miss Helen, not in years, as you mean.

Life here is old and experience. Few pioneers and no bordermen. Live to a great age. Whittsell, about forty, and my brother, Jonathan? Still a young man, but both are old in border lore. Earnestly is a man who loves his subject. Colonel Zane told his listeners of these two most, prominent characters of the border.

Sixteen years previously, when, but boys and years, they had cast in their lot with his and journeyed over the Virginian Mountains, Wetzel to devote his life to the vengeful calling he had chosen, and Jonathan, to give rain to an adventurous spirit and love all the wilds. By some wonderful chance, by cunning, woodcraft, or daring, both men had lived through the years of border warfare, which had brought to a close the careers of all their contemporaries. For many years, Wetzel preferred the solitude to companionship. He roamed the wilderness

in pursuit of Indians his lifelong foes, and seldom appeared at the settlement except to bring news of an intended raid of the savages. Jonathan also spent much time alone in the woods or scouting along the river. But of late years, a friendship had ripened between the two bordermen. Mutual interest had brought them together on the trail of a noted renegade, and when, after many long days of patient watching and persistent tracking, the outlaw paid an awful penalty for his bloody deeds. These lone and silent men were friends, powerful unbuild, fleet is dear, fearless and tireless.

Wetzel's peculiar bloodhound sagacity, ferocity, and implacability, balanced by Jonathan's keen intelligence and judgment, caused these bordermen to become the bane of red men and renegades. Their fame increased with each succeeding summer until now the people of the settlement looked upon wonderful deeds of strength and of woodcraft as a matter of course, rejoicing in the power and skill with which these men were endowed. By common consent the pioneers attribute any mysterious deed, from the finding of a fat turkey on a cabin doorstep to the discovery of a savage scalped and pulled from his ambush near a settler spring to Wetzel and Jonathan, all the more that they feel sure of this conclusion because the borderman never spoke of their deeds.

Sometimes a pioneer living on the outskirts of the settlement would be awakened in the morning by a single rifle shot, and on peering out would see a dead Indian lying almost across his doorstep. While beyond in the dim gray mist, a tall figure stealing away, often in the twilight on a summer evening, while fondling his children and enjoying his smoke after a hard day's labor in the fields, this same settler would see the tall, dark figure of Jonathan Zane step noiselessly out of a thicket and learn that he must take his family and flee at once to the fort for safety.

When a settler was murdered, his children carried into captivity by Indians and the wife given over to the power of some brutal renegade, tragedies woefully frequent on the border. Whittsland Jonathan took the trail alone. Many a white woman was returned alive and sometimes unharmed to her relatives. More than one maiden lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, while almost numberless were the bones of brutal red men lying in the deep and gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, silent, ghastly reminders of the stern justice, met it out by these two heroes.

Such are my two bordermen, Miss Shepherd. The fort there and all those cabins would only be black ashes save for them, and as for us, our wives and children, God only knows. haven't they wives and children too asked helen no answered colonel zane with his genial smile such joys are not for bordermen why not fine men like them deserve happiness declared helen it is necessary we have such said the colonel simply and they cannot be bordermen unless as free as the air blows wetzel and jonathan have never had sweethearts i believe wetzel loved a last once but he was an indian killer whose hands were red with blood. He silenced his heart and kept his chosen lonely life. Jonathan does not seem to realize that women exist to charm, to please, to be loved and married. Once we tweeted him about his brothers doing their duty by the border, whereupon he flashed out, my life is the borders,

my sweetheart is the North Star. Helen dreamily watched the dancing, dimpling waves that broke on the stones of the river shore, all unconscious of the powerful impression that Colonel's recital had made upon her. She was feeling the greatness of the lives of those bordermen, and the glory it would now be for her to share with others, the pride in their protection. "'Say, Shepherd, look here,' said Colonel Zane. On the return to his cabin, that girl of yours has a pair of eyes. I can't forget the way they flashed. They'll cause more trouble here among my garrison than with a swarm of redskins. No, you don't mean it out here in this wilderness,

Quirred Shepherd doubtfully? Well, I do. Oh, Lord, what a time I had with that girl. There was one man especially back home, who made our lives miserable. He was rich and well-born, but Helen would have none of him. He got around me, old fool that I am,

practically stole what was left of my estate, and gambled away when Helen said she died before giving herself to him. It was partly on the same. on his account that I brought her away. Then there were a lot of moon-eyed beggars after her all the time, and she's young and full of fire. I hoped I'd marry her to some farmer out here,

and in my days in peace. Peace, with eyes like those? Never on this green earth, and Colonel Zane laughed as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. Don't worry, old fellow. You can't help her having those changing dark blue eyes any more than you can help being proud of them. They have won me already, susceptible old backwoodsman.

I'll help you with this spirited young lady. I've had experience, shepherd, and don't you forget it. First, my sister, a zane all through, which is saying enough, then a sweet and fiery a little Indian princesses ever stepped in a beaded moccasin. And since, more than one beautiful impulsive creature, being in authority, I suppose it's natural that all the work, from keeping the garrison ready against an attack to straightening out love affairs should fall upon me.

I'll take the care off your shoulders. I'll keep those young daredevals from killing each other over Miss Helen's favors. I certainly, hello there are strangers at the gate. Something's up. Half a dozen rough-looking men had appeared from around the corner of the cabin and halted at the gate. Bill Elsing and some of his men from Yellow Creek said Colonel Zane, as he went toward the group.

Hello, Colonel, was the greeting of the foremost, evidently the leader. We've lost six head of horses over our way, and are out looking them up. The deuce you have! Say, this horse-stealing business is getting interesting. What did you come in for? Well, we meet Jonathan on the ridge about Sunup, and he sent us bag, Liggity Cut, said he had two of the horses corralled, and maybe Wetzel could get to you. others. That strange, replied Colonel Zane thoughtfully. Appears to me, Jack and Wetzel have some redskins treat and don't want us to

spoil of fun. Maybe there wasn't scalps enough to go around. Anyway, we come in and we'll hang up here today. Bill, who's doing this horse stealing? Damn, if I know, it's a mighty pert piece of work. I've a mind that some slick whitefeller with engines backing him. Helen noted when she was once more indoors. that Colonel Zane's wife appeared worried. Her usual placid expersion was gone. She put off the playful overtures of her two bright boys with unusual indifference,

and turned to her husband with anxious questioning as to whether the strangers brought news of Indians. Upon being assured that such was not the case, she looked relieved, and explained to Helen that she had seen armed men come so often to consult the colonel regarding dangerous missions and expeditions that the sight of a stranger caused her unspeakable dread.

I am accustomed to danger, yet I can never control my fears for my husband and children, said Mrs. Zane. The older I grow, the more of a coward I am. Oh, this border life is sad for women. Only a little while ago my brother Samuel McCullough was shot and scalped right here on the riverbank. He was going to the spring for a bucket of water.

I lost another brother in almost the same way. Every day during the summer a husband and a father fall victim to some murderous Indian. My husband will go in the same way someday. The border claims them all. Bessie, you must not show your fears to our new friend, and Miss Helen don't believe she's the coward she would make out, said the Colonel's sister smilingly. That is right, Bess, don't frighten her, said Colonel Zane.

I'm afraid I talk too much today. But, Miss Helen, you were so, interested and are such a good listener that I couldn't refrain. Once for all, let me say that you will, no doubt, see stirring life here, but there is little danger of its affecting you. To be sure, I think you'll have troubles, but not with Indians or outlaws. He winked to his wife and sister. At first, Helen did not understand his Sally, but then she blushed red all over her fair face. Some time after that, while unpacking her belongings. She heard the clatter of horses' hoofs on the rocky road. Accompanied by loud voices

running to the window, she saw a group of men at the gate. Miss Shepherd, will you come out? Called Colonel Zane's sister from the door. My brother Jonathan has returned. Helen joined Betty at the door and looked over her shoulder. Well, Jack, you got two on them. Anyways, crawled a voice which she recognized as that of Helsings. A man, lithe and supple, slipped from the back of one of the horses and giving the halter to Elsting, with a single word, turned and entered the gate. Colonel Zane met him there. Well, Jonathan, what's up? There's hell to pay, was the reply, and the speaker's voice rang clear and sharp. Colonel Zane laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and thus they stood for a moment, singularly like, and yet the sturdy

pioneer was somehow far different from the dark-haired border man. I thought we'd trouble in store from the look on your face, said the Colonel calmly. I hope you hadn't very bad news on the first day for our old friends from Virginia. Jonathan cried Betty, when he did not answer the Colonel. At her call he half turned and his dark eyes steadily strained like those of the watching deer sought his sister's face. Betty, old Jake Lane was murdered by horse thieves yesterday and Mabel Lane is gone. Oh, gasped Betty.

But she said nothing more. Colonel Zane cursed inaudily. You know, Eb, I tried to keep Lane in the settlement for Mabel's sake, but he wanted to work that farm. I believe horse stealing wasn't as much of an object as the girl. Pretty women are bad for the border, or any other place. I guess Winsall has taken the trail, and I came in because I have serious suspicions. I'll explain to you alone.

The border man bowed gravely to Helen with a natural grace, and yet a manner that set awkwardly upon him. The girl slightly flushed and somewhat confused by this meeting with a man around whom her romantic imagination had already woven a story, stood in the doorway after giving him a fleeting glance, the fairest, sweetest picture of girlish beauty ever seen. The men went into the house,

but their voices came distinctly through the door. If Bing Leggett or Gritty ever see that big-eyed lass, they'll have her even if Fort Henry has to be burnt. And in case they do get her, Wetzel and I'll have taken our last trail. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The last trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 3. Over, Colonel Zane led his guests to a side porch, where they were soon joined by Mrs. Zane and Betty. The host two boys, Noah and Sammy, who had preceded them, were now astride the porch rail, and, to judge by their antics, were riding wild Indian Mustangs. It's quite cool, said Colonel Zane, but I want you to see the sunset in the valley.

A good many of our future neighbors may come over tonight for a word of welcome. It's the border custom. He was about to seat himself by the side of Mr. Shepherd on a rustic bench. When a negro maid appeared in the doorway carrying a smiling black-eyed baby, Colonel Zane took the child, and holding it aloft, said with fatherly pride, This is Rebecca Zane, the first girl baby born to the Zanes, and destined to be the bell of the border. May I have her? Ask Helen softly, holding out her arms.

She took the child and placed it upon her knee, where its look of solemnity soon changed to one of infantile delight. Here come Nell and Jim, said Mrs. Zane, pointing toward the fort. Yes, and there comes my brother Silas with his wife, too, added Colonel Zane. The first couple are James Downs, our young minister and Nell his wife. They came out here a year or so ago. James had a brother Joe, the finest young fellow who ever caught the border fever. He was killed by one of the Gerties.

He was a wonderful story, and some day, you shall hear about the parson and his wife. What's the border fever? asked Mr. Shepard. It's what brought you out here, replied Colonel Zane with a hearty laugh. Helen gazed with interest at the couple now coming into the yard, and when they gained the porch she saw that the man was big and tall, with a frank manly bearing, while his wife was a slender little woman with bright sunny hair and a sweet smiling face.

They greeted Helen and her father cordially. next came silas zane a typical bronzed and bearded pioneer with his buxom wife presently a little group of villagers joined the party they were rugged men clad in faded buckskins and sober-faced women who wore dresses of plain gray lindsay they welcomed the newcomers with simple homely courtesy then six young frontiersmen appeared from around a corner of the cabin advancing hesitantly to helen they welcomed the new-comersmen appeared from around the corner of the cabin advancing hesitantly to helen they all looked alike, tall, awkward with brown faces and big hands. When Colonel Zane cheerily cried out to them, they stumbled forward with evident embarrassment, each literally crushing Helen's hand in his horny palm. Afterward, they leaned on the rail and stole glances at her.

Soon a large number of villagers were on the porch or in the yard. After paying the respects to Helen and her father, they took part in a general conversation. Two or three girls, the latest callers, were surrounded by half a dozen young fellows, and their laughter sounded high above the hum of voices. Helen gazed upon this company with mingled feelings of relief and pleasure. She had to been more concerned regarding the young people

with whom her lot might be cast than the dangers of which others had told. She knew that on the border there was no distinction of rank, though she came of an old family and during her girlhood, had been surrounded by refinement, even luxury. She had accepted cheerfully the reverses of fortune and was determined to curb the pride which had been hers. It was necessary she should have friends, warm-hearted, impulsive, and loving. She needed to have around her those in whom she could confide.

Therefore it was with sincere pleasure. She understood how groundless were her fears and knew that if she did not find a good true friends, the fault would be her own. she saw at a glance that the Colonel's widowed sister was her equal, perhaps her superior in education and breeding, while Nellie Doones was a well-bred and gracious little lady as she had ever met. Then the other girls, too, were charming, with frank wholesomeness and freedom. Concerning the young men of whom there were about a dozen, Helen had hardly arrived at a conclusion.

She liked the ruggedness, the signs of honest worth which clung to them. Despite her youth, she had been much sought after because of her personal attractions and had thus added experience to the natural keen intuition all women possess. The glances of several of the men, particularly the bold regard of one Roger Brandt, whom Colonel Zane introduced, she had seen before and learned to dislike. On the whole, however, she was delighted with the prospect of new friends and future prosperity, and she felt even greater pleasure in the certainty that her father's shared her gratification.

Suddenly she became aware that the conversation had ceased. She looked up to see the tall, live form of Jonathan Zane, as he strode across the porch. She could see that a certain constraint had momentarily fallen upon the company. It was an involuntary acknowledgment of the Borderman's presence, of a presence that worked on all alike with a subtle, strong magnetism. Ah, Jonathan, come out and see the sunset. it's unusually fine to-night said colonel zane with hardly more than a perceptible bow to those present the borderman took a seat near the rail and leaning upon it directed his gaze westward

ellen sat so near she could have touched him she was conscious of the same strange feeling and the impelling sense of power which had come upon her so strongly at first sight of him more than that a lively interest had been aroused in her This border man was to her a new and a novel character. She was amused at learning that there was a young man absolutely indifferent to the charms of the opposite sex, and although hardly admitting such a thing, she believed it would be possible to win him from his indifference. On raising her eyelids, it was with the unconcern which a woman feigns when suspecting she is being regarded with admiring eyes. but Jonathan Zane might not have known for presence for all the attention he paid her, therefore having a good opportunity to gaze at this border man of daring deeds, Helen regarded him closely.

He was clad from head to foot in smooth, soft buckskin, which fitted well his powerful frame, beaded moccasins, legands bound high above the knees, hunting coat laced and fringed, all had the neat, tiny appearance due to good, care. He wore no weapons, his hair fell in a raven mass over his shoulders. His profile was regular, with a long straight nose, strong chin, and eyes black as night. They were now fixed intently on the valley. The whole face gave an impression of serenity and calmness.

Helen was wondering if the sad almost stern, tranquillity did that face ever change? When the baby cooed and held out its chubby little hands, Jonathan's smile, which came quickly, the couple by a warm light in the eyes, relieved Helen of an unaccountable repugnance she had begun to feel towards the borderman. That smile, brief as a flash, showed his gentle kindness, and told that he was not a creature who had set himself apart from human life and love. As he took little Rebecca, one of his hands touched Helens. If he had taken heed of the contact, as any ordinary man might well have, she would, perhaps, have thought nothing about it, but because he did not appear to realize that her hand had been almost enclosed in his,

she could not help again feeling his singular personality. She saw that this man had absolutely no thought of her. At the moment this did not awaken resentment, for with all her fire and pride she was not vain, but amusement gave place to a respect which came involuntarily. Little Rebecca presently manifested the faithfulness peculiar to her sex, and had no sooner been taken upon Jonathan's knee, then she cried out to go back to Helen.

Girls are uncommonly coy critters, said he, with a grave smile in his eyes. He handed back the child, and once more was absorbed in the setting sun. Helen looked down the valley to behold the most beautiful spectacle she had ever seen. Between the hills far to the west, the sky flamed with a red and gold light. The sun was poised above the river, and the shimmering waters merged into a ruddy horizon. Long rays of crimson fire crossed the smooth waters. A few purple clouds above caught the refulgans until aided by the delicate rose and blue space beyond. They became many huge ships sailing on a rainbow sea.

Each second saw a gorgeous transformation. Slowly the sun dipped into the golden flood. One by one the clouds changed. crimson to gold, from gold to rose, and then to gray. Slowly all the tints faded until as the sun slipped out of sight, the brilliance gave way to the soft afterglow of warm lights. These in turn slowly toned down into gray twilight. Helen retired to her room soon afterward,

and, being unusually thoughtful, sat down by the window. She reviewed the events of this first day of her new life on the border. Her impressions had been so many, so varied, that she wanted to distinguish them. First, she felt glad, with a sweet, warm thankfulness that her father seemed so happy, so encouraged by the outlook. Breaking old ties had been she knew no child's play for him. She realized also that it had been done solely because there had been nothing left to offer her in the old home. And in a new one were hope and possibilities. Then she was relieved at getting away from the attentions of a man whose persistence had been most annoying to her.

From thoughts of her father and the old life, she came to her new friends of the present. She was so grateful for their kindness. She certainly would do all in her power to win and keep their esteem. Somewhat of a surprise was it to her that she reserved for Jonathan Zane, the last and most prominent place in her meditations. She suddenly asked herself how she regarded this fighting borderman. She recalled her unbounded enthusiasm for the man as Colonel Zane had told of him. Then her first glimpse and her surprise and admiration at the lithe-limbed young giant,

then incredulity, amusement, and respect followed in swift order, after which an unaccountable coldness that was almost resentment, Helen was forced to admit that she did not know how to regard him. but surely he was a man throughout every inch of his superb frame and one who took life seriously with neither thought nor time for the opposite sex and this last brought a blush to her cheek for she distinctly remembered she had expected if not admiration more than passing notice from this hero of the border presently she took a little mirror from the table near where she sat holding it to catch the fast-fading light she studied her face seriously. Helen Shepard, I think on the occasion of your arrival in a new country. A little plain talk would be wholesome.

Somehow or other, perhaps because of a crowd of idle men back there in the colonies, possibly from your own misguided fancy, you imagined you were fair to look at. It is well to be undeceived. Scorn spoke in Helen's voice. she was angry because of having been interested in a man and allowed that interest to betray her into a girlish expectation that he would treat her as all other men had. The mirror, even in the dim light, spoke more truly than she,

for it caught the golden tints of her luxuriant hair, the thousand beautiful shadows in her great dark eyes, the white glory of a face fair as a star, in a swelling outline of neck and shoulders. With sudden fiery impetuosity, she flung the glass to the floor, where it was broken into several pieces. How foolish of me!

What a temper I have! She explained repentantly. I'm glad I have another glass. Wouldn't Mr. Jonathan Zane, Borderman, Indian fighter, hero of a hundred battles, and never a sweetheart be flattered? No, most decidedly he wouldn't. He never looked at me.

I don't think I expected that. I'm sure I didn't want it. But still he might have... Oh, what am I thinking? And he a stranger? 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 guest had retired and the villagers were gone to their homes, he was free to consult with Jonathan. Well, Jack, he said, I'm ready to hear about the horse thieves. Wetzel makes it out. The man who's running the horse stealing is located right here in Fort Henry, answered the borderman. The colonel had lived too long on the frontier to show surprise.

He hummed a tune while the genial expression faded slowly from his face. Last count, there were 110 men at the fort, he replied thoughtfully. I know over a hundred and can trust them. There are some new fellows on the boats and several strangers hanging around Netsers. Pears to Lou and me that this fella is a slick customer and one who's been here long enough to know our hosses and where we keep them. I see, like Miller who fooled us all even Betty, when he stole our powder and then sold it to Gertie,

we joined Colonel Zane Grimley. Exactly, only this fella is slicker and more desperate than Miller. Right sure, Jack, for the man who is trusted and betrayed us must be desperate. Does he realize what he'll get if we ever find out, or is he underrating us? He knows all right, and is matching his cunning against Arn. Tell me what you and what's a learn. the border man proceeded to relate the events that had occurred during a recent tramp in the forest with wetzel while returning from a hunt in a swamp several miles over the ridge back of fort henry they ran across the trail of three indians they followed this until darkness set in when both laid down to rest and wait for the early dawn that time most propitious for taking the savage by surprise on resuming the trail they found that other indians had joined the party they were tracking to the first to the same time most propitious for taking the savage by surprise on resuming the trail they found that other indians had joined the party they were tracking to the

With the bordermen, this was significant of some unusual activity directed toward the settlement. Unable to learn anything different from the moccasin traces, they hurried up on the trail to find that the Indians had halted. Wetzel and Jonathan saw from their convert that the savages had a woman prisoner. A singular feature about it all was that the Indians remained in the same place all day, did not light a campfire, and kept a sharp lookout. The borderman crept up as close as safe and remained on watch during the day and night. Early next morning when the air was fading from black to gray,

the silence was broken by the snapping of twigs and a tremor of the ground. The borderman believed another company of Indians was approaching, but they soon saw it was a single white man leading a number of horses. He departed before daybreak. Wetzel and Jonathan could not get a clear view of him owing to the dim, light, but they heard his voice and afterwards found the imprint of his moccasins. They did, however, recognized the six horses as belonging to settlers in Yellow Creek. While Jonathan and Wetzel were consulting as to what it was best to do, the party of

Indians divided, four going directly west and the others north. Wetzel immediately took the trail of the larger party with the prisoner and four of the horses. Jonathan caught two of the animals which the Indians had turned loose and touched. them in the forest. He then started after the three Indians who had gone northward. Well, Colonel Zane said impatiently

when Jonathan hesitated in his story. One got away, he said reluctantly. I barked him as he was run like a streak through the bushes and judged that he was hard hit. I got the horses and turned back on the trail of the white man. Where did it end?

In that hard-packed path near the blacksmith shop, and a feller steps as light as an engine. He's here, then. Sure as you're born. We've lost no horses yet, but last week old Sam heard a noise in the barn, and on going there found Betty's mare out of her stall. Someone, as knows the lay of the land, has been after her, suggested Jonathan.

You can bet on that. We've got to find him before we lose all the fine horse flesh we own. Where do these stolen animals go? Indians would steal any kind, but this thief takes only the best. I'm to meet Wetzel on the ridge soon, and then we'll know. He's going to find out where the hosses are taken.

That'll help some. On the way back, you found where the white girl had been taken from, murdered father, burned cabin, the usual devil tree, exactly. Poor Maybill, do you think this white thief had anything to do with carrying her away? No, Wittsell says that's being, Leggett's work. The Shawnee's were members of his gang. Well, Jack, what'll I do?

Keep quiet and wait, was the Borderman's answer. Colonel Zane, old pioneer in frontiersman, though he was, shuddered as he went to his room. His brother's dark look, and his deadly calmness were significant. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the last trail. This is a Libervox recording. all Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 4. To those few who saw Jonathan Zane in the village,

it seemed as if he was in his usual quiet and dreamy state. The people were accustomed to his silence, and long since learned that what little time he spent in the settlement was not giving to sociability. In the morning he sometimes lay with Colonel Zane's dog, chief, by the side of a spring under an elm tree, and in the afternoon strolled aimlessly along the river bluff, or on the hillside.

At night he sat on his brother's porch, smoking a long Indian pipe. Since that day now a week past since he had returned with his stolen horses. His movements and habits were precisely what would have been expected, of an unsuspicious borderman. In reality, however,

Jonathan was not what he seemed. He knew all that was going on in the settlement. Hardly a bird could have entered the clearing unobserved. At night, after all the villagers were in bed, he stole cautiously about the stockade, silencing with familiar word the bristling watchhounds, and went from barn to barn, ending his stealthy tramp at the corral,

where Colonel Zane kept his, as thoroughbreds. But all this scouting by night availed nothing. No unusual event occurred, not even the barking of a dog, a suspicious rustling among the thickets, or whistling of a nighthawk, had been heard.

Vainly, the bordermen strained ears to catch some low night signal given by waiting Indians to the white trader within the settlement. By day there was even less to attract the sharp-eyed watcher. The clumsy riverboats, half-wrapped, half-sawed lumbered,

drifted down the Ohio on their first and last voyage, discharged the cargoes of grain, liquor, or merchandise, and were broken up. Their crews came back on the long, overland journey, to Fort Pitt, there to man another craft. The garrison at the fort performed their customary duties. The pioneers tilled the fields, the blacksmith scattered sparks, the wheelwright worked industriously at his bench,

and the housewives attended to their many cares. No strangers arrived at Fort Henry. the quiet life of the village was uninterrupted. Near sunset of a long day, Jonathan strolled down the sandy, well-trodden path towards Metz's Inn. He did not drink and consequently seldom visited the rude, dark, ill-smelling bar room. When occasion demanded his presence there, he was evidently not welcome. The original owner, a sturdy soldier and pioneer,

came to Fort Henry when Colonel Zane founded the settlement and had been killed during Gertie's last attack. His successor, another Metzer, was according to Jonathan's belief as bad as the whiskey he dispensed. More than one murder had been committed at the inn. Countless fatal knife and tomahawk fights had stained red the hard clay floor, and more than one desperate character had been harbored there. Once Colonel Zane said Wetzel there to invite a thief and outlaw to quit the settlement, with the not-unexpected result that it became necessary the robber be carried out.

Jonathan thought of the bad name the place bore all over the frontier and wondered if Metzer could tell anything about the horse thieves. When the borderman bent his tall frame to enter the low studded door, he fancied he saw a dark figure disappear into a room just behind the bar. A roughly clad, heavily bearded man turned hastily at the same moment. Hello, he said gruffly. All right, Metzer. I just dropped in to see if I could make a trick.

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 barroom. Nope, I'll allow you can't, replied Metzer. As he turned to go, Jonathan's eyes roamed around the bar room. Several strangers, the shiftless aspect, blared at him. They wouldn't steal a pumpkin, muttered Jonathan to himself as he, left the end. Then he added suspiciously. Metzer was talking to someone and appeared uneasy.

I never liked Metzer. He'll bear watching. The borderman passed on down the path, thinking of what he had heard against Metzer. The colonel had said that the man was prosperous for an innkeeper who took pelt, grain, or meat in exchange for rum. The village gossips disliked him because he was unmarried, taciturn, and did not care for their company. Jonathan reflected also on the fact that Indians were frequently coming to the inn, and this made him distrustful of the proprietor. It was true that Colonel Zane had red-skinned visitors, but there was always good reason for their coming. Jonathan had seen during the revolution more than one trusted man, proven to be a traitor, and the conviction settled upon him that some quiet scouting would show up the innkeeper

as aiding the horse thieves, if not actually in league with them. Good evening, Jonathan Zane. This greeting in a woman's clear voice brought Jonathan and out from his reveries. He glanced up to see Helen Shepard, standing in the doorway of her father's cabin. Even, miss, he said with a bow and would have passed on. Wait, she cried and stepped out of the door. He waited by the gate which the manner that showed that such a summons was novel to him. Helen peaked at the curt greeting and asked him to wait without any idea of what she would say.

Coming slowly down the path, she felt again a subtle awe of this border man. Regretting her impulsiveness, she lost confidence. Gaining the gate, she looked up intending to speak, but was unable to do so as she saw how cold and grave was his face and how piercing were his eyes. She flushed slightly, and then,

conscious of an embarrassment new and strange to her, flushed rosy red, making as it seemed to her a stupid remark about the sunset. When he took her words literally, Anne said the sunset was fine, she felt guilty of deceitfulness.

Whatever Helen's faults, and they were many. She was honest, and because of not having looked at the sunset, but only wanting him to see her as did other men, the innocent ruse suddenly appeared mean and trifling. Then, with a woman's quick intuition, she understood that coqueteries were lost on this borderman,

and, with a smile, got the better of her embarrassment and humiliation by telling the truth. I wanted to ask a favor of you, and I'm a little afraid. She spoke with girlish shyness, which increased as he stared at her. Why, why do you look at me so? There's a lake over yonder

which the Shawnee's say is haunted by a woman they killed, he replied quietly. You'd do for her spirit, so white and beautiful in the silver moonlight. So my white dress makes me look ghostly. She answered lightly, though deeply conscious of surveillance, surprise and pleasure at such an unexpected reply from him.

This border man might be full of surprises. Such a time as I had bringing my dresses out here, I don't know when I can wear them. This is the simplest one. And it's mighty new and bewildering for the border, he replied with a smile in his eyes. When these are gone, I'll get no more except Lindsay ones, she said rightly,

yet her eyes shone with a wistful uncertainty of the future. We'd be happy here? I am happy. I have always wanted to be of some use in the world. I assure you, Master, Zane. I am not the butterfly I seem. I have worked hard all day.

That is, until your sister Betty came over. All the girls have helped me fix up the cabin until it's more comfortable than I ever dreamed one could be on the frontier. Father is well content here, and that makes me happy. I haven't had time for forebortings. The young men of Fort Henry have been, well, attentive.

In fact, they've been here all the time. She laughed a little at this last remark and looked demurely at him. It's a frontier custom, he said. Oh, indeed, do all the young men call often and stay late? They do. You didn't, she retorted. You're the only one who hasn't been to see me. I do not wait on the girls, he replied with a grave smile.

Well, you don't. Do you expect them to wait on you?" She asked feeling. Now she had made this silent man talk, once more at her ease. I'm a borderman, replied Jonathan. There was a certain dignity or sadness in his answer, which reminded Helen of Colonel Zane's portrayal of a borderman's life. It struck her keenly. Here was this young giant, standing erect and handsome before her, as rugged as one of the ash trees of his beloved forest. Who could tell when his strong life might be ended by an Indian's hatchet?

For you then, is there no such thing as friendship, she asked? On the border men are serious. This recalled his sister's conversation regarding the attentions of the young men, that they would follow her, fight for her, and give her absolutely no peace until one of them had carried her to his cabin a bride. She could not carry on the usual conventional conversation with this borderman, but remained silent for a time. She realized more keenly than ever before how different he was from other men,

and watched closely as he stood gazing out over the river. Perhaps something she had said caused him to think of the many pleasures and joys he missed, but she could not be certain what was in his mind. She was not accustomed to impassive faces and cold eyes with, unlit fires in their dark depths. More likely he was thinking of matters nearer to his wild free life of his companion Wetzel somewhere out

beyond those frowning hills. Then she remembered that the colonel had told her of his brother's love for nature in all its forms, how he watched the shades of evening fall, lost himself in contemplation of the last copper glow flushing the western sky,

or became absorbed in the bright stars. Possibly he had forgotten her presence, darkness was rapidly stealing down upon them. 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 the sympathy strong within her.

But she did not know what to say to this borderman. If what your sister tells me of the border is true, I may soon need a friend. she said, after weighing well her words. She faced him modestly, yet bravely, and looked him straight in the eyes, because he did not reply, she spoke again. I mean such a friend as you, or Wetzel.

You may count on both, he replied. Thank you, she said softly, giving him her hand. I shall not forget. One more thing. Will you break a Borderman's custom for my sake? How? "'Come to see me when you're in the settlement?' Helen said this in a low voice, with just a sob and her breath. But she met his gaze fairly.

Her big eyes were all aglow, alight with girlish appeal, and yet proud with the woman's honest demand for fair exchange. Promise was there, too, could he but read it, of wonderful possibilities. No, he answered gently. Helen was not prepared for such a rebuff. She was interested in him and not ashamed to show it. She feared only that he might misunderstand her, but to refuse her preferred friendship,

that was indeed unexpected. Rude she thought it was, while from brow to curving throat her fair skin crimsoned. Then her face grew pale as the moonlight. Ard on her resentment had surged the swell of some new emotions, strong and sweet. He refused her friendship because he did not dare accept it, because his life was not his own,

because he was a borderman. While they stood thus, Jonathan looked perplexed and troubled, feeling he had hurt her, but knowing not what to say, Aunt Helen with a warm softness in her eyes, the stalwart figure of a man loomed out of the gathering darkness. "'Ah, Miss Helen, good evening,' he said. "'Is it you, Mr. Brent?' asked Helen.

Of course you know Mr. Zane. Brandic acknowledged Jonathan's bow with an awkwardness, which had certainly been absent in his greeting it to Helen. He started slightly when she spoke the Borderman's name. A brief pause ensued. Good night, said Jonathan, and left him. He had noticed Brant's gesture of surprise, slight though it was, and was thinking about it as he walked away.

Brant may have been astonished at finding a Borderman talking to a girl, and certainly, as far as Jonathan was concerned, the incident was without precedent. But on the other hand, Brand may have had another reason and Jonathan tried to study out what it might be. He gave but little thought to Helen, that she might like him exceedingly well,

did not come into his mind. He remembered his sister Betty's gossip regarding Helen and her admirers, and particularly Roger Brandt, but felt no great concern. He had no curiosity to know more of her. He admired Helen because she was beautiful,

yet the feeling was much the same he might have experienced for a graceful deer, a full foliage tree, or a dark mossy stone, banned in a murmuring brook. The girl's face and figure, perfect and alluring as they were, had not awakened him from his indifference.

On arriving at his brother's home, he found the colonel and Betty sitting on the porch. Hebb? Who's a sprant, he asked. Roger Brandt? He's a French-Canadian, came down here from Detroit a year ago. What do you ask?

I want to know more about him. Colonel Zane reflected a moment, first as to this unusual request from Jonathan, and secondly in regard to what little he really did know of Roger Brandt. Well, Jack, can't tell you much, nothing of him before he showed up here. He says he has been a pioneer, hunter, scout, soldier, traitor, everything. When he came to the fort we needed men.

It was just after Gritty's siege, and all the cabins had been burned. Brant seemed honest and was a good fellow. Besides, he had gold. He started the river barges which came from Fort Pitt. He surely has done the settlement good service and has prospered. I never talked a dozen times to him, and even then not for long. He appears to like the young people, which is only natural. That's all I know.

Betty might tell you more, for he tried to be attentive to her. Did he, Betty? Jonathan asked. He followed me until I showed him I didn't care for company, answered Betty. What kind of man is he? Jack, I know nothing against him, although I never fancied him. He's better educated than the majority of frontiersmen. He's good-natured and agreeable, and the people like him. Why, don't you?

Betty looked surprised at his blunt question, and then said with a laugh, I never tried to reason why, but since you have spoken, I believe my dislike was instinctive. After Betty had retired to her room, the brothers remained on the porch smoking. Betty's pretty keen, Jack.

I never knew her to misjudge a man, why this sudden interest in Roger Brandt? The Borderman puffed his pipe in silence. "'Hey, Jack?' Colonel Zane said suddenly. "'Do you connect Brandt in any way with this horse-stealing?' "'No more than some and less than others,' replied Jonathan curtly. "'Nothing more was said for a time. "'To the brothers this hour of early dusk brought the same fullness of peace.

"'From gray twilight to gloomy dusk, quiet reigned. "'The insects of night chirped and chorused with low, incessant home. From out of the darkness came the peeping of frogs. Suddenly the borderman straightened up, and removing the pipe from his mouth turned his ear to the faint breeze, while at the same time one hand closed on a colonel's knee with a warning clutch. Colonel Zane knew what that clutch signified. Some faint noise, too low for ordinary ears, had roused the borderman.

The colonel listened but heard nothing save the familiar evening sounds. Jack, what'd you hear, he whispered. "'Something back of the barn,' replied Jonathan, slipping noiselessly off the steps, lying at full length with his ear close to the ground. "'Where's a dog?' he asked. "'Chave must have gone with sand, "'and old negro sometimes goes at this hour to see his daughter.'

Jonathan lay on the grass several moments, then suddenly he arose much as a bent sapling springs to place. "'I hear footsteps, get the rifles,' he said in a fierce whisper. "'Damn, there is some sort of. one in the barn. No, they're outside. Hurry, but softly. Colonel Zane had, but just risen to his feet when Mrs. Zane came to the door and called him by name. Instantly, from somewhere in the darkness overhanging the road, came a low, warning whistle. A signal, exclaimed Colonel Zane. Quick, Heb, look towards Metzor's light. One, two, three shadows. Engines. By the Lord

Harry. Now they're gone. But I have. I couldn't mistake those round heads and bristling feathers. Shawnees, said the borderman, and his teeth shut hard like steel on Flint. Jack, they were after the horses, and someone was on the lookout. My God, right under our noses. Hurry, cried Jonathan, pulling his brother off the porch. Colonel Zane followed the borderman out of the yard into the road and across the grassy square.

We might find the one who gave that signal, said the Colonel. He was near at hand and couldn't have. passed the house. Colonel Zane was correct, for whoever had whistled would be forced to take one of two ways to escape, either down the straight road ahead or over the high stockade fence of the fort. There he goes, whispered Jonathan. Where, I can't see a blame thing. Go across the square, run around the fort and head him off on the road.

Don't try to stop him for he'll have weapons. Just find out who he is. I see him now, replied Colonel Zane as he hurried off into the darkness. During a few moments, Jonathan kept in view the shadow he had seen first come out of the gloom by the stockade, and thence pass swiftly down the road. He followed swiftly, silently. Presently a light beyond threw a glare across the road. He thought he was approaching a yard where there was a fire,

and the flames proved to be from pine cones burning in the yard of Helen Shepard. He remembered then that she was entertaining some of the young people. The figure he was pursuing did not pass the glare. Jonathan made certain it disappeared before reaching the light, and he knew his eyesight too well not to trust it absolutely. Advancing nearer the yard, he heard the murmur voices in gay conversation and soon saw figures moving about under the trees. No doubt was in his mind, but that the man who gave the signal to warn the Indians

was one of Helen Shepard's guests. Jonathan had walked across the street, then down the path, before he saw the colonel coming from the opposite direction. Halting under a maple, he waited for his brother to approach. I didn't meet anyone. Did you lose him? whispered Colonel Zane breathlessly. No, he's in there. That's Shepard's place.

Do you mean he's hiding there? No. Colonel Zane swore, as was his habit when exasperated, kind and generous man that he was, it went hard with him to believe in the guilt of any of the young men he had trusted. But Jonathan had said there was a traitor among them. And Colonel Zane did not question this assertion.

He knew the bordermen. During years full of strife and war and blood had lived beside this silent man who said little, but that little was the truth. Before Colonel Zane gave way to anger, well, I'm not so damn surprised. What's to be done? Find out what men are there?

That's easy. I'll go see George and soon have. of the truth. Won't do, said the borderman decisively. Go back to the barn, look after the horses. When Colonel Zane had obeyed, Jonathan dropped to his hands and knees swiftly, with the agile movements of an Indian, gained a corner of the shepherd yard. He crouched in the shade of a big plum tree,

then at a favorable opportunity, faltered the fence and disappeared under a clump of lilac bushes. The evening wore away no more tediously to the bordermen than to those young frontiersmen who were whispering tender or playful words to their partners. Time and patience were the same to Jonathan Zane. He lay hidden under the fragrant logs. His eyes accustomed to the dark from long practice, losing no movement of the guests.

Finally it became evident that the party was at an end. One couple took the initiative and said good-night to their hostess. Tom Bennett, I hope it's not you, whispered the borderman to himself, as he recognized the young son. fellow. A general movement followed until the merry party were assembled about Helen near the front gate. Jim Morrison, I'll bet it's not you, was Jonathan's comment. That soldier Williams is doubtful, Art and Johnson being strangers are unknown quantities around here, and then comes Brandt. All departed except Brandt, remained talking to Helen in low earnest tones. Jonathan lay very

quietly trying to decide what should be his next move in the unraveling of the mystery. He paid little attention to the young couple but could not help overhearing their conversation. Indeed, Mr. Brandt, you frontiersmen are not backward, Helen was saying in her clear voice, I am surprised to learn that you love me upon such short acquaintance, and I'm sorry, too, for I hardly know rather I even so much as like you. I love you. We may be on the border, do things rapidly, he replied earnestly. So it seems, she said with a soft laugh. Won't you care for me, he pleaded.

Nothing is sure then that I never know what I am going to do, Helen replied lightly. All these fellows are in love with you. They can't help it any more than I. You are the most glorious creature. Please give me hope. Mr. Brandt let go of my hand. I'm afraid I don't like such impulsively. see if men.

Please let me hold your hand. Certainly not. But I will hold it, and if you look at me like that again, I'll do more, he said. What bold Sir Frontiersman? She returned lightly still, but in a voice which rang with a deeper note.

I'll kiss you, he cried desperately. You wouldn't dare. Wouldn't I, though. You don't know us border fellows yet. You come here with that wonderful, beauty and smile at us with that light in your eyes, which makes men mad. Oh, you'll pay for it. The bordermen listened to all this lovemaking half disgusted, until he began to grow interested. Brant's back was turned to him, and Helen stood so that the light and the pine cone shone

shone on her face. Her eyes were brilliant. Otherwise, she seemed a woman perfectly self-possessed. Brant held her hand despite the repeated efforts she made to free it. but she did not struggle violently or make an outcry. Suddenly, Brant grasped her other hand, pulling her toward him. These other fellows will kiss you. And I'm going to be the first, he declared passionately. Helen drew back, now thoroughly alarmed by the man's fierce energy. She had been warned against this very boldness and frontiersmen,

but had felt secure in her own pride and dignity. Her blood boiled at the thought that she must exert strength through escape insult. She struggled violently When Brent bent his head Almost sick with fear She had determined to call for help When a violent wretch almost toppled her over At the same instant her wrists were freed

She heard a fierce cry A resounding blow And then the sudden thud of a heavy body Falling Recovering her balance She saw a tall figure beside her And a man in the act of rising from the ground You! whispered Helen

recognizing the tall figure as Jonathan's. The borderman did not answer. He stepped forward, slipping his hand inside his hunting frock. Brant sprang nimbly to his feet, and with a face which, even in the dim light, could be seen distorted with fury, bent forward to look at the stranger. He too had his hand within his coat,

as if grasping a weapon, but he did not draw it. Saying a lighter blow would have been easier to forget, he cried his voice clear and cutting. Then he turned to the girl, Miss Helen, I got what I deserve. I crave your forgiveness and ask you to understand a man

who was once a gentleman. If I am one no longer, the frontier is to blame. I was mad to treat you as I did. Thus speaking, he bowed low with the grace of a man sometimes used to the society of ladies and then went out of the gate.

Where did you come from? Ask Helen, looking up at John. Jonathan. He pointed under the lilac bushes. Were you there? She asked wonderingly. Did you hear all? Couldn't help her. It was fortunate for me, but why, why were you there? Helen came a step nearer and regarded him curiously with her great eyes now black with excitement. The borderman was silent. Helen's softened mood changed instantly. There was nothing in his cold

face which might have betrayed him as sentiments similar to that of her admirers. Did you spy on me? She asked quickly. After a moment's thought, no, replied Jonathan Conley. Ellen gazed in perplexity at this strange man. She did not know how to explain it. She was irritated, but did her best to conceal it. He had no interest in her, yet had hidden under the lilacs in her yard.

She was grateful because he had saved her from her. annoyance, yet could not fathom his reason for being so near. Did you come here to see me, she asked, for getting her vexation? No. What for then? I reckon I won't say was the quiet, deliberate refusal. Helen stamped her foot in exasperation. Be careful that I do not put a wrong construction on your strange action, she said coldly.

If you have reasons, you might trust me. If you are only— Shh! He breathed, grasping your wrist, and holding it firmly in his powerful hand. The whole attitude of the man altered swiftly, subtly. The listlessness was gone. His life body became rigid as he leaned forward,

his head toward the ground and turned slightly, in a manner that betokened intent to listening. Helen trembled as she felt his powerful frame quiver. Whatever had thus changed him, gave her another glimpse of his complex personality, It seemed to her incredible that with one whispered exclamation, this man could change from cold indifference to a fire and force so strong as to dominate her.

Statue-like, she remained listening, but hearing no sound and thrillingly conscious of the hand on her arm. Far up on the hillside, an owl hooded dismally, and an instillator faint and far away came an answer so low as to be almost indistinct. The borderman raised himself erect as he, released her. It's only an owl, she said in relief. Her eyes gleamed like stars. It's Wetzel and it means engines. Then he was gone. Into the Darkness.

End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, mikevendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray. Chapter 5 In the misty morning twilight, Colonel Zane, fully armed, paced to unfro before his cabin, on guard. All night he had maintained a watch.

He had not considered it necessary to send his family into the fort, to which they had often been compelled to flee. On the previous night, Jonathan had come swift, back to the cabin and speaking but two words seized his weapons and vanished into the black night the words were engines wetzel and there were none others with more power to affect hearers on the border the colonel believed that wetzel had signaled to jonathan on the west a deep gully with precipitous sides separated the settlement from a high wooded bluff wetzel often returned from his journeying by this difficult route he had no doubt seen indian signs and had communicated the intelligence to Jonathan by their system of nightbird calls. The nearness of the mighty hunter, reassured Colonel Zane.

When the colonel returned from his chase of the previous night, he went directly into the stable, there to find that the Indians had made off with a thoroughbred and Betty's pony. Colonel Zane was furious, not on account of the value of the horses, but because Bess was his favorite bay, and Betty loved nothing more than her pony. madcap. To have such a march stolen on him after he had seen and heard the thieves was indeed hard.

High time it was that these horse thieves be run to earth. No Indian had planned these marauding expeditions. An intelligent white man was at the bottom of the thieving, and he should pay for his treachery. The colonel's temper, however soon cooled, he realized after thinking over the matter that he was fortunate it passed off without bloodshed. Very likely the intent had been to get all his horses, perhaps his neighbors as well, and it had been partly frustrated by Jonathan's keen, sagacity. These Shawnee's, white leader or not, would never again run such risks. It's like a sulking Shawnee, muttered Colonel Zane,

to slip down here under cover of early dusk when no one but an Indian hunter could detect him. I didn't look for trouble, especially so soon after the lesson we gave Gertie. and his damned English and Redskins. It's lucky Jonathan was here. I'll go back to the old plan of stationing scouts at the outposts until snow flies. While Colonel Zane talked to himself and paced the path he had selected to patrol,

the white mist cleared, and a rosy hue followed the brightening in the east. The birds ceased twittering to break into gay songs in the cock in the barnyard, gave one final clarion-voiced salute to the dawn. The rose in the east deepened into rich red, and then the sun peeped over the eastern hilltops to drench the valley with glad golden light.

A blue smoke curling lazily from the stone chimney of his cabin showed that Sam had made the kitchen fire, and a little later a rich savory odor gave pleasing evidence that his wife was cooking breakfast. Any sign of Jack? A voice called from the open door and Betty appeared. Nair he signed. Of the Indians then?

Well, Betz, they left you a token of the regard. And Colonel Zane smiled as he took a broken halter from the fence. Madcap! cried Betty. Yes, they taken Madcap and best. Oh, the villains, poor pony! exclaimed Betty indignantly. Yep, I'll coax Wetzel to fetch the pony home if he has to kill every Shawnee in the valley. Now you're talking, Betz, Colonel Zane replied. if you could get lew to do that much you'd be blessed from one end of the border to the other he walked up the road then back keeping a sharp look out on all sides and bestowing a particularly keen glance at the hillside across the ravine but could see no sign of the bordermen

as it was now broad daylight he felt convinced that further watch was unnecessary and went to breakfast when he came out again the villagers were astir the sharp strokes of axes rang out on the clear morning air, and a mellow anvil clang peeled up from the blacksmith shop. Colonel Zane found his brother Silas and Jim Downs near the gate. "'Mor'n't' boys,' said cheerily. "'Any glimpse of Jack or Lou?' asked Silas. "'No, but I'm expecting one of them any moment.' "'How about the Indians?' asked Duns. Silas roused me out last night, but didn't stay long enough to say more than

engines. I don't know much more than Silas. I saw several of the red devils who stole the horses, but how many, where they've gone, or what were to expect, I can't say. We've got to wait for Jack or Lou. Silas, keep the garrison in readiness at the fort, and don't allow a man, soldier, or farmer to leave the clearing until further orders. Perhaps there were only three of those Shawnees, and then again the woods might have been full of them. I take it something's amiss, or Jack and Lou would be in by now. Here comes Shepard and his girl, said Silas, pointing down the lane. Pears George is some excited.

Colonel Zane had much the same idea as he saw Shepard and his daughter. The old man appeared in her hurry, which was sufficient reason to believe him anxious or alarmed, and Helen looked pale. "'Ebaned, what's this I hear about Indians?' Shepard asked excitedly. What with Helen's story about the fort being besieged? And this brother of yours routing honest people from their beds? I haven't had a wink asleep.

What's up? Where are the Redskins? Now, George, be easy, said Colonel Zane calmly. And you, Helen, mustn't be frightened. There's no danger. We did have a visit from Indians last night, but they hurt no one, and got only two horses. Oh, I'm so relieved that it's not worse, said Helen.

It's bad enough, Helen. Betty cried her black eyes flashing. My pony madcap is gone. Colonel Zane, come here quick, cried Downs, who stood near the gate. With one leap, Colonel Zane was at the gate. And following with his eyes the direction indicated by Down's trembling finger, he saw two tall brown figure striding down the lane. One carried two rifles, and the other a long bundle wrapped in a blanket.

It's Jack and Wetzel, whispered Colonel. Zane to Jim. They've got the girl. And by God, from the way that bundle hangs, I think she's dead. Here, he added speaking loudly, you women get into the house. Mrs. Zane, Betty, and Helen started. Go into the house, he cried authoritatively, without a protest to three women obeyed. At that moment, Nellie Downs came across the lane. Sam shuffled out from the backyard, and Shepard arose from his seat on the steps. They joined, Currude. Colonel Zane, Silas, and Jim at the gate. I wondered what kept you so late,

Colonel Zane said to Jonathan, as he and his companion came up, You've fetched Mabel, and she's... The good man could say no more. If he should live a hundred years on the border amid savage murderers, he would still be tender-hearted. Just now he believed the giant borderman by the side of Jonathan held a dead girl,

one whom he had danced when a child upon his knee. mabel and just alive replied jonathan by god i'm glad exclaimed colonel zane here lou give her to me wetzel relinquished his burden to the colonel lou any bad engine sign asked colonel zane as he turned to go into the house the borderman shook his head wait for me added the colonel he carried the girl into that apartment in the cabin which served the purpose of a sitting-room and laid her on the couch he gently removed the the folds of the blanket disclosing to view a white-faced fragile girl. Bess, hurry, hurry, he screamed to his wife, and as she came running in, followed no less hurriedly by Betty, Helen, and Nellie. He continued, here's Mabel Lane, alive, poor child, but in sore need of help. First, see whether she has any bodily injury.

If a bullet must be cut out or a knife wound sewed up, it's better she remained unconscious. Betty, run for Bess's instruments and bring brandy and water, lively now. Then he gave vent to an oath and left the room. Helen, her heart throbbing wildly, went to the side of Mrs. Zane who was kneeling by the couch. She saw a delicate girl, nod over 18 years old with the face that would have been beautiful, but for the set lips, the closed eyelids,

and an expression of intense pain. Oh, oh, breathe, Helen. "'Nell, hand me the scissors,' said Mr. Zane, "'and help me take off this dress. "'Why, it's wet, but thank goodness to his not with blood. "'I know that slippery touch too well.' "'There, that's right, Betty, give me a spoonful of brandy, "'now heat a blanket and get one of your lindsay gowns for this poor child.'

Helen watched Mrs. Zane as if fascinated. The Colonel's wife continued to talk while with deaf fingers, she forced a few drops of brandy between the girl's closed teeth. Then, with the adroitness of a skilled surgeon, she made the examination. Helen had heard of this pioneer woman's skill in setting broken bones and treating injuries, and when she looked from the calm face to the steady fingers, she had no doubt as to the truth of what had been told. Neither bullet wound, cut, bruise, nor broken bone, said Mrs. Zane.

It's fierce, starvation, and the terrible shock. She rubbed Mabel's hands while gazing at her pale face. Then she forced more brandy between the tightly closed lips. She was rewarded by ever so faint a color tinging the wand sheeks to be followed by a fluttering of the eyelids. Then the eyes opened wide. They were large, soft, dark, and humid with agony. Helen could not bear their gaze.

She saw the shadow of death and of worse than death. She looked away, while in her eyes. her heart was a storm of passionate fury at the brutes who had made this tender girl a wreck. The room was full of women now, sober-faced matrons and grave-eyed girls, yet all wore the same expression, not alone of anger nor fear nor pity, but of all combined. Helen instinctively felt that this was one of the trials of border endurance, and she knew from the sterner faces of the mature women that such a trial was familiar. Despite all she had been told, the shock and pain were too great,

and she went out of the room sobbing. She almost fell over the broad back of Jonathan Zane, who was sitting on the steps. Near him stood Colonel Zane, talking with a tall man, clad in faded buckskin. "'Las, you shouldn't have stayed,' said Colonel Zane kindly. "'It's hurt me here,' said Helen, placing her hand over her heart. "'Yes, I know, I know. Of course it has.' He replied, taking her hand, but be brave.

Helen, bear up, bear up. Oh, this border is a stern place. Do not think of that poor girl. Come, let me introduce Jonathan's friend, Wetzel. Helen looked up and held out her hand. She saw a very tall man with extremely broad shoulders, a mass of raven black hair, and a white face. He stepped forward and took her hand in his huge horny palm,

pressing it. He stepped back without speaking. Colonel Zane talked to her in a soothing voice, but she failed to hear what he said. This Wetzel, this Indian hunter whom she had heard called Death Wind of the Border, this companion guide, teacher of Jonathan Zane, this borderman of wonderful deeds, stood before her. Helen saw a cold face, deathly, in its pallor,

lighted by eyes, slow black, but like glinting steel. Striking as were those features they failed to fascinate, as did the strange tracing, which apparently showed through the white-drawn skin. This first repelled, then drew her with wonderful force, suffering of fire and frost and iron, was written there, and stronger than all, so potent as to cause fear could be read the terrible purpose of this man's tragic life. You avenged her. Oh, I know you did, cried Helen.

her whole heart leaping with a blaze to her eyes. She was answered by a smile, but such a smile. Kindly it broke over the stern face, giving a glimpse of a heart still warm beneath that steely cold. Behind it, too, there was something fateful, something deadly. Helen knew, though the bordermen spoke not, that somewhere among the grasses of the broad plains, or on the moss of the wooded hills

lay dead the perpetrators of this outrage. Their still faces bearing the ghastly stamp of Deathwind. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of the Last Trail. This is Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit

Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray Chapter 6 Happier days than she had hoped for dawned upon Helen after the first touch of border sorrow. Mabel Lane did not die. Helen and Betty nursed the stricken girl tenderly,

weeping for every joy when signs of improvement appeared. She had remained silent for several days, always with that haunting fear in her eyes. And then, gradually, came a change. Tender care and nursing had due effect in banishing the dark shadow. One morning, after a long sleep, she awakened with a bright smile, and from that time her improvement was rapid. Helen wanted Mabel to live with her.

The girl's position was pitiable, homeless, fatherless, with not a relative on the border, yet so brave, so patient, that she aroused all the sympathy in Helen's breast. Village gossip was in substance that Mabel had given her love to a young frontiersman by name Alex Bennett, who had an affection for her, so it was said, but as yet had made no choice between her and the other lasses of the settlement. What effect Mabel's terrible experience might have on this lukewarm lover? Helen could not even guess, but she was not hopeful as to the future. Colonel Zane and Betty approved of Helen's plan to persuade Mabel to live with her,

and the latter's faint protestations they silenced by claiming she could be of great assistance in the management of the house. Therefore, it was settled. Finally the day came when Mabel was ready to go with Helen. Betty had given her a generous supply of clothing for all her belongings had been destroyed when the cabin was burned. With Helen's strong young arm around her, she voiced her gratitude to Betty and Mrs. Zane

and started toward the Shepherd home. From the green square where the ground was highest, an unobstructed view could be had of the valley. Mabel gazed down the river to where her home formerly stood. Only a faint dark spot, like a blur on the green landscape, could be seen. Her soft eyes filled with tears, but she spoke no word. She's game and that's why she didn't get. the wonder, Colonel Zane said to himself,

as he mused on the strength and spirit of border women. To their heroism, more than any other thing, he attributed the establishing of homes in this wilderness. In the days that ensued, as Mabel grew stronger, the girls became very fond of each other. Helen would have been happy at any time with such a sweet companion, but just then, when the poor girl's mind was so sorely disturbed, she was doubly glad.

For several days after Mabel was out of danger, Helen's thoughts had dwelt on a subject which caused extreme vexation. She had begun to suspect that she encouraged too many admirers for whom she did not care and thought too much of a man who did not reciprocate. She was gay and moody in turn.

During the moody hours, she suspected herself and in her gay ones scorned the idea that she might ever care for a man who was indifferent. But that thought, once admitted, had a trick of returning at odd moments, clouding her cheerful moods. One sunshiny morning, while the mayflowers smiled under the hedge, when dew sparkled on the leaves, and the locust blossoms shone, creamy white amid the soft green of the trees,

the girls set about their much-planned flower gardening. Helen was passionately fond of plants and had brought a jar of seeds of her favorites all the way from her eastern home. We'll plant the morning glories so they'll run up the porch and the dahlias in this long row in the nasturtiums in the round bed, Helen said. You will have some trailing arbiters, added Mabel,

and must have clementous, wild honeysuckle, and golden glow, for they are all sweet flowers. This arbitrator is so fresh, so dewy, so fragrant, said Helen, bending aside a lilac bush to see the pale, creeping flowers. I never saw anything so beautiful. I grow more and more in love with my new home and friends. I have such a pretty garden to look into, and I never tire of the view beyond. Helen gazed with pleasure and pride at the garden, with its fresh green and lavender-crested lilacs at the white blossom trees and the vine-covered log cabins with blue smoke curling from their stone

chimneys. Beyond the great bulk of the fort stood guard above the willow-skirted river, and far away over the winding stream, the dark hills defiant kept their secrets. If it weren't for that threatening fort, one could imagine this little hamlet nestling under the great bluff, as quiet and secure as it is, beautiful, said Helen. But that charred, stockade fence, with its scarred bastions and these lowering port-holes, always keep me alive to reality. It wasn't very quiet when Gertie was here, Mabel replied thoughtfully. Were you in the fort then? Ask Helen breathlessly. Oh, yes. I cooled the rifles for the men, replied Mabel calmly.

Tell me all about it. Helen listened again to a story she had heard many times, but told by new lips. It always gained in vivid interest. She never tired of hearing how the notorious renegade Gertie rode around the fort on his white horse, giving the defenders an hour in which to surrender. She learned again of the attack when the British soldiers remained silent on an adjoining hillside

while the Indians yelled exultantly and ran about in fiendish glee. When Wetzel began the battle by shooting an Indian chieftain who had ventured within range of his ever fatal rifle. And when it came to the heroic deeds of the memorable siege, Helen could not contain her enthusiasm.

She shed tears over little Harry Bennett's death At the South Bastion where, though riddled with bullets, he stuck to his post until relieved. Clark's race, across the roof of the fort to extinguish a burning arrow, she applauded with clapping hands, her great eyes glowed and burned. But she was silent when hearing how Witsle ran alone to a break in the stockade and there with an axe, the terrible borderman held at bay the whole infuriated Indian mob until the breach was closed. Lastly, Betty Zanes, never to be forgotten, run with the powder to the relief of the garrison, and the saving of the fort was something not to cry over or applaud, but to dream of

and to glorify. Down the slope from Colonel Zane's cabin is where Betty ran with the powder, said Mabel pointing. Did you see her ass, Kowen? Yes, I looked out of a porthole. The Indians stopped firing at the fort, in their eagerness to shoot Betty. Oh, the banging of guns and yelling of savages was one fearful, dreadful roar. Through all that hail of bullets, Betty ran swift as the wind. I almost wish Gertie would come again, said Helen. Don't he might. How long has Betty's husband, Mr. Clark, been dead, inquired Helen.

I don't remember exactly. He didn't live long after the siege. Some say he inhaled the flames while fighting fire inside the stockade. How sad. Yes, it was. It nearly killed Betty. But we border girls do not give up easily. We must not, replied Mabel.

An unquenchable spirit showing through the sadness of her eyes. Mary voices interrupted them, and they turned to see Betty and Nell entering the gate. With Nell's bright chatter and Betty's wit, the conversation became indeed vivacious, running from gossip to gowns and then to that old and ever-new theme, Love. Shortly afterward, the colonel entered the gate, with swinging step and genial smile. Well, now, if here aren't four handsome lasses, he said with an admiring glance,

Ebb, I believe if you were single, any girl might well suspect you of being a flirt, said Betty. No girl ever did, I tell you I was a lady killer in my day, replied Colonel Zane, straightening his fine form. He was indeed handsome, with his stalwart frame, dark, bronzed face, and rugged, manly bearing. Best said you were, but that it didn't last long after you saw her, cried Betty, mischief gleaming in her dark eye. Well, that's so, replied the colonel, looking at trifle crestfallen. But you know every dog has his day. Then advancing to the porch, he looked at Mabel with a more serious gaze, as he asked,

How are you today? Thank you, Colonel Zane. I'm getting quite strong. Look up the valley. There's a raft coming down the river, said he softly. Far up the broad, Ohio, a square patch showed dark against the green water. Colonel Zane saw Mabel start, and a dark red flush came over her pale face. For an instant, she gazed with an expression of appeal, almost fear.

He knew the reason. Alex Bennett was on the raft. I came over to ask if I can be of any service. Tell him, she answered simply. I say bets, Colonel Zane cried. Has Helen's cousin cast any more such sheep eyes on you? Oh, em, what nonsense, exclaimed Betty, blushing furiously. Well, if he didn't look sweet at you, I'm an old fool.

You're one anyway. And you're horrid. said Betty, tears of anger glistening in her eyes. Colonel Zane whistled softly as he walked down the lane. He went into the wheelwright shop to see about some repairs he was having made on a wagon and then strolled on down to the river. Two Indians were sitting on the rude long wharf, together with several frontiersmen and rivermen, all waiting for the raft.

He conversed with the Indians who were friendly Chippewas until the raft was tied up. The first person to leap on shore was a sturdy young fellow with a shock of yellow hair and a warm, ruddy skin. Hello, Alex, did you have a good trip? asked Colonel Zane of the youth. How are you, Colonel Zane? Yes, first-rate trip, replied Young Bennett. Say, I've a word for you. Come aside. And drawing Colonel Zane out of earshot of the others, he continued. I heard this by accident, not that I didn't spy a bit when I got interested, for I did. But the way it came

about was all chance. Briefly, there's a man evident. evidently an Englishman at Fort Pitt, whom I overheard say he was out on the border after a shepherd girl. I happened to hear from one of Brant's men, who rode into pits just before we left, that you had new friends here by that name. This fellow was a handsome chap, no common sort, but lordly, dissipated and reckless, as the devil. He had a servant traveling with him, a sailor by his gab, who was about the toughest customer I've met, in many a day. He cut a fellow in bad shape at Pitt. Those two will be on the next boat, due here in a day or so, according to river and weather conditions, and I thought,

considering how unusual the thing was, I better tell you. Well, well, said Colonel Zane reflectively, he recalled Shepard's talk about an Englishman. Alex, you did well to tell me. Was the man drunk when he said he came west after a woman? Sure he was, replied Alex, but not when he spoke the name. You see, I got suspicious in asking him. It's this way. Jake Wentz, the traitor,

told me the fellow asked for the shepherds when he got off the wagon train. When I first seen him, he was drunk, and I heard Jeff Lynn say is how the border was a bad place to come after a woman. That's what made me prick up my ears. Then the Englishman said, "'It is, eh?

By God. I'd go to hell after a woman I wanted. And Colonel, he looked at too.' Colonel Zane remained thoughtful while Alex made up a bundle and forced the heft of an axe under the string. But as the young man started away, the colonel suddenly remembered his errand down to the war.

Alex, come back here, he said, and wondered if the lad had good stuff in him. The boatman's face was plain but not evil, and a close scrutiny of it rather prepossessed the colonel. Alex, I've some bad news for you. And then bluntly, with his keen gaze fastened on the young man's face, he told of old Lane's murder, of Mabel's abduction, and of her rescue by Wetzel.

Alex began to curse and swear vengeance. Still all that, said the colonel sharply. Wetzel followed four Indians who had Mabel and some stolen horses. The Redskins squirled over the girl and two took the horses. Leaving Mabel to the others. Wetzel went after these last, tomahawked them, and brought Mabel home. She was in a bad way, but is now getting over the shock. Say what'd we do here without Wetzel, Alex asked huskily,

unmindful of the tears that streamed from his eyes and ran over his brown cheeks. "'Poor old Jake. "'Poor Mabel. "'Dam me. "'It's my fault. "'If I'd have done right and married her as I should, "'as I wanted to, "'she wouldn't have had to suffer.

"'But I'll marry her yet, "'if she'll have me. "'It was only because I had no farm, no stock, "'and only that little cabin is as is full now, "'that I waited.' "'Alex, you know me,' said Colonel Zane in kindly tones. "'Look there. Down the clearing half a mile, to that green strip of land along the river,

with a big chestnut in the middle and a cabin beyond, there's as fine farming land as can be found on the border, 80 acres, well-watered. The day you marry Mabel, that farm is yours. Alex grew red stammered and vainly tried to express his gratitude. Come along. The sooner you tell Mabel the better, said the Colonel, with glowing face, he was a good matchmaker. He derived more pleasure from a little charity bestowed upon a deserving person

than from a season's crops. When he arrived at the Shepard House, the girls were still on the porch. Mabel rose when she saw Alex, standing white and still. He, poor fellow, was embarrassed by the others who regarded him with steady eyes. Colonel Zane pushed Alex up on the porch and said in a low voice, Mabel, I've just arranged something you're to give to Alex. It's a nice little farm, and it'll be a wedding present. Mabel looked in a bewildered manner from Colonel Zane's happy face to the girls,

and then at the red, joyous features of her lover. Only then did she understand, and uttering a strange little cry, put her trembling hands to her bosom as she swayed to and fro. But she did not fall, for Alex, quick at the last. leapt forward and caught her in his arms. That evening, Helen denied herself to Mr. Brandt and several other callers. She sat on the porch with her father while he smoked his pipe.

Where's Will? she asked. Gone after Snipe. So he said, replied her father. Snipe! How funny! Imagine Will hunting. He's surely catching the wild fever Colonel Zane told us about. He surely is.

Then came a time of silence, Mr. Shepherd, accustomed to Helen's Gladstone spirit and prosperity to gay chatter, noted how quiet she was, and wondered. Are you so still? I'm a little homesick, Helen replied reluctantly. No. Well, I declare this is a glorious country, but not for such as you, dear, who love music and gaiety. I often fear you'll not be happy here, and then I long for the old home, which reminds me of your mother. Dearest, forget what I said, cried Helen earnestly. I'm only a little blue today, perhaps not at all homesick.

Indeed, you always seemed happy. Father, I am happy. It's only a girl's fully sentiment. I've got something to tell you, Helen. And it has bothered me since Colonel Zane spoke of it tonight. Mordaunt is coming to Fort Henry. Mordaunt, oh, impossible, who said so? How did you learn?

A fair to strew, my dear, Colonel Zane told me he had heard of an Englishman at Fort Pitt who asked after us, moreover the feller answers the description of Mordaunt. I am afraid it is he and come after you. Suppose he has, who cares? We owe him nothing he cannot hurt us. But Helen, he's a desperate man. Aren't you afraid of him? Not I, cried Helen, laughing and scorn.

He'd better have a care. He can't run things with a high hand out here on the border. I told him I would have none of him and that ended it. I'm much relieved. I didn't want to tell you, but it seemed necessary. Well, child, good night. I'll go to bed. Long after Mr. Shepherd had retired,

Helen sat thinking, memories of the past, and of the unwelcome suitor or daunt, thronged upon her thick and fast, she could see him now with his pale, handsome face and distinguished bearing. She had liked him as she had other men

until he involved her father with himself in financial ruin and had made his attention to her unpleasantly persistent. Then he had followed the fall of fortune with wild dissipation, and became a gambler and a drunkard. But he did not desist in his mad wooing.

He became like her shadow. And life grew to be unendurable until her father planned to immigrate West. When she hailed the news with joy, and now Mordaunt had tracked her to her new home. She was sick with disgust. Then her spirit, always strong and now freer for this new wildlife of the frontier,

rose within her. and she dismissed all thoughts of this man and his passion. The old life was dead and buried. She was going to be happy here. As for the present, it was enough to think of the little border village, now her home, of her girlfriends, of the quiet borderman, and for the moment that the twilight was sombre and beautiful. I, up on the wooded bluff, rising so gloomily over the village,

she saw among the trees something silver-bright, She watched it rise slowly from behind the trees, now hidden, now white through riffs in the foliage, until it soared lovely and grand above the black horizon. The ebony shadows of night seemed to lift, as might a sable mantle moved by invisible hands, but dark shadows, sape from the moon rays, lay under the trees,

and a pale, misty vapor hung below the brow of the bluff. mysterious as had grown the night before darkness yielded to the moon. This pale white light, flooding the still valley, was even more soft and strange. To one of Helen's temperament, no thought was needed, to see was enough. Yet her mind was active. She felt with haunting power the beauty of all before her, in fancy transporting herself far to those silver-tipped clouds, and peopling the dells and shady nooks under the hills with spirits and fairies, maidens, and valiant nights.

To her the day was as a far-off dream. The great watch stars grew wan before the radiant moon. It reigned alone. The immensity of the world with its glimmering rivers, pensive valleys, and deep, gloomy forests, lay revealed under the glory of the clear light. Absorbed in this contemplation, Helen remained a long time gazing with dreamy ecstasy

at the moonlit valley until a slight chill disturbed her happy thoughts. She knew she was not alone, trembling. She stood up to sea, easily recognizable in the moonlight, the tall, buckskin-garbed figure of Jonathan Zane. Well, sir, she called sharply, yet with a tremor in her voice. The borderman came forward and stood in front of her. Somehow he appeared changed. The long black rifle, the dull, glinting weapons made her shudder.

Wilder and more untamable he looked than ever. The very silence of the forest clung to him. The fragrance of the grassy plains came faintly from his buckskin garments. Even, unless, he said, in his slow, cool manner. How did you get here? Ask Helen presently. because he made no effort to explain his presence at such a late hour. I was able to walk. Helen observed with a vaulting spirit,

whenever ready to rise in arms, that Master Zane was disposed to add humor to his penetrating mysteriousness. She flushed hot and then paled. This borderman certainly possessed the power to vex her, and reluctantly she admitted, to chill her soul and, rouse her fear. She strove to keep back sharp words because she had learned that this singular

individual always gave good reason for his odd actions. I think in kindness to me, she said, choosing her words carefully. You might tell me why you appear so suddenly, as if you had sprung out of the ground. Are you alone? Yes, father is in bed, so is Mabel, and Will has not yet come home. Why? "'Has no one else been here?' "'Mr. Brant came, as did some others, but wishing to be alone. "'I did not see them,' replied Helen in perplexity. "'Have you seen Brant since?' "'Since when?'

"'The night I watched by the Lonic Bush.' "'Yes, several times,' replied Helen. "'Something in his tone made her ashamed. "'I couldn't very well escape when he called. "'Are you surprised because after he insulted me?' I'd see him again? Yes. Helen felt more ashamed. You don't love him, he continued.

Helen was so surprised she could only look into the dark face above her. Then she dropped her gaze, abashed by his searching eyes. But thinking of his question, she subdued the vague stirrings of pleasure in her breast and answered coldly. No, I do not. But for the service you rendered me, I should never have answered such a question. I'm glad, and hope you care as little

for the other five men who were here that night. I declare, Master Zane, you seem exceedingly interested in the affairs of a young woman who you won't visit except as you have come tonight. He looked at her with his piercing eyes. You spied upon my guest, she said, in no wise abashed now that her temper was high. Did you care so very much?

Care, he asked slowly. Yes, you were interested to know how many of my admirers were here, what they did, and what they said. You even hint disparagingly of them. True, I wanted to know, he replied, but I don't hint about any man. You are so interested you wouldn't call on me when I invited you, said Helen, with poorly veiled sarcasm.

It was this that made her bitter. She could never forget that she had asked this man to come to see her, and he had refused. I reckon you've mistook me, he said calmly. Why did you come? Why do you shadow my friends? This is twice you have done it. Goodness knows how many times you've been here.

Tell me. The borderman remained silent. Answer me, commanded Helen. her eyes blazing, she actually stamped her foot. Borderman or not, you have no right to pry into my affairs. If you are a gentleman, tell me why you came here. The eyes Jonathan turned on Helen stilled all the angry throbbing of her blood. I came here to learn which of your lovers is a dastard who plotted the abduction of

Mabel Lane and the thief who stole our hosses. When I find the villain, I reckon. and wetsle and I'll swing him to some tree. The Borderman's voice rang sharp and cold, and when he ceased speaking, she sank back upon the step, shocked, speechless, to gaze up at him with staring eyes. Don't look so last, don't be frightened, he said, his voice gentle and kind as it had been hard.

He took her hand in his. You nettled me into replying, and you have a sharp tongue, lass. And when I spoke, I was thinking of him. I'm sorry. A horse thief and worse than murderer among my friends, murmured Helen shuddering. Yet she never thought to doubt his word.

I followed him here the night of your company. Do you know which one? No. He still held her hand unconsciously, but Helen knew it well. A sense of his strength came with the warm pressure, and comforted her. She would need that powerful hand,

surely, in the evil days which seemed to darken her horizon. What shall I do? She whispered, shuddering again. Keep this secret between you and me. How can I? How can I? You must.

His voice was deep and low. If you tell your father or anyone, I might lose the chance to find this man. for lass, he's desperate cunning. Then he'd go free to rob others and maybe help make off with other poor girls, lass. Keep my secret. But he might try to carry me away, said Helen,

and fearful perplexity. Most likely he might, replied to Borderman with the smile that came so rarely. Oh, knowing all this, how can I meet any of these men again? I'd betray myself. No, you've got too much pluck. It so happens you are the one to help me, and Wenzel rid the border of these hellhounds.

And you won't fail. I know a woman when it comes to that. I help you and Wetzel? Exactly. Gracious, cried Helen, half laughing, half crying. And poor me with more trouble coming on the next boat. Last, the colonel told me about, the Englishman.

It'll be bad for him to annoy you. Helen thrilled with the depth of meaning in the low voice, fate surely was weaving a bond between her and this borderman. She felt it in a steady piercing gaze in her own tingling blood. Then as her natural courage dispelled all girlish fears, she faced him, white, resolute, with a look in her eyes that matched his own.

I will do what I can, she said. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Leavervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com.

The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 7. Westward from Fort Henry. Far above the Edding River, Jonathan Zane slowly climbed a narrow hazel-bordered mountain trail. From time to time he stopped in an open patch along the thickets and breathed deep of the fresh wood-scented air, while his keen gaze slept over the glades nearby, along the wooded hillsides and above at the timber-strewn woodland.

This June morning in the wild forest was significant of nature's brightness and joy. broad-leaf populars, dense foliage doaks, and vine-covered maple shaded cool, mossy banks, while between the trees the sunshine streamed in bright spots. It shone silver on the glancing silver leaf and gold on the colored leaves of the butternut tree. Dew drops glistened on the ferns, ripples sparkled in the brooks, spider webs glowed with wondrous rainbow hues,

and the flower of the forest, the sweet pale-faced, daze, rose above the green like a white star. Yellowbirds fluttered along the hazel bushes, caroling joyously, and catbirds sang gaily. Robbins called Blue Jace screeched in the tall white oaks, woodpeckers hammered on the dead hardwoods and crows caught overhead. Squirrels chattered everywhere, ruffled grouse rose with great bustle and a whir, fluttering like brown flakes through the leaves. From far above came the shrill cry of a hawk, followed by the wilder scream of an eagle.

Wilderness music, such as all this fell harmoniously on the borderman's ear, it betokened the gladsome spirit of his wild friends, happy in the warm sunshine above, or in the cool depth beneath the fluttering leaves, and everywhere in those lonely haunts, unalarmed and free. Familiar to Jonathan almost as the footpath near his home, was this winding trail on the height above was a safe rendezvous much frequented by him and wensel every lichen-covered stone mossy bank noisy brook and giant oak on the way up this mountain-side could have told had they spoken their secrets stories of the bordermen The fragile ferns and slender-bladed grasses peeping from the gray and amber mosses and the flowers that hung from craggy ledges and wisdom to impart.

A borderman lived under the green tree-tops, and therefore all the nodding branches of sassafras and laurel, the grassy slopes and rocky cliffs, the stately ash trees, kingly oaks and dark mystic pines, together with the creatures that dwelt among them, save his hilly. deadly red-skinned foes he loved. Other affection as close and true as this he had not known. Harkening thus with single heart to nature's teachings, he learned her secrets. Certain it was, therefore, that the many hours he passed in the woods apart from savage pursuits were happy and fruitful. Slowly he pressed up the ascent at length coming into open light upon a small plateau tow marked by huge, rugged, weather-chipped stones.

On the eastern side was a rocky promontory, and, close to the edge of this cliff, a hundred feet in sheer descent, rose a gnarled, thyme, and tempest twisted chestnut tree. Here the borderman laid down his rifle in knapsack, and half reclining against a tree, settled himself to rest and wait. This craggy point was the lonely watchtower of eagles.

here on the highest headland for miles around, where the bordermen were wont to meet. The outlook was far-reaching and grand. Below the gray splintered cliffs sheared down to meet the waving tree-tops, and then hill after hill, slope after slope, waved and rolled far, far down to the green river, open grassy patches, bright little islands

in that ocean of dark green shown on the hillsides. The rounded ridges ran straight, curved or zigzag, but shaped their graceful lines in the descent to make the valley. Long, purple-hued, shadowy depressions in the wide expanse of foliage marked deep cleft between ridges where dark, cool streams bounded on to meet the river. Lower where the land was level, in open spaces could be seen a broad trail, yellow in the sunlight, winding along with the curves of the river, the water course. On a swampy meadow blue in the distance, a herd of buffalo browsed. Beyond the river,

high over the Green Island, Fort Henry lay peaceful and solitary, the only token of the works of man in all that vast panorama. Jonathan Zane was as much as lone as if one thousand miles instead of five intervened between him and the settlement. Loneliness was to him a passion. Other men loved home, the light of woman's eyes, the rattle of dice, or the lust of hoarding, but to him, this wild remote promontory, with its limitless view stretching away to the dim, hazy horizon, was more than all the aching joys of civilization. Hours here, or in the shady valley, recompensed him for the loss of home comforts, the soft touch of woman's hands, the kiss of baby lips, and also,

for all he suffered in a pitiless pursuit, the hard fare, the steel and blood of a borderman's life. Soon the sun shone straight overhead, dwarfing the shadow of the chestnut on the rock. During such a time it was rare that any connected thought came into the borderman's mind. His dark eyes now strange luminous, strayed lingeringly over those purple undulating slopes.

This intense watchfulness had no object. neither had his listening he watched nothing he he he hearkened to the silence undoubtedly in this state of rapt absorption his perceptions were acutely alert but without thought as were those of the savage in the valley below or the eagle in the sky above yet so perfectly trained were these perceptions that the least unnatural sound or sight brought him wary and watchful from his dreamy trance the slight snapping of a twig in the thicket caused him to sit erect and reach out towards his rifle his eyes moved along the dark openings in the thicket in another moment a tall figure pressed the bushes apart jonathan let fall his rifle and sank back against the tree once more Wetzel stepped over the rocks toward him. Come from Blue Pond, asked Jonathan as the newcomer took a seat beside him. Wetzel nodded as he carefully laid aside his long black rifle. Any engine sign, continued Jonathan, pushing towards his companion the knapsack of edibles

he had brought from the settlement. Nary Shawnee track west of this divide, answered Wetzel, helping himself to bread and cheese. Lou, we must go eastward over Bing Lake. its way to find the trail of the stolen horses. Likely, and it'll be a long, hard tramp. Who's in Leggat's gang now besides old horse, the Chippewa, and his Shawnee-Pard wildfire? I don't know Bing, but I've seen some of his engines, and they remember me.

Never seen Leggett but once, replied Wetzel. And that time, I shot Haffy's face off. I'd been told by them as have seen. him since, that he's got a nasty scar on his temple and cheek. He's a big man and knows the woods. I don't know who all's in his gang, nor does anybody. He works in the dark, and for cunning, he's got some on Jim Gertie, Dierrin, and several more renegades we know of lying quiet back here in the woods.

We never tracked as bad a gang as his'n. They're all experienced woodsmen, old fighters, and desperate, outlawed as they, be by engines and whites. It wouldn't surprise me to find that it's him and his gang who are running this horse leaving, but bad or no, we're going after him. Jonathan told of his movement since he had last seen his companion. And the last Helen is going to help us, said Wetzel, much interested.

It's a good move. Women are keen. Betty put Miller scheming in my eye, long afore I noticed it, but girls have chances we men never get. Yes, and she's like bets, quicker and lightning. She'll find out this hoss leaf in Fort Henry, but Lou, when we do get him, we won't be much better off. Where do them hosses go?

Who's disposing of them for this feller? Where's Brant from? asked Wensel. Detroit, he's a French-Canadian. Wetzel swung sharply around his eyes blowing like wakening furnaces. bang leggots a french canadian and from detroit metzer was once thick with him down fort piney way afore he murdered a man and became an outlaw we're on the trail jack brant and metzer with legget back in them and the horses go overland to detroit i calculate you 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 making a move, and as yet, we're only suspicious. This last will find out more in a week than weak than a year,

but Jack, have a care if she don't fall into any snare. Brand ain't any too honest a-looking chap, and them renegades is hell for women. The scars you wear prove that well enough. She's a rare, sweet, blooming last, too. I never seen her equal. I remember how her eyes flashed when she said she knew I'd avenged Mabel.

Jack, their wonderful eyes, and that girl, however sweet and good as she must be, is chain lightning wrapped up in a beautiful form? Aren't the boys at the fort running after her? Like mad, it'd make you laugh to see him, replied Jonathan calmly. There'll be some fights before she's settled for, and maybe are to that. Have a care for her, Jack, and see that she don't catch you.

No more danger than her. for you. I was catched once, replied Wetzel. Jonathan Zane looked up at his companion. Wetzel's head was bowed, but there was no merriment in the serious face exposed to the borderman's scrutiny. Lou, you're joking. Not me. Someday when you're catched good and I have to go back to the lonely trail, as I did afore you and me became friends.

Maybe then. When I'm the last borderman, I'll tell you. Lou, according to way settlers are coming, in a few more years, there won't be any need for a borderman. When the engines are all gone, where'll be our work? Tain't likely either us that'll ever see them times, said Wetzel, and I don't want to. Well, Jack, I'm off now, and I'll meet you here every other day. Wetzel's shouldered his long rifle and passed out of sight down the mountainside. Jonathan arose, shook himself as a big dog might have done, and went down into the valley.

Only once did he pause in his descent, and that was when a creaking twig warned him some heavy body was moving near. Silently sank into the bushes bordering the trail. He listened with his ear close to the ground. Presently he heard a noise as of two hard substances striking together. He resumed his walk, having recognized the grating noise of a deer-hoof, striking a rock. Farther down, he espied a pear grazing.

The buck ran into the thicket, but the doe eyed him curiously. Less than an hour's rapid walking brought him to the river. Here he plunged into a thicket of willows and emerged on a sandy strip of shore. He carefully surveyed the riverbank, and then pulled a small birch-bark canoe from among the foliage. He launched the frail craft, paddled across the river and beached it under a greedy overhanging bank. The distance from this point in a straight line to his destination was only a mile,

but a rocky bluff and a ravine necessitated his making a wide detour. While lightly leaping over a brook, his keen eye fell on an imprint in the sandy loam. Instantly he was on his knees. The footprint was small, evidently a woman's, and what was more unusual instead of the flat round mockery, track. It was pointed with a sharp square heel. Such shoes were not worn by border girls. True, Betty and Nell had them, but they never went into the woods without moccasins. Jonathan's experienced eyes saw that this imprint was not an hour old. He gazed up at the

light. The day was growing short. Already shadows lay in the glens. He would not long have light enough to follow the trail, but he hurried on hoping to find the person who made it before darkness came. He had not traveled many paces before learning that the one who made it was lost. The uncertainty in those hasty steps was as plain to the Borderman's eyes, as if it had been written in words on the sand.

The course led along the brook, avoiding the rough places, and leading into the open glades and glens, but it drew no nearer to the settlement. A quarter of an hour of rapid trailing enabled Jonathan to discern a dark figure, moving among the trees, abandoning the trail he cut across a ridge to head off the lost woman. Stepping out of a sassafras thicket, he came face to face with Helen Shepard.

Oh! She cried an alarm. And then the expression of terror gave place to one of extreme relief and gladness. Oh, thank goodness you found me. I'm lost. I reckon, answered Jonathan grimly. The settlement's only five hundred yards over that here. I was going the wrong way. Oh, suppose you hadn't come, explained Helen,

sinking on a log and looking up at him with warm, glad eyes. How did you lose your way? Jonathan asked. He saw neither the warmth in her eyes nor the gladness. Went up the hillside only a little way, after flowers keeping the fort in sight all the time. Then I saw some lovely violets down a little hill and thought I might venture.

I found such loads of them I forgot everything else. and I must have walked on a little way. On turning to go back, I couldn't find a little hill. I have hunted in vain for the clearing. It seems as if I have been wandering about for hours. I'm so glad you found me. Weren't you told to stay in a settlement inside the clearing, demanded Jonathan. Yes, replied Helen, with her head up.

Why didn't you? Because I didn't choose. You ought to have better sense. It seems I hadn't. Helen said quietly, but her eyes belied that calm voice. You're a headstrong child, added Jonathan curtly. Mr. Zane, tried Helen with pale face. I suppose you've always had your own sweet will,

but out here on the border you ought to think a little more of others, if not yourself. Helen maintained a proud silence. You might have run right into prowling Shawnees. That dreadful disaster would have not have caused you. you any sorrow, she flashed out. Of course, at wood, I might have lost my scalp trying to get you back home, said Jonathan, beginning to hesitate. Plainly he did not know what to make of this remarkable young woman.

Such a pity to have lost all your fine hair, she answered with a touch of scorn. Jonathan flushed, perhaps for the first time in his life. If there was anything he was proud of, it was his long, glossy hair. "'Miss Helen, I'm a poor hand at words,' he said, "'with a pale, grave face. "'I was only speaking for your own good. "'You are exceedingly kind, but need not trouble yourself.' "'Say,' Jonathan hesitated, looking half vexed at the lovely, angry face,

"'then an idea occurred to him. "'Well, I won't trouble. Find your way home yourself.' abruptly she turned and walked slowly away he had no idea of allowing her to go home alone but believed it might be well for her to think so if she did not call him back he would remain near at hand in when she showed signs of anxiety or fear he could go to her helen determined she would die in the woods or be captured by shawnees before calling him back but she watched him slowly the tall strong figure with its graceful springing stride, went down the glade. He would be lost to view in a moment, and then she would be alone. How dark it had suddenly become! The gray cloak of twilight was spread over the forest and in the hollows. Night already had settled down. A breathless silence pervade the woods. "'I'm lonely,' thought Helen with a shiver. Surely it would be dark before she could find

the settlement. What hill hit the settlement from view? She did not know, could not remember, which he had pointed out. Suddenly she began to tremble. She had been so frightened before he had found her and so relieved afterward, and now he was going away. Mr. Zane! She cried with a great effort. Come back.

Jonathan kept slowly on. Come back. Jonathan, please. The borderman retraced his trip. Please take me home, she said. had, lifting her face all flushed, tears-stained, and marked with traces of storm. I was foolish and silly to come into the woods, and so glad to see you. But you spoke to me in a way no one ever used before.

I'm sure I deserved it. Please take me home. Papa will be worried. Soft her eyes and voice than hers never entreated man. Come, he said gently. And taking her by the hand, he lit her up. up the ridge. Thus they passed through the darkening forest hand in hand, like a dusky redman and his bride. He helped her over stones and logs, but still held her hand when there was

no need of it. She looked up to see him walking, so dark and calm beside her, his eyes ever roving among the trees. Deepest remorse came upon her because of what she had said. There was no sentiment for him in this walk under the dark canopy of the leaves, he realized the responsibility. Any tree might hide a treacherous foe. She would atone for her sarcasm, she promised herself, while walking ever conscious of her hand in his, her bosom, heaving the sweet, undeniable emotion which came knocking at her heart. Soon they were out of the thicket, and on the dusty lane, a few moments of rapid walk. walking brought them within sight of the twinkling lights of the village,

and a moment later they were at the lane, leading to Helen's home. Releasing her hand, she stopped him with a tight touch and said, Please don't tell Papa or Colonel Zane. Child I ought. Someone should make you stay at home. I'll stay. Please don't tell. It'll worry, Papa. Jonathan Zane looked down into her great, dark, wonderful eyes with an unaccountable feeling. He really did not hear what she asked. Something about that upturned face

brought to his mind a rare and perfect flower, which grew in far-off rocky fastness. The feeling he had was intangible, like no more than a breath of fragrant western wind, faint with tidings of some beautiful field. Promise me you won't tell? Well, lass, have it your own way, replied Jonathan wonderingly,

conscious that it was the first pledge ever asked of him by a woman. Thank you. Now we have two secrets, haven't we? She laughed with eyes like stars. Run home now, lass. Be careful hereafter. I do fear for you with such spirit and temper.

I'd rather be scalped by Shawnees than have Binglegged so much as set eyes on you. You would, why? Her voice was like low, soft music. Why, he mused, it seemed like a buzzard about to light on a doe. Goodnight, said Helen, abruptly in wheeling she hurried down the lane.

End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti. Mike Vendetti.com

The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 8. Jack said Colonel Zane to his brother next morning. Today is Saturday, and all the men will be in? There was hijinks over at Metzer's Place yesterday, and I'm looking for more today. The two fellows, Alex Burnett told me about, came on day before yesterday's boat. Sure enough, one's a lordly Englishman and the other, the Cussetist-looking, little chap I ever saw. They started trouble immediately. The Englishman, his name is Mordaunt, hunted up the shepherds and as near as I can make out from George's story, Helen spoke her mind

very plainly. Mordaunt and Case, that's his servant, little cusk, got drunk and raised hell down in Metzers where they're staying. Rant and Williams are drinking hard too, which is something unusual for rant. They got chummy at once with Englishmen, who seems to have plenty of gold and is fond of gambling. This more daunt is a gentleman, or I never saw one. I feel sorry for him. He appears to be a ruined man. If he lasts a week out here, I'll be surprised. Case looks ugly, as if he were spoiling to cut somebody. I want you to keep your eye peeled. 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 his second belt containing a heavier tomahawk and knife than those he had been wearing. Then he put on his hunting frock or shirt and wore it loose with the belts underneath instead of on the outside. Unfastened, the frock was rather full and gave him the appearance of a man unarmed and careless. Jonathan Zane was not so reckless as to court danger, nor like many frontiersmen fond of fighting for its own sake. Colonel Zane was commandant of the fort,

and in a land, where there was no law, tried to maintain semblance of it. For years he had kept thieves, renegades, and outlaws away from his little settlement. By dealing out stern justice, his word was law, and his borderman executed it as such. Therefore, Jonathan Wetzel made a third duty to have a keen eye on all that was happening.

They kept the colonel posted and never interfered in any case without orders. The morning passed quietly. Jonathan strolled here or loitered there, but saw none of the roisters. He believed they were sleeping off the effects of their orgy, though in the previous evening. After dinner he smoked his pipe.

Betty and Helen passed, and Helen smiled, struck him suddenly that she had never looked at him in such a way before. There was meaning in that warm, radiant flash, a little sense of vexation, the source of which he did not understand stirred in him against this girl. But with it came the realization that her white face and big dark eyes had risen before him often since the night before. He wished for the first time that he could understand women better. "'Everything quiet?' asked Colonel Zane, coming out on the steps. "'All quiet,' answered Jonathan. "'They'll open up later, I suspect.

I'm going over to Shepherds for a while, and later we'll drop into Metzers. I'll make him haul in a yard or two. I don't like things I hear about his selling the youngsters rum. I'd like you to be within call.' The bordermen strolled down the bluff and along the path which overhung the river. He just liked Metzer, more than his brother suspected. And with more weighty reason than that of selling rum to miner, Jonathan threw himself at length on the ground amused over the situation.

We never had any peace in this settlement, and never will in our day. Eb is hopeful and looks at the bright side always expecting tomorrow will be different. What have the past sixteen years been? One long, bloody fight. and the next 16 won't be any better. I make out that we'll have a mix-up soon. Metzer and Brandt, with their allies, whoever they are, will be in it.

And if Bing Leggitt's in the gang, we've got, as Wetzel said, a long, hard trail, which may be our last. More than that, there'll be trouble about this chain-lightning girl. As Wetzel predicted, women make trouble anyways, and when they're winsome and pretty, they cause more. But if they're beautiful and fiery, bent on having their way, as this new lass is, all hell couldn't hold a candle to them.

We don't need the Shawnees and gritties and hoss-leaves around this hair settlement to stir up exciting times. Now we've got this dark-eyed lass, and yet any fool could see she's sweet and good, and true as gold. Toward the middle of the afternoon Jonathan sauntered in the direction of Metzor's Inn. It lay on the front of the bluff, with its main doors, looking into the road. A long one-story log structure with two doors

answered as a bar room. The end proper was a building more pretentious and joined the smaller one at its western end. Several horses were hitched outside and two-grade oxen yoke to a cumbersome mud-crusted wagon stood patiently by. Jonathan bent his tall head as he entered the noisy barroom. The dingy place reeked with tobacco smoke

and the fumes of vile liquor. It was crowded with men. The lawlessness of the time and place was evident, gaunt, red-faced frontiersmen, reeled to and fro across the sawdust floor, hunters and fur trader, raftmen, and farmers, swelled the motley crew, young men honest-faced but flushed and wild with drink,

hung over the bar. A group of sullen, visaged serpent-eyed Indians, held one corner. The black-bearded proprietor dealt out the rum. From beyond the bar room, through a door entering upon the back porch came the rattling of dice. Jonathan crossed the bar room apparently oblivious to the keen glance Metzer shot at him, and went out upon the porch.

This also was crowded, but there was more room because of greater space. At one table sat some pioneers drinking and lapping. At another were three men playing with dice. Colonel Zane, Silas, and Shepard were among the lookers on at the game. Jonathan joined them and gazed at the gamesters. Brandt, he knew well enough. He had seen that set, Wolfie's expression in the Riverman's face before. He observed, however, that the man had flushed cheeks and trembling hands,

indications of hard drinking. The player sitting next to Brandt was Williams, one of the garrison and a good-natured fellow, but garrulous and wickedly disposed when drunk. The remaining player, Jonathan at once saw, was the end. Englishman. Mordaunt. He was a handsome man with fair skin and long silken blonde mustache. Heavy lines and purple shades under his blue eyes

were dye unmistakable stance of participation. Reckless, dissolute, bad as he looked. There yet clung something favorable about the man. Perhaps it was his cool devil-may-care way as he pushed over gold-piece after gold-piece from the fast diminishing pile before him. His velvet frock and silken doublet had once been elegant, but were now sadly the worst four, border roughing.

Behind the Englishman's chair, Jonathan saw a short man with a face resembling that of a jackal. The grizzled, stubbly beard, the protruding, vicious mouth, the broad, flat nose, and deep-set small, glittering eyes, made a bad impression on the observer. This man, Jonathan concluded, was the servant case, who was so eager with his knife,

the borderman made the reflection that, if knife play was the little man's pastime, he was not likely to go short of sport in that vicinity. Colonel Zane attracted Jonathan's attention at this moment. The pioneers had vacated the other table, and Silas and Shepard now sat by it. The colonel wanted his brother to join them. Here, Johnny, bring drinks, he said to the serving boy,

Tell Metzer who they're for. Then turning to Shepard, he continued. He keeps good whiskey, but few of these poor devils ever see it. At the same time, Colonel Zane pressed his foot upon that of Jonathan's. The borderman understood that the signal was intended to call attention to Brandt. The latter had leaned forward as Jonathan passed by to take a seat with his brother, and said something in a low tone to Morant and Case. Jonathan knew, by the way, the Englishman and his man quickly glanced up at him.

that he had been the subject of the remark. Suddenly Williams jumped to his feet with an oath. I'm cleaned out, he cried. Shall we play alone? asked Brandt of Mordaunt. As you like, replied the Englishman in tone which showed he cared not a whit whether he played or not. I've got work to do, let's have some more drinks and play another time, said Brent. The liquor was served and drank.

Brant pocketed his pile of Spanish and English gold and rose to his feet. He was a trifle and steady, but not drunk. Will you gentlemen have a glass with me, Mordaunt, ask of Colonel Zane's party? Thank you, some other time with pleasure. We have our drink now, Colonel Zane said courteously.

Meantime, Brant had been whispering in case's ear. The little man laughed at something the Riverman said. Then he shuffled from behind the table. He was short. His compact build gave promise of unusual strength and agility. What are you going to do now? Grant, rising also. He looked hard at Case. "'Hez, shiver me sides, cap'n, if I don't need another drink,' replied the sailor.

"'You've had enough. Come upstairs with me,' said Mordaunt. "'Easy with your hatch, cap'n,' Grin' case. "'I want to drink with that their engine-killer. I've had drinks with buccaneers and bad men all over the world, and I'm not going to miss this chance.' "'Come on, you will get in trouble. You must not annoy these gentlemen, said Morant. Trouble is the name of my ship, and she's a trim, fast craft, replied the man. His loud voice had put an end to the conversation.

Men began to crowd in from the bar room. Metzer himself came to see what had caused the excitement. The old man threw up his cap, whooped, and addressed himself to Jonathan. Engine killer, bad man of the border. "'Will you drink with a jolly old tar from England?' "'Suddenly a silence reigned, like that in the depths of the forest. To those who knew the bordermen, and few did not know him, the invitation was nothing less than an insult,

but it did not appear to them as to him, like a pre-arranged plot to provoke a fight. "'Well you drink, Red-Skin Hunter,' bawled the sailor. "'No,' said Jonathan in his quiet voice. "'Maybe you mean that against old England,' demanded Case fiercely. The borderman eyed him steadily, inscrutable as to feeling or intent, and was silent. "'Go out there, and I'll see the color of your insides quicker than I'd take a drink,' hissed the sailor. With his brick-red face distorted and hideous to look upon,

he pointed with a long, bladed knife that no one had seen him draw to the green sort of ward beyond the porch. The borderman neither spoke, nor relaxed the muscle. Oh, oh, my brave pirate of the planes, cried Case, and he leered with braggard sneer into the faces of Jonathan and his companion. It so happened that Shepard sat nearest to him, and got full effect of the sailor's hot rum-soaked breath. He arose with a pale face.

"'Colonel, I can't stand this,' he said hastily. "'Let's get away from that drunken ruffian.' "'Who's a drunken ruffian?' yelled a case, more angry than ever. "'I'm not drunk, but I'm going to be, and cut some of you white-libered bordermates. "'Here you, old mast-head. Drink this to my health, damn you!' The ruffian had seized a tumbler of liquor from the table, and held it toward Shepard while he brandished his long knife. White as snow, Shepard backed against the wall,

but did not take the drink. The sailor had the floor. No one, save him, spoke a word. The action had been so rapid that there had hardly been time. Colonel Zane and Silas were as quiet and tense as the borderman. Drink! hoarsely cried the sailor, advancing his knife toward Shepard's body. On the sharp point all but pressed against the old man.

A bright object twinkled through the air, it struck Case's wrist, knocked the knife from his fingers, and, bounding against the wall, fell upon the floor. It was a tomahawk. The borderman sprang over the table like a huge catamont, and with movement equally quick, not case with a crash against the wall, closed on him before he could move a hand,

and flung him like a sack of meal over the bluff. The tension relieved. Some of the crowd laughed. Others looked over the embankment to see how Case had fared, and others remarked for some reason he had gotten off better than they expected. The borderman remained silent. He leaned against a post with broad breast gently heaving, but his eyes sparkled as they watched Brant, Williams, Morant, and Metzer.

The Englishman alone spoke. Handily done, he said, cool and suave. Sir, yours is. is an iron hand. I apologize for this unpleasant affair. My man is quarrelsome when under the influence of liquor. Metzer, a word with you, cried Colonel Zane curtly. Come inside, Colonel, said the innkeeper, plainly ill at ease. No, listen here. I'll speak to the point. You've got to stop running this kind of a place. No words now. You've got to stop, Understand? You know as well as I, perhaps better, the character of your so-called in.

You'll get but one more chance. Well, Colonel, this is a free country, growled Metzer. I can't help these fellas coming here looking for blood. I runs an honest place. The men want to drink and gamble. What's law here? What can you do? You know me, Metzer, Colonel Zane said grimly. I don't waste words. to help 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

metzer lowered his shaggy head and left the porch brant and his friends with serious faces withdrew into the bar-room the borderman walked around the corner of the inn and up the lane the colonel with silas and shepherd followed in more leisurely fashion at a shout from someone that they turned to see a dusty, bloody figure with ragged clothes stagger up from the bluff. There's that blame to sailor now, said Shepard. He's a tough nut. What a knock on the head Jonathan gave him. Strikes me, too, that Tomahawk came almost at the right time to save me a whole skin. I was furious, but not all that alarmed, rejoined Colonel Zane. I wondered what made you so quiet. I was waiting. Jonathan never axed until the right moment, and then, well, you saw him. The little villain deserved killing. I could have shot him with pleasure.

Do you know, Shepard, Jonathan's aversion to shedding blood is a singular thing. He'd never kill the worst kind of a white man until driven to it. That's commendable. How about Wetzel? Well, Lou is different, replied Colonel Zane with a shudder. If I told him to take an axe and clean out Netscher's place, God, what a wreck he'd make of it. Maybe I'll have to tell him, and if I do, you'll see something you can never forget.

End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of the last trail. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please. Visit Librevox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mikevindetti.com The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 9

On Sunday morning under the bright warm sun, the little hamlet of Fort Henry lay peacefully quiet, as if no storms had ever rolled and thundered overhead, no roistering ever disturbed its stillness, and no Indians yell ever horribly broke the quiet. "'Tis a fine morning,' said, Colonel Zane, joining his sister on the porch. Well, how nice you look, all in white for the first time since, well, you do look charming.

You're going to church, of course? Yes, I invited Helen and her cousin to go. I've persuaded her to teach my Sunday school class, and I'll take another of older children, replied Betty. That's well, the youngsters don't have much chance to learn out here, but we've made one great stride. A church and a preacher means very much to young. people. Next shall come the village school. Helen I might teach our classes an hour or two every afternoon. It would be a grand thing if you did. Fancy those tots growing up unable to read or write. I hate to think

of it, but the Lord knows I've done my best. I've had my troubles in keeping them alive. Helen suggests a day school. She takes the greatest interest in everything and everybody. Her energy is remarkable. She simply must move, must do something. She overflows with kindness and sympathy. Yesterday she cried with happiness when Mabel told her Alex was eager to be married very soon. I tell you, Eb, Helen is a fine character.

Yes, good as she is pretty, which is saying some, mused the Colonel. I wonder who'll be the lucky fellow to win her. It's hard to say, not that Englishman. surely. She hates him. Jonathan might. You should see her eyes when he is mentioned. Say, Betts, you don't mean it, eagerly ask her brother. Yes, I do, returned Betty, nodding her head positively.

I am not easily deceived about those things. Helen is completely fascinated with Jack. She might be only a 16-year-old girl for the way she betrays herself to me. Betty? I have a beautiful plan. No doubt you're full of them. We can do it, Betty, we can, you and I,

he said as he squeezed her arm. My dear old matchmaking brother, returned Betty, laughing. It takes two to make a bargain. Jack must be considered. Bosch, exclaimed the colonel, snapping his fingers. You needn't tell me any young man, any man could resist that glorious. girl. Perhaps not I couldn't if I were a man. But Jack's not like other people. He'd never

realized that she cared for him. Besides, he's a borderman. I know, and that's the only serious obstacle. But he could scout around the fort, even if he was married. These long, lonely, terrible journeys taken by him and Wetzel are mostly unnecessary. A sweet wife could soon make him see that. The borderline. will be civilized in a few years, and because of that, he'd better give over-hunting for Indians. I'd like to see him married and settle down, like all the rest of us, even Isaac. You know, Jack's the last of the Zanes, that is, the old Zanes. The difficulty arising from his extreme modesty and bashfulness can easily be overcome.

How most wonderful brother! Easy as pie. Tell Jack that Helen is dying of love for him, and tell her that Jack loves, but dear Ev, that latter part is not true, interposed Betty. True, of course, it's true, or would be in any man who wasn't as blind as a bat. We'll tell her Jack cares for her, but he is a borderman with stern ideas of duty,

and so slow and backward he'd never tell his love even if he had overcome his tricks of ranging. That would settle it with any girl worth her salt, and this one will fetch Jack in ten days or less. Eb, you're a devil, said Betty gaily. And then she added in a more sober vein. Understand, Ev, your idea is prompted by love of Jack, and it's all right. I never see him go out of the clearing, but I think it may be for the last time,

even as on that day so long ago when Brother Andrew waved his cap to us and never came back. Jack is the best man in the world, and I, too, want to see him happy with a wife and babies and a subtle occupation in life. I think we might weave a pretty little romance. Should we try? Try, I will do it. Now, bets, you explain it to both. You can do it smoother than I.

And telling them is really the finest point of our little plot. I'll help the good work along afterwards. You'll be out presently. Nail him at once. Jonathan, all unconscious of the deep-laid scheme to make him happy, soon came out on the porch and stretched his long arms as he breathed freely of the morning air. "'Hello, Jack, where you bound?' asked Betty,

clasping one of his powerful buckskin-clad knees with her arm. "'Reckon I'll go over to the spring,' he replied, patting her dark glossy head. "'Do you know I want to tell you something, Jack, And it's quite serious, she said, blushing a little at her guilt, but resolute to carry out her part of the plot. Well, dear, he asked as she hesitated, Do you like Helen?

That is a question, Jonathan replied after a moment. Never mind, tell me, she persisted. He made no answer. Well, Jack, she's wildly in love with you. The borderman stood very still for several moments. Then, with one step, he gained the lawn and turned to confront her. What's that you say? Betty trembled a little.

He spoke so sharply as eyes were bent on her so keenly, and he looked so strong, so forceful that she was almost afraid. But remembering that she had said only what? To her mind was absolutely true. She raised her eyes and repeated the words. Helen is wildly in love with you. Betty, you wouldn't joke about such a thing. You wouldn't lie to me.

I know you wouldn't. No, Jack dear. She saw his powerful frame tremble, even as she had seen more than one man tremble during the siege under the impact of a bullet. Without speaking, he walked rapidly down the path toward the spring. Colonel Zane came out of his hiding place behind porch and with a face positively electrifying and its gloring pleasure beamed upon his sister gee didn't he stalk off like an indian chief he said chuckling with satisfaction by george betts you must have got in a great piece of work

i never in my life saw jack look like that colonel zane sat down by betty's side and laughed softly but heartily we'll fix him all right the lonely hill-clim Why, he hasn't a ghost of a chance. Wait until she sees him after hearing your story. I tell you, Betty, why, damn, you're crying. He had turned to find her head lowered, while she shaded her face with her hand. Now, Betty, just a little innocent deceit like that? What harm, he said taking her hand.

He was as tender as a woman. Oh, Eb, it wasn't that I didn't mind telling him. Only the flash in his eyes reminded me of... Of Alfred. Surely it did. Why not? Almost everything brings up a tender memory for someone we've loved and lost.

No cry, Betty. She laughed a little and raised her face, with its dark cheese flushed and tear-stained. I'm silly, I suppose, but I can't help it. I cry at least once every day. Brace up. Here comes Helen. and will. Don't let them see you grieved. My, Helen and Pure White, too. This is a conspiracy

to ruin the peace of the masculine portion of Fort Henry. Betty went forward to meet her friends while Colonel Zane continued talking. But now to himself. What a fatal beauty she has, his eyes swept over Helen with the pleasure of an artist, the fair richness of her skin, the perfect lips, the wavy, shiny hair, the wondrous, dark blue, changing eyes, the tall figure slender but strong, and swelling with gracious womanhood, made a picture he delighted in and loved to have near him. The girl did not possess for him any of that magnetism, so commonly felt by most of her admires, but he did feel how subtly full she was of something, which for one of a better term he described in Wensel's characteristic

expression as chain lightning. He replaced, that as he was so much older, that she, although always winsome and earnest, showed nothing of the tormenting, bewildering coquetry of her nature. Colonel Zane prided himself on his discernment, and he had already observed that Helen had different sides of character for different persons. To Betty, Mabel, Nell, and the children, she was frank, girlies, full of fun and always lovable, to her elders quiet and earnestly solicitous to please. to the young men, cold, but with a penetrating mocking promise, haunting that coldness,

and sometimes sweetly agreeable, often willful, and changeable as April wins. At last the colonel concluded that she needed, as did all other spirited young women, the taming influence of a man whom she loved, a home to care for, and children to soften and temper her spirit. "'Well, young friends, I see you count on keeping the Sabbath,' he said, cheerily. "'For my part? "'Well, I don't see how Jim Duns can preach this morning, "'before this laurel blossom and that damask rose.'

"'How poetical, which is which?' asked Betty. "'Flatterer,' laughed Helen, shaking her finger. "'And a married man, too,' continued Betty. "'Well, being married has been married, not affected my poetical sentiment, nor impaired my eyesight. But it has seriously inconvenienced your old propensity of making love to the girls. Not that you wouldn't if you dared, replied Betty, with mischief in her eye. Now, Will, what do you think of that? Isn't it real sisterly regard?

Come, we'll go and look at my thoroughbred, said Colonel Zane. Where's Jonathan? I'm asked presently. Something happened at Metzers yesterday. Papa wouldn't tell me, and I didn't want to ask Jonathan. Jack is down by the spring. He spends a great deal of his time there. It's shady and cool, and the water babbles over the stones.

How much alone is he? said Helen. Betty took her former position on the steps, but did not raise her eyes while she continued speaking. Yes, he's more alone than ever lately and quiet or two. He hardly ever speaks now. There must be something on his mind more serious than horse thieves. What, Helen asked quickly. I'd better not tell you.

A long moment passed before Helen spoke. Please tell me. Well, Helen, we thank Eb and I that Jack is in love for the first time in his life, and with you, you adorable creature. But Jack's a borderman. He is stern in his life. principal thinks he is wedded to his border life, and he knows that he has both red and white blood on his hands. He'd die before he'd speak of his love, because he cannot understand that would

do any good, even if you loved him, which is, of course, preposterous. Loves me? Breathe helen softly. She sat down rather beside Betty, and turned her face away. She still held the young woman's hand which she squeezed so tightly as to make its owner wince. Betty stole a look at her and saw the rich red blood mantling her cheeks

and her full bosom heave. Helen turned presently with no trace of emotion except the singular brilliance of the eyes. She was so slow to speak again that Colonel Zane and Will returned from the corral before she found her voice.

Colonel Zane, please tell me about last night. When Papa came home to supper, he was pale and very nervous. I knew something had happened, but he would not explain which made me all the more anxious. Would you please tell me? Colonel Zane glanced again at her. Anne knew what happened. Despite her self-possession, those tell-tale eyes told her secret, ever-changing and shadowing with abounding and rapturous light. They were indeed the windows of her soul. All the emotion of all. a woman's heart shone there, fear, beauty, wondering appeal, trembling joy, and timid hope.

Tell you? Indeed I will. Replied Colonel Zane, softened, and a little remorseful under those wonderful eyes. No one liked to tell a story better than Colonel Zane. Briefly and graphically, he related the circumstances of the affair leading to the attack on Helen's father, and as the tale progressed, he became quite excited, speaking with with animated face and forceful gestures. Just as the knife point touched your father

a swiftly flying object not to go up into the floor, it was Jonathan's tomahawk. What followed was so sudden, I hardly saw it. Like lightning and flexible as steel, Jonathan jumped over the table, smashed case against the wall, pulled him up and threw him over the bank. I tell you, Helen, it was a beautiful piece of action,

but not, of course, her woman's eyes. Now that's all. father was not even hurt. He saved Papa's life, murmured Helen, standing like a statue. She wheeled suddenly with that swift bird-like motion habitual to her and went quickly down the path leading to the spring. Jonathan Zane, solitary dreamer of dreams as he was,

had never been in as strange and beautiful reverie as that which possessed him on this Sabbath morning. Deep into his heart had sunk Betty's words, the wonder of it, the sweetness. That alone was all he felt. The glory of this girl had begun, days past, to spread its glamour round him. Swept irresistibly away now,

he sawed aloft in a dream castle of fancy, with its painted windows and golden walls. For the first time in his life on the border, he had entered the little glade and had no eye for the crystal water flowing over the pebbles, and mossy stones, or the plot of grassy ground enclosed by tall, dark trees, and shaded by a canopy of fresh green and azure blue, nor did he hear the music of the soft rushing water,

the warbling birds, or the gentle sighing breeze moving the leaves. Gone, vanished. Lost today was that sweet companionship of nature, that indefinable and unutterable spirit which flowed so peacefully to him from his beloved woods, that something more than merely affecting his senses, which existed for him in the stony cliffs, and breathed with life through the lonely aisles of the forest, had fled before the fateful power of a woman's love and beauty. A long time that seemed only a moment passed while he leaned against the stone. A light step sounded on the path. A vision in pure white entered the glade. Two little hands. pressed his and two dark blue eyes of misty beauty shed their light on him.

Jonathan, I am come to thank you. Sweet and tremulous, the voice sounded far away. Thank me? For what? Save Papa's life. How can I thank you? No voice answered for him. I have nothing to give but this.

A flower-like face was held up to him, hands light as thistle down touched his shoulders. Dark blue eyes glowed upon him with all tenderness. May I thank you, so soft lips at his, full and lingeringly. Then came a rush as of wind, a flash of white, and the patter of flying feet. He was alone in the glade. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com.

The Last Trail by Zane Gray. Chapter 10. June passed. July opened with unusually warm weather. And Fort Henry had no visits from Indians or horse thieves, nor any inconvenience except the hot sun. It was the warmest weather for many years and seriously dwarfed the settlers' growing corn. nearly all the springs were dry and a drought menaced the farmers the weather gave helen an excuse which she was not slow to adopt her pale face and languid air perplexed and worried her father and her friends she explained to them that the heat affected her disagreeably long days had passed since that sunday morning when she kissed the borderman what transports of sweet hope and fear were hers then how shame had scorched her happiness Yet still, she gloried in the act.

By that kiss had she awakened to a full consciousness of her love. With insidious stealth and ever-increasing power, this flood had increased to full tide, and bursting its bonds, surged over her with irresistible strength. During the first days after the dawning of her passion, she lived in its sweetness, hearing only melodious sounds chiming in her soul.

The hours following that Sunday, were like long dreams, but as all things reach fruition, so this girlish period passed, leaving her a thoughtful woman. She began to gather up the threads of her life where love had broken them, to plan nobly and to hope and wait. Weeks passed, however, and her lover did not come. Betty told her that Jonathan made flying trips at break of day to hold counsel with Colonel Zane, that he and Wetzel were on the trail of Shawnee with stolen horses, and both Borderman were in their dark, vengeful, terrible moods. In these later days Helen passed through many stages of feeling.

After the exulting mood of hot young love came reaction. She fell into the depths of despair. Sorrow paled her face, thinned her cheeks, and lent another shadow, a mournful one, to her great eyes that come. constant repression of emotion, the strain of trying to seem cheerful when she was miserable, threatened even her magnificent health. She answered the solicitude of her friends by evasion. And then, by that innocent falsehood in which a sensitive soul hides its secrets, shame was only

natural, because since the borderman came not, nor sent her a word, pride whispered that she wooed him for getting modesty. Pride, anger, shame, despair, however, finally fled before affection. She loved this wild borderman, and knew he loved her in return, although he might not understand it himself. His simplicity, his lack of experience with women,

his hazardous life and stern duty regarding it, pleaded for him and her love. For the lack of a little understanding, she would never live unhappy, and alone while she was loved, better give a thousand times more than she had sacrificed. He would return to the village someday, when the Indians and the thieves were run down

and would be his own calm, gentle self. Then she would win him, break down his allegiance to this fearful border life, and make him happy in her love. While Helen was going through one of the fires of life to come out sweeter and purer, if a little pensive and sad, time, which waits not for love nor life nor death, was hastening onward, and soon the golden

fields of grain were stored, September, came with its fruitful promise fulfilled. Helen entered once more into the quiet social life of the little settlement, taught her class on Sundays, did all her own work, and even found time to bring a ray of sunshine to more than one sick child's bed. Yet she did not forget her compact with Jonathan. and bent all her intelligence to find some clue that might aid in the capture of the horse thief. She was still groping in the darkness. She could not, however, banished the belief that the traitor was brant. She blamed herself for this because of having no good reason for suspicion,

but the conviction was there, fixed by intuition. Because a man's eyes were steely gray, sharp like those of a cat's, and capable of the same contraction and enlargement, There was no reason to believe their owner was a criminal. But that Helen acknowledged with a smile was the only argument she had. To be sure, Brant had looked capable of anything. The night Jonathan knocked him down, she knew he had incited case to begin the trouble at Metzers,

and had seemed worried since that time. He had not left the settlement on short journeys, as had been his custom before the affair in the barroom, and not a horse had disappeared from Fort Henry. Henry since that time. Brand had not discontinued his attentions to her. If they were less ardent, it was because she had given him absolutely to understand

that she could be his friend only, and she would not have allowed even so much except for Jonathan's plan. She fancied it possible to see behind Brandt's courtesy, the real subtle, threatening man, stripped of his kindness, an assumed virtue, the Iron Man stood revealed, cold, countenance, incontulating cruel. Mordaunt, she never saw but once and then,

shocking and pitiful. He lay dead drunk in the grass by the side of the road, his pale, weary, handsome face exposed to the pitiless rays of the sun. She ran home, weeping over this wreck of what had once been so fine a gentleman. Ah, the curse of rum! He had learned his soft speech and country-bearing

in the refinement of a home where a proud mother adored and gentlemen. Central sisters loved him, and now, far from the kindred he had disgraced, he lay in the road like a log. How it hurt her! She almost wished she could have loved him, if love might have redeemed. She was more kind to her other admirers, more tolerant of Brandt, and could forgive the Englishman, because the pangs she had suffered through love had softened her spirit.

During this long period, the growing friendship of her cousin for Betty had been a source of infinite pleasure to Helen. She hoped and believed a romance would develop between the young widow and will, and did all in her power, slyly abetted by the matchmaking colonel, to bring the two together. One afternoon when the sky was clear with that intense blue peculiar to bright days in early autumn, Helen started out toward Betty's, intending to remind that young lady she had promised to hunt for Clementus and other fall flowers. About her halfway to Betty's home she met Brand. He came swinging round a corner with his quick, firm step. She had not seen him for several days, and somehow he seemed different. A brightness,

a flash, as of daring expectation was in his face. The boys, too, of the man had changed. Well, I am fortunate. I was just going to your home, he said surely. Won't you come for a walk with me? You may walk with me to Betty's, Helen answered. "'No, not that. Come up the hillside. We'll get some goldenrod. I'd like to have a chat with you. I may go away. I mean, I'm thinking of making a short trip,' he added hurriedly. "'Please come.' "'I promised to go to biddies.' "'You won't come?' His voice trembled with mingled disappointment and resentment.

"'No,' Helen replied in slight surprise. "'You have gone with other fellows. Why not with me?' He was white now, and evidently laboring under powerful feelings that must have had their origin in some thought or plan which hinged on the acceptance of his invitation. Because I choose not to, Helen replied coldly, meeting his glance fully. A dark red flush swelled Brent's face and neck. His gray eyes gleamed balefully with wolfish glare. His teeth were clenched.

He breathed hard and trembled with anger. Then, by a powerful effort, he conquered himself. The villainous expression left his face. The storm of rage subsided. Great incentive there must have been for him thus to repress his emotion so quickly. He looked long at her with sinister intent regard. Then, with the laugh of a desperado, a laugh which might have indicated contempt for the failure of his suit, and which was fraught with a word of meaning of minutes,

he left her without so much as a salute. Helen pondered over this sudden change and felt relieved because she need make no further pretense of friendship. He had shown himself to be what she had instinctively believed. She'd hurried on toward Betty's, hoping to find Colonel Zane at home, and with Jonathan for Brant's hint of leaving Fort Henry. And his evident chagrin at such a slip of speech had made her suspicious. She was informed by Mrs. Zane that Colonel had gone to a log raising. Jonathan had not been in for several days, and Betty went away with Will.

Where'd they go, ask Helen? I'm not sure, I think down to the spring. Helen followed the familiar path through the grove of oaks into the glade. It was quite deserted. Sitting on the stone against which Jonathan had leaned the day she kissed him, she gave way to tender reflection. Suddenly she was disturbed by the sound of rapid footsteps, and looking up saw the hulking form,

of Metzer, the innkeeper coming down the path. He carried a bucket and meant evidently to get water. Helen did not desire to be seen, and thinking he would stay only a moment, slipped into a thicket of willows behind the stone. She could see plainly through the foliage. Metzer came into the glade, peered around in a manner of a man expecting to see someone,

and then, filling his bucket at the spring, sat down on the stone. Not a minute elapsed before soft rapid footsteps sounded in the same, footsteps sounded in the distance. The bushes parted, disclosing the white-set face and gray eyes of Roger Brandt. With a light spring, he cleared the brook and approached Metzer. Before speaking, he glanced around the glade with the fugitive distressful glance of a man who suspects even the trees.

Then, satisfied by the scrutiny, he opened his hunting frock, taking forth a long object which he thrust towards Metzer. It was an Indian arrow. Metzer'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.

God, but it was a great shot. Hell, gasped Metzer, his dull face quickening with some awful thought. I guess it is hell, replied Brandt, his face growing white. and Wilder? Are games up? Questioned, Mercer, with Haggardcheek? Up, man. We haven't a day, maybe less, to shake Fort Henry.

What does it mean? Ask Metzer. He was the calmer of the two. It's a signal. The Shawnees who were in hiding with the horses over by blueberry swamp have been flushed by those bordermen. Some of them have escaped, at least one, for no one but Ashbow could shoot that arrow across the river.

"'Suppose he hadn't come,' whispered Metzer hoarsely. "'Brand answered him with a dark, shuddering gaze. A twig snapped in a thicket, like foxes at the clip of a trap. These men whirled with fearsome glances. "'Ah!' came a low, guttural voice from the bushes, "'and an Indian of magnificent proportions and sombre, swarthy features entered the glade. "'End of Chapter 10. "'Chapter 11 of the last trail.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 11. The Savage had just emerged from the river, where his graceful copper-colored body and scanty clothing were dripping with water. He carried a long bow and a quiver of arrows.

Brant uttered an exclamation of surprise and Metzra curse. As the lithe Indian leaped the brook, he was not young, his worthy face was lined, seemed, and terrible with dark impassiveness. He'll face, brother Giderot, he said in halting English, as his eyes flashed upon Brandt. Chief, won't make sure. The white man leaned forward, grasped the Indian's arm

and addressed him in an Indian language. This questioning was evidently in regard to his signal, the whereabouts of the others of the party, and why he took such fearful risks almost in the village. The Indian answered with one English word. Death wind. Brant drew back with drawn white face, while a whistling breath escaped him.

I knew it, Metz, Wetz. He exclaimed in a husky voice. The blood slowly receded from Metzer's evil, murky face, living in Haggard. Death wind on Chief's trail up Eagle Rock, continued the Indian. Death wind fooled not for long. Chief Wait, Baleface Brothers at two islands. The Indian stepped into the brook, parted the willows, and was gone as he had come silently. We know what to expect, said Brandt in calmer tone, as the daring cast of continents returned to him.

There's an Indian for you. He got away, doubled like an old fox on his trail, and ran hidden here to give us a chance at escape. Now you know why Bing Leggett can't be caught. Let's dig it once, replied Metzer, with no show of returning courage as characterized by his companion. Brent walked to and fro with bent brows. Like one in deep thought, suddenly he turned upon Metzer eyes

which were brightly hard and reckless with resolve. By him, and I'll do it. Listen, Wetzel has gone to the top of Eagle Mountain, where he and Zane have a rendezvous. Even he won't suspect a cunning of this Indian. Anyway, it'll be after daylight tomorrow before he strikes the trail. I've got twenty-four hours and more to get this girl, and I'll do it. Bad move to have weight like her on a march, said Metzer. Bah, the thing's easy. As for you, go on. Push ahead. started, all I ask is that you stay by me until the time to cut loose.

I ain't a going to crawfish now, rowled Metzer. Strikes me too. I'm losing more than you. You won't be a loser if you can get back to Detroit with your scalp. I'll pay you on horses and gold. Once we reach Leggett's place, we're safe. What's your plan by getting a gal? asked Metzer. Brand lead forward and spoke eagerly, but in a low tone. Get away on horseback? Question Metser? Visibly brightening? While at some sense, can ye trust the other party? I'm sure I can, rejoined Brant. It'll be a good job, a good job, and all done in daylight too.

Bingling it couldn't plan better, Metzer said, rubbing his hands. We fooled these Zanes and their fruit-raising farmers for about a year, and our time is about up, Brent muttered. One more job, and we're done. Once with Leggett were safe, and we'll work slowly back towards Detroit. Let's get out of here now, for someone may come at any moment. The plotters separated, Brant going through the grove and Metzer down the path by which

he had come. Ellen, trembling with horror of what she had heard, raised herself cautiously from the willows, where she had lain and watched the innkeeper's retreating figure. When it had disappeared, she gave a little gasp of relief, free now to run home, there to plan what course must be pursued. She conquered her fear and weakness and hurried from the glade. Luckily, so far, as she was able to tell, no one saw her return, she resolved that she would be cool, deliberate, clever, worthy of the Bordeman's confidence. First she tried to determine the purport of this interview between Brandt and Metzer. She recalled to mind all that was said

and supplied what she thought had been suggested. Brandt and Metzor were horse thieves. Aides of Bang Lengit. They had repaired to the glade to plan. The Indian had been a surprise. Wetzel had rotted the Shawnees and was now on the trail of this chieftain. The Indian warned them to leave, Fort Henry, and to meet him at a place called Two Islands.

Brant's plan, presumably somewhat changed by the advent of the Red Man, was to steal horses, abduct a girl in broad daylight, and before tomorrow's sunset, escape, to join the ruffian Ligot. I am that girl, murmured Helen shudderingly, as she relapsed momentarily

into girlish fears, but at once she rose above selfish feelings. Secondly, while it was easy to determine what the outlaws meant, the wisest course was difficult to conceive. She had promised the borderman to help him, and not speak of anything she learned to anybody himself. She could not be true to him if she asked advice.

The point was. is clear. Either she must remain in the settlement, hoping for Jonathan's return in time to frustrate Brant's villainous scream or find the borderman. Suddenly she remembered Metzer's allusion to a second person whom Brant felt certain he could trust. This met another traitor in Fort Henry, another horse thief, another desperado willing to make off with helpless women. Helen's spirit rose in arms. She had their secret. She could ruin them. She would find the borderman. Wetzel was on a trail at Eagle Rock.

What for? Trailing an Indian, who was then five miles east of that rock. Not Wetzel. He was on that track to meet Jonathan. Otherwise, with the Redskins near the river, he would have been closer to them. He would meet Jonathan there at sunset today,

Helen decided. She paced the room, trying to still her throbbing heart and trembling hands. "'I must be calm,' she said sternly. Time is precious. I have not a moment to lose. I will find him. I've watched that mountain many a time, and can find the trail and the rock. I am in more danger here than out there in the forest. With Wetzel and Jonathan on the mountainside, the Indians have fled it. But what about the savage who warned Brandt? Let me think. Yes, he'll avoid the river. He'll go round south of the settlement, and therefore can't see me cross. How fortunate that I have paddled a canoe many times across! cross the river. How glad that I made Colonel Zane describe the course up the mountains. 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 of an exultation she could not subdue. Only one thing she feared, which was that Brant or Metzer might see her cross the river. She launched her canoe and paddled downstream under cover of the bluff to a point opposite the end of the island, then straight across, keeping the island between her and the settlement. Gaining the other shore, Helen, pulled the canoe into the willows and mounted the bank. A thicket of willow and alder made progress up the steep incline difficult, but once out of it, she faced a long stretch of grassy meadowland. A mile beyond began the green billowy rise of that mountain she intended to climb. helen's whole soul was thrown into the adventure she felt her strong young limbs in accord with her heart now mr brant horse-thief and girl snatcher we'll see she said with scornful lips if i can't beat you now i'm not fit to be betty zane's friend

and i am unworthy of a borderman's trust she traversed the whole length of the meadowland close under the shadow of the fringed bank and gained the forest here she hesitated all was so wild and still no definite course through the woods seemed to invite and yet all was open trees trees dark immovable trees everywhere the violent trembling of poplar and aspen leaves when all others were so calm struck her strangely and the fearful stillness awed her. Drawing a deep breath, she started forward up the gently rising ground. As she advanced, the open forest became darker and of wilder aspect. The trees were larger and closer together.

Still, she made fair progress without deviating from the course she had determined upon. Before her rose a ridge, with a ravine on either side, reaching nearly to the summit of the mountain. Here the underbrush was scanty, The fallen trees had slipped down the side, and the rocks were not so numerous, all of which gave her reason to be proud, so far of her judgment. Heling pressing onward and upward forgot time and danger.

While she reveled in the wonder of the forestland, birds and squirrels fled before her, whistling and wheezing of alarm, or heavy crashings in the brushes, told a frightened wild beast, a dull, faint roar, like a distant wind, suggested, tumbling waters, a single birch tree, gleaming white among the black trees, enlivened the gloomy forest, patches of sunlight brightened the shade, giant ferns, just tingling with autumn colors, wave tips of sculptured perfection. Most wonderful of all were the colored leaves, as they floated downward with a sad, gentle rustle. Helen was brought to a realization of her hazardous undertaking by a sudden roar of water, and the abrupt termination. of the ridge in a deep gorge. Grasping a tree she leaned over to look down.

It was fully a hundred feet deep, with impassable walls green-stained and damp at the bottom of which a brawling brown brook rushed on its way, fully 20 feet wide. It presented an insurmountable barrier to further progress in that direction. But Helen looked upon it merely as a difficulty to be overcome. She studied the situation

and decided to go to the last. left, because higher ground was to be seen that way. Abandoning the ridge, she pressed on, keeping as close to the gorge as she dared, and came presently to a fallen tree lying across the dark cliff, without a second's hesitation, for she knew which would be fatal, she stepped upon the tree and started across, looking at nothing but the log under her feet, while she tried to imagine herself walking across the water gate, at home in Virginia. She accomplished the venture without a misstep. When safely on the ground, once more, she felt her knees tremble and a queer light feeling came into her head. She laughed, however, as she rested a moment. It would take

more than a gorge to discourage her. She resolved with set flips, as once again she made her way along the rising ground. Periless, if not desperate, work was ahead of her. Broken rocky ground, matted thicket, and seemingly impenetrable forest rose darkly in advance. but she was not even tired and climbed, crawled, twisted, and turned on her way upward. She surrounded a rocky ledge to face a higher ridge covered with splintered, uneven stones, and the fallen trees of many storms. Once she slipped and fell, spraining her wrist. At length this uphill labor began to weary her.

To breathe caused a pain in her side, and she was compelled to rest. Already the gray light of coming night shrouded the forest. She was surprised at seeing the trees become indistinct because the shadows hovered over the thickets and noted that the dark, dim outline of the ridges was fading into obscurity. She struggled up on the uneven slope with a tightening at her heart, which was not all exhaustion.

For the first time she doubted herself, but it was too late. She could not turn back. Suddenly she felt that she was on a smoother, easier course, Not to strike a stone or break a twig seemed unusual. It might be a path worn by deer going to a spring. Then into her troubled mind flashed the joyful thought. She had found a trail.

Soft wiry grass, springing from a wet soil, rose under her feet. A little rill trickled alongside the trail. Mossy, soft cushioned stones lay embedded here and there. Young maples and hickories grew breast-high on either side, and the way wound in and out under the lowering shade of forest monarchs. Swiftly ascending this path, she came at length to a point where it was possible to see some distance ahead. The ascent became hardly noticeable.

Then as she turned a bend of the trail, the light grew brighter and brighter until presently all was open and clear. An oval space covered with stones lay before her. A big blasted chestnut stood nearby. Beyond was the dim purple haze of distance. Above the pale blue sky just faintly rose-tinted by the setting sun. Far to her left, the scraggly trees of a low hill were tipped with orange and russet shades. She had reached the summit.

Desolate and lonely was this little plateau. Helen felt immeasurably far away from home, yet she could see in the blue distance, the glancing river, the dark fort, and that cluster of cabins which marked the location of, Fort Henry. Sitting upon the roots of the big chestnut tree, she gazed around. There were the remains of a small campfire beyond a hollow under a shelving rock. A bed of dry leaves lay packed in this shelter. Someone had been here, and she doubted, not that it was the borderman. She was so tired

and her wrist pain so severely that she lay back against the tree trunk, closed her eyes and rested. A weariness. The apathy of utter exhaustion came over her. She wished the borderman would hurry and come before she went to sleep. Drowsily, she was sinking into slumber when a long, low, rumble aroused her. How dark it had suddenly become. A sheet of pale light flared across the overcast heavens. A storm! exclaimed Helen.

Alone on this mountain top with a storm coming? Am I frightened? I don't believe it. at least i'm safe from that ruffian brant oh if my borderman would only come helen changed her position from beside the tree to the hollow under the stone it was high enough to permit of her standing upright and offered a safe retreat from the storm the bed of leaves was soft and comfortable she sat there peering out at the darkening heavens all beneath her southward and westward was gray twilight the settlement faded from sight the river grew on and shadowed The ruddy light in the west was fast succumbing to the rolling clouds. Darker and darker it became, until only one break in the overspreading vapors admitted the last crimson gleam of sunshine over hills and valley,

brightening the river until it resembled a stream of fire. Then the light failed, the glow faded. The intense blackness of night prevailed. Out of the even west came presently another flare of light, a quick, spreading flash like a flicker from a monster candle. It was followed by a long, low, rumbling roll. Helen felt in those intervals of utterably vast silence that she must shriek aloud.

The thunder was a friend. She prayed for the storm to break. She had withstood danger and toilsome effort with fortitude, but could not brave this awful boating wilderness stillness. Flashes of lightning now reveal the rolling, pushing, turbulent clouds, and peels of thunder sounded nearer and louder. A long, swelling moan, sad, low, like the uneasy sigh of the sea breathed far in the west. It was the wind, the ominous warning of the storm. Sheets of light were now mingled with long,

straggling ropes of fire, and the rumblings were often broken by louder, quicker detonations. Then a period, longer than usual, of inky blackness succeeded, the sharp flurril. of light. A faint breeze ruffled the leaves of the thicket and fanned Helen's hot cheek. The moan of the wind became more distinct than louder, and in another instant, like the far-off roar of a rushing river, the storm was upon her. Helen shrank closer against the stone and pulled her jacket tighter around her trembling form. A sudden, intense, dazzling, blinding white light enveloped her. The rocky promontory, the weird giant chestnut tree, the open, and plateau and beyond the stormy heavens were all luridly clear in the flash of lightning.

She fancied it was possible to see a tall, dark figure emerging from the thicket. As the thunder-clap rolled and peeled overhead, she strained her eyes into the blackness, waiting for the next lightning flash. It came with brilliant, dazzling splendor. The whole plateau and thicket were as light as the day, close by the stone where she lay, crept the tall, dark figure. of an Indian. With staring eyes, she saw the French clothing, the long flying hair and supple body, peculiar to the savage. He was creeping up on her. Helen's blood ran cold. Terror held

her voiceless. She felt herself sinking slowly, down upon the leaves. End of Chapter 12 of the last trail. This is a Liebervox recording. All Liebervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org, recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The last trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 12. The sun had begun to cast long shadows the afternoon of Helen's hunt for Jonathan. When the borderman accompanied by Wetzel led a string of horses along the base of the very mountain she had ascended. Last night's job was a goodin. I ain't against saying, but the redskin I wanted It got away, Wetzel said gloomily.

He's safe now as a squirrel in a hole. I saw him darting among the trees, with its white eagle feathers sticking up like a buck's flag, replied Jonathan. He can run, if I'd only had my rifle loaded. But I'm not sure he was that arrow-shooting, Shawnee. It was him. I saw his bow. We ought to take more time and picked him out, Wetzel replied,

shaking his head gravely. Though maybe that had been useless. I think he was. hiding. He's precious shy of his red skin. I've been after him these ten years and never catched him napping yet. We'd have done much towards snuffing out-legged in his gang if we'd winged that Shawnee. He left the plain trail. One of his tricks, he's slicker on a trail than any other engine on the border, unless maybe it's old wingingunt, the Huron. This Shawnee'd lead us many a mile for nothing. If we'd stick to his trail. I'm long to good.

used to him. He's doubled like an old fox, run harder than a skeered fawn, and if he needs be, he'll lay low as a cunning buck. I calculate once over the mountain. He's made a beeline east. We'll go on with the hosses and then strike across country to find his trail. It appears to me, Lou, that we've been taking a long time in making a show against these hoss-thieves, said Jonathan. I ain't saying much, but I've felt it, said Wittsell. all summer and nothing done. It was more luck than since that we run into these engines with the hosses.

We only got three out of four and let the best redskin give us the slip. Here fall is nigh on us with winter coming soon, and we still don't know who's the white trader in the settlement. I said it's be a long and maybe our last trail. Why? Because those fellers, red or white, are in with the picked gang of the best woodsmen

has ever outlawed the border. We'll get the Fort Henry Hoss thief. I'll back the bright-eyed last for that. I haven't seen her lately, and allow she left word if she learned anything. Well, maybe it's as well you ain't seen so much of her. In silence they traveled, and arriving at the edge of the middle,

we're about to mount two of the horses when Wetzel said in a sharp tone, Look! He pointed to a small, well-defined moccasin track in the black earth on the mark. margin of a rill. Lou? It's a woman.

Sure you're born, declared Jonathan. Wetzel knelt and closely examined the footprint. Yes, a woman's and no engine. What? Jonathan exclaimed as he knelt to scrutinize the imprint. This ain't half a day old, added Wetzel, and not a Redskins moccasin near. What do you reckon? A white girl alone, replied Jonathan, as he followed the trail a short distance along the brook,

"'See, she's making upland. "'What's old? "'These tracks could hardly be my sisters, "'and there's only one other girl on the border "'whose feet will match him. "'Helen Shepard has passed here, "'on her way up the mountain to find you or me. "'I like your reckoning.

"'She's suddenly discovered something, "'engines, host-leaf, the Fort Henry Trader, "'or maybe, and most likely some plotting, "'being bound to secrecy by me. "'She's not told my brother, "'and it must be called for a hurry. She knows we frequent this mountaintop, said Eb told her about the way we get here. I'd have calculated about the same.

What'll you do? Go with me after her, asked Jonathan. I'll take the hosses and be at the fort inside an hour. If Helen's gone, I'll tell her father you're close on her trail. Now listen, it'll be dark soon and a storm's coming. Don't waste time on her trail. Hurry up to the rock. She'll be there if any last can climb there. If not, come back in the morning.

"'Hunter trail out and find her. "'I'm thinking, Jack, we'll find the Shawnee had something to do with this. "'Whatever happens after I get back to the fort, "'I'll expect you hard on my trail.' "'Jonathan bounded across the brook, "'with an easy lope, began the gradual extent. "'Soon he came upon a winding path. "'He ran along this for perhaps a quarter of an hour

"'until it became too steep for rapid traveling, "'when he settled down to a rapid walk. The forest was already dark. A slight rustling of the leaves beneath his feet was the only sound except at long intervals the distant rumbling of thunder. The mere possibility of Helens being alone on that mountain seeking him made Jonathan's heart beat as it never had before. For weeks he had avoided her, almost forgot her.

He had conquered the strange yearning weakness which sailed him after that memorable Sunday and once more the silent, shaded glens, the mystery of the woods, the breath of his wild, free life had claimed him. But now as this evidence of her spirit, her recklessness, was before him, and he remembered Betty's avowal a pain, which was almost physical, tore at his heart. How terrible it would be if she came to her death through him! He pictured the big, alluring eyes, the perfect lips, the whole whole. haunting face, cold in death, and he shuddered.

The dim gloom of the wood soon darkened into blackness, the flashes of lightning momentarily streaking the foliage, or sweeping overhead in pale yellow sheets, aided Jonathan in keeping the trail. He gained the plateau just as a great flash illuminated it, and distinctly saw the dark hollow where he had taken refuge in many a storm, and where he now hoped to find the, girl. Picking his way carefully over the sharp blue stones, he at last put his hand on the huge rock.

Another blue-white dazzling flash enveloped a scene. Under the rock he saw a dark form huddled, and a face as white as snow with wide, horrified eyes. Last, he said, when the thunder had rumbled away, he received no answer and called again. Neeling, he groped about until touching Helen's dress. He spoke again, but she did not reply. Jonathan crawled under the ledge beside the quiet figure. He touched her hands. They were very cold. Fending over, he was relieved to hear her heart beating. He called her name, but still she made no reply. Dipping his hand into a little rill that ran beside the stone, he bathed her face. Soon, she stirred uneasily. moaned and suddenly sat up.

"'Tis Jonathan,' he said quickly. "'Don't be scared.' Another illuminating flare of lightning brightened the plateau. "'Oh, thank heaven!' cried Helen. "'I thought you were an Indian.' Helen sank, trembling against the borderman, who enfolded her in his long arms. Her relief and thankfulness were so great

that she could not speak. Her hands clasped and unclasped, round his strong fingers. Her tears flowed freely. The storm broke with terrific fury. A seething torrent of rain and hail came with the rushing wind. Great heaven broad sheets of lightning

played across the black dome overhead. Zig-zag rope steel-blue in color shot downward. Crash and crack and boom the thither. thunder split and rolled the clouds above. The lightning flashes showed the fall of rain in columns like white waterfalls, born on the irresistible wind. The grandeur of the storm awed and stilled Helen's emotion. She sat there watching the lightning, listening to the peals of thunder, and thrilling with the wonder of this situation. Gradually, the roar abated. The flashes became less frequent. The thunder decreased. As the storm wore out its strength in passing,

the wind and rain ceased on the mountaintop almost as quickly as they had begun, and the roar died away in the distance. Far to the eastward flashers of light illuminated scowling clouds and brightened many a dark, wooded hill and valley. Lass, how is it? I find you here, asked Jonathan gravely. With many a pause and broken phrase, Helen told the story of what she had seen and heard at the spring. Child, why didn't you go to my brother? asked Jonathan. You don't know what you undertook.

I thought of everything, but I wanted to find you myself. Besides, I was just as safe alone on this mountain as in the village. I don't know, but you're right, replied Jonathan thoughtfully. so Brandt planned to make off with you tomorrow. Yes, and when I heard it I wanted to run away from the village. You've done a wondrous, clever thing, lass. This Brant is a bad man and hard to match. But if he hasn't shaken Fort Henry by now, his career will end mighty sudden,

and his bad trail stops short on the hillside among the graves, for Ebb will always give outlaws or engine, decent burial. What will the colonel or anyone think has become of me? Wetzel knows, lass, for he found your trail below. Then he'll tell Papa you came after me. Oh, poor Papa, I forgot him. Shall we stay here till daylight? We'd gain nothing by starting now.

The brooks are full, and in the dark we'd make little distance. You're dry here and comfortable. What's more or less? You're safe. I feel perfectly safe with you, Helen. said softly. Aren't you tired, lass? Tired?

I'm nearly dead. My feet are cut and bruised. My wrist is sprained, and I ache all over. But Jonathan, I don't care. I am so happy to have my wild venture turn out successfully. You can lie here and sleep while I keep watch. Jonathan made a move to withdraw his arm,

which was still between Helen and the rock, but had dropped from her. her waist. I am very comfortable. I'll sit here with you watching for daybreak. My, how dark it is. I cannot see my hand before my eyes. Helen settled herself back into the stone,

leaned very little against his shoulder, and tried to think over her adventure, but her mind refused to entertain any ideas except those of the present. Mingled with the dreamy lassitude that grew stronger every moment was a sense of delight in her situation. She was alone on a wild mountain in the night with this borderman,

the one she loved. By chance and her own fool-heartedness this had come about, yet she was fortunate to have it tend to some good beyond her own happiness. All she would suffer from her perilous climb would be aching bones and perhaps a scolding from her father. What she might gain was more than she had dared, Hope. Breaking up of the horse thief gang would be a boon to the Harris settlement. How proudly Colonel Zane would smile. Her name would go on that long roll of border honor and heroism.

That was not, however, one thousandth part so pleasing as to be alone with her borderman. With a sigh of mingled weariness and content, Helen leaned her head on Jonathan's shoulder and fell asleep. The borderman trembled. The sudden nestling of her head against him, the light caress of her fragrant hair across his cheek, revived a sweet, almost conquered, almost forgotten emotion. He felt an inexplicable thrill vibrate through him.

No untrodden, ambushed wild, no perilous trail, no dark and bloody encounter had ever made him feel fear as had the kiss of this. maiden. He had sternly silenced, faint, unfamiliar, yet tender voices whispering in his heart, and now his rigorous discipline was as if it were not, for at her touch he trembled. Still, he did not move away. He knew she had succumbed to weariness and was fast asleep. He could, gently without awaking her, have laid her head upon the pillow of leaves. Indeed, he thought

of doing it, but made no effort. A woman's head lying softly against him was a thing, novel, strange, wonderful. For all the power he had then, each tumbling lock of her hair might as well have been a chain, linking him

fast to the mountain. With the memory of his former yearning, unsatisfied moods, and the unrest and pain his awakening tenderness had caused him, came a determination to look things fairly in the face, to be just in thought towards this innocent, impulsive girl, and be honest with himself. Duty commanded that he resist all charm other than that pertaining to his life in the

woods. Years ago he had accepted a Borterman's destiny, well content to be recompensed by its untamed freedom from restraint, to be always under the trees he loved so well, to lend his cunning and woodcraft in the pioneer's cause, to haunt the savage trails, to live from day to day a menace to the foes of civilization. That was the life he had chosen. It was all he could ever have. In view of this, Justice demanded that he allowed no friendship to spring up between himself and this girl. If his sister's belief was really true, if Helen really was interested in him, it must be a romantic infatuation which not encouraged. would wear itself out.

What was he, to win the love of any girl? An unlettered borderman who knew only the woods, whose life was hard and cruel, whose hands were red with Indian blood, whose vengeance had not spared men, even of his own race. He could not believe she really loved him. Wildly impulsive as girls were at times, she had kissed him.

She had been grateful, carried away by a generous feeling for him as the protector of her father. When she did not seem for long time as he vowed should be the case after he had carried her safely home, she would forget. Then Honesty demanded

that he probe his own feelings. sternly, as if judging a renegade, he searched out in his simple way the truth. This big-eyed lass with her nameless charm would be which even a borderman unless he avoided her. So much he had not admitted until now, Love he had never believed could be possible for him.

When she fell asleep, her hand had slipped from his arm to his fingers and now rested there lightly as a leaf. The contact was delight. The gentle night breeze blew a tress of her hair across his lips. He trembled, a rounded shoulder pressed against him until he could feel her slow, deep breathing. He almost held his own breath, lest he'd disturb her. rest. No, he was no longer indifferent, as surely as those pale stars blinked far above. He

knew the delight of a woman's presence. It moved him to study the emotion as he studied all things, which was the habit of his Borderman's life. Did it come from knowledge of her beauty, matchless as that of the mountain laurel? He recalled the dark glance of her challenging eyes, her tall, supple figure, and the bewilderishish. And the bewilderishishly. exitation and magnetism of her presence. Beauty was wonderful, but not everything. Beauty belonged to her, but she would have been irresistible without it.

Was it not because she was a woman? That was the secret. She was a woman with all a woman's charm to bewitched, to twine round the strength of men as the ivy encircles the oak, with all a woman's weakness to pity and to guard, with all a woman's willful burning love, and with all a woman's mystery. At last, so much of life was intelligible to him.

The renegade committed his worst crimes because even in his outlawed homeless state, he could not exist without the companionship, if not the love of a woman. The pioneers' toil and privation were for a woman, and the joy of loving her and living for her, the Indian brave, when not on the warpath, walked hand in hand with a dusky, soft-eyed maiden, and sang to her of moonlit lakes and

western winds. Even the birds and beasts mated. The robins returned to their old nests, the eagles paired once and were constant in life and death. The buck followed the dove through the forest. All nature sang that love made life worth living. Love then was everything. The bordermen sat out the long vigil of the night, watching the stars, and trying to decide that love was not for him. If Wetzel had locked a secret within his breast and never in all those years spoke of it to his companion, then surely that companion could as well live without love, stern, dark, deadly work, must stain and block all tenderness from his life, else it would be unutterably barren. The joy of living of unharassed freedom he had always known if a fair face and dark, mournful eyes were to haunt him on every lonely trail,

then it were better, an Indian should end his existence. The darkest hour before dawn, as well as the darkest of doubt and longing in Jonathan's life, passed away. A gray gloom obscured the pale winking stars. The east slowly whitened, then brightened, and at length day broke, misty and fresh. The borderman rose to stretch his cramped limbs. When he turned to the little cavern,

the girl's eyes were wide open. All the darkness, the shadow, the beauty, and the thought of the past night lay in their blue depths. He looked away across the valley where the sky was reddening and a pale rim of gold appeared above the hilltops. Well, if I haven't been asleep, exclaimed Helen with a low, soft laugh. You're rested, I hope, said Jonathan with averted eyes.

He dared not look at her. Oh, yes, indeed, I am ready to start at once. How grey, how beautiful the morning is. Shall we be long? I hope Papa knows. In silence, the borderman led the way across the rocky plateau and into the winding narrow trail, his pale, slightly drawn and.

stern face did not invite conversation. Therefore Helen followed silently in his footsteps. The way was steep, and at times he was forced to lend her aid. She put her hand in his and jumped lightly as a fawn, presently, a brawling brook, overcrowding its banks, impeded further progress. "'I'll have to carry you across,' said Jonathan. "'I'm very heavy,' replied Helen with a smile in her eyes. She flushed as the borderman put his right arm around her waist, then a clasp as of steel enclosed her. She felt herself swinging easily into the air and over the muddy brook. Further down the mountain, this troublesome brook again crossed the trail, this time much wider and more formidable. Helen looked with some

vexation and embarrassment into the borderman's face. It was always the same, stern, almost cold. Perhaps I'd better wade, she said hesitantly. Why, the water's deep and cold. You'd better not get wet. Helen flushed, but did not answer. With downcast eyes, she let herself be carried on his powerful arm. The waiting was difficult this time. The water foamed furiously around his knees.

Once he slipped on a stone and nearly lost his balance. Uttering a little scream, Helen grasped at him wildly, and her arm encircled his neck. What was still more trying, when he put her on her feet again. It was found that her hair had become entangled in the porcupine quills on his hunting coat. She stood before him,

while with clumsy fingers he endeavored to entangle the shimmering strands, but in vain. Helen unwound the snarl of wavy hair. Most alluring she was then, with a certain softness on her face, and light and laughter, and something warm in her eyes. The borderman felt that he breathed a subtle exhilaration, which emanated from her glowing,

gracious beauty. She radiated with the gladness of life, with an uncontrollable sweetness and joy, but giving no token of his feeling, he turned to march on down through the woods. From this point the trail broadened, descending at an easier angle. Jonathan's stride lengthened until Helen was forced to walk rapidly and sometimes run in order to keep close behind him. A quick journey home was expedient. and in order to accomplish this,

she would gladly have exerted herself to a greater extent. When they reached the end of the trail where the forest opened clear of brush, finally to merge into the broad verdant plain, the sun had chased the mist clouds from the eastern hilltops and was gloriously brightening the valley. With a touch of sentiment natural to her, Helen gazed backward for one more view of the mountaintop,

the wall of rugged rock she had so often admired from a window at home, which henceforth would ever hold a tender place of remembrance in her heart, rose out of a gray blue bank of mist. The long, swelling slope lay clear to the sunshine, with the rays of sun gleaming and glistening upon the variegated foliage, and upon the shiny rolling haze above, a beautiful picture of autumn splendor was before her. Tall pines here and there towered high and lonely over the surrounding trees,

Their dark green, graceful heads stood in bold relief above the gold and yellow crests beneath. Maples tinged from fainted pink to deepest rose added warm color to the scene, and chestnuts with their brown-white burrs led fresher beauty to the undulating slope. The remaining distance to the settlement was short.

Jonathan spoke only once to Helen, then questioning her as to where she had left her canoe. They traversed the meadow, found the boat in the thicket of willows, and were soon under the frowning bluff of Fort Henry. Ascending the steep path, they followed the road leading to Colonel Zane's cabin. A crowd of boys, men, and women loitering near the bluff, arrested Hedlin's attention.

Struck by this unusual occurrence, she wondered what was the cause of such idleness among the busy pioneer people? They were standing in little groups. Some made vehement gestures, others conversed earnestly, and yet more were silent. On seeing Jonathan a number shouted and pointed toward the inn. The borderman hurried Helen along the path, giving no heed to the throng. But Helen had seen the cause of all this excitement.

At first glance she thought Metzer's Inn had been burned. But a second later it could be seen that the smoke came from a smoldering heap of rubbish in the road. The inn nevertheless had been wrecked. Windows stared with that vacantness peculiar to deserted houses. The doors were broken from their hinges. A pile of furniture, rude tables, chairs, beds, and other articles were heaped beside the smoking rubbish. Scattered around lay barrels and cags, all with gaping sides and broken heads.

Liquor had stained the road, where it had been soaked up by the thirsty dust. Upon a shattered cellar door lay a figure, covered with a piece of, of rag carpet. When Helen's quick eyes took in this last, she turned away in horror. That motionless form might be Brants. Remorse and womanly sympathy surged over her, for bad as the man had shown himself,

he had loved her. She followed the borderman, trying to compose herself. As they neared Colonel Zane's cabin, she saw her father, Will, the Colonel, Betty, Nell, Mrs. Zane, Silas Zane, and others whom she did not recognize, They were all looking at her.

Helen's throat swelled and her eyes filled when she got near enough to see her father's haggard, eager face. The others were grave. She wondered guiltily if she had done much wrong. In another moment she was among them. Tears fell as her father extended his trembling hands to clasp her, and as she hid her burning face in his breast, he cried, my dear, dear child.

Then Betty gave her a great hug, and Nell flew about them like a happy bird. Colonel Zane's face was pale and wore a clouded stern expression. She smiled timidly at him through her tears. Well, well, well, he mused while his gaze softened. That was all he said, but he took her hand and held it while he turned to Jonathan. The borderman leaned on his long rifle regarding him with expectant. eyes. Well, Jack, you missed a little scrimmage this morning. Wetzel got in at daybreak. The storm and horses held him up on the other side of the river until daylight. He told me of

your suspicions with the additional news that he'd found a fresh Indian trail on the island just across from the inn. We went down, not expecting to find anyone awake, but Metzer was hurriedly packing some of his traps. Half a dozen men were there, having probably stayed all night. That little English cuss was one of them, and another an ugly fellow, a stranger to us, but evidently a woodsman. Things looked bad. Metzer told a decidedly conflicting story. Wetzel and I went outside to talk over the situation, with the result that I ordered him to clean out the place. Here Colonel Zane paused to indulge in a grim, meaning laugh. Well, he cleaned out the place all right. 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. Metzer resisted arrests 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. Brant 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. Lou found where the arrow stuck in the wall of Brant's room. It was shot from the island at the exact spot where Lou came to an end of the Indian's trail in the water.

that Shawnee got away from us. So Lou said, well, he's gone now. So as Brandt. We're rid of the gang, if only we never hear from them again. The borderman shook his head. During the colonel's recital, his face changed.

The dark eyes had become deadly. The square jaw was shut. The lines of the cheek had grown tense and over his hugely expressive continents had settled a chill, lowering shade. "'Lew, thanks Branson with Binglegged. "'Well, dang, his black traitor heart. "'He's a good man for the worst and strongest gang

"'that ever tracked the border.' "'The borderman was silent, "'but the futreeless shifting of his eyes "'over the river and island, hill and valley, "'spoke more plainly than words. "'Here to take his trail at once,' added Colonel Zane. "'I had best put you up some bread, meat, and parched corn.

No doubt you'll have a long, hard tramp. Good luck. The borderman went into the cabin, presently emerging with a buckskin knapsack strapped to his shoulder. He set off eastward, with a long, swinging stride. The women had taken Helen within the house where no doubt they could discuss

with greater freedom the events of the previous day. Shepard, said Colonel Zane, turning with the sparkle in his eyes. Brant was after Helen, sure, as bad weed grows fast, and certain his death, Jonathan and Wetzel, will see him cold and quiet,

back in the woods. That's a border saying, and it means a good deal. I never saw Wetzel so implacable, nor Jonathan so fatally cold, but once. And that was when Miller, another trader, much like Brandt,

tried to make away with Betty. It would have chilled your blood to see Wetzel go at that fool this morning. why did he want to pull a knife on the borderman? It was a sad sight. Well, these things are justifiable. We must protect ourselves, and above all our women. We've had bad men,

and a bad man out here is something you cannot yet appreciate. Come here and slip into the life of the settlement, because on the border you can never tell what a man is until he proves himself. There have been scores of criminals spread over the front of, tear, and some better men like Simon Gertie, who were driven to outlaw life. Simon must not be confounded with Jim Gertie, absolutely the most fiendish desperado who ever lived. Why even the Indians feared Jim so much that after his death his skeleton remained unmolested in

the glade where he was killed. The place is believed to be haunted now by all Indians and Benny White Hunters, and I believe the bones stand there yet? Stand? Asked Shepard, deeply interested. Yes, it stands where Gertie stood and died, upright against a tree, pinned. Pinned there by a big knife. Heavens, man who did it, Shepard cried in horror.

Again, Colonel Zane's laugh, almost metallic, broke grimly from his lips. Who? Why, Wetzel, of course. Lou hunted Jim Gertie five long years. When he caught him? God, I'll tell you some other time. Jonathan saw Wetzel handle Jamonies' pal, Deering?

As they were mere boys. Well, as I said, the border has had, and still has. It's bad men. Simon Gertie took McKee and Elliot to Tories from Fort Pitt when he deserted and ten men beside. They're all except those who are dead, outlaws of the worst type.

The other bad men drifted out. here from Lord only knows where. They're scattered all over. Simon Gertie, since his crowning black deed the massacre of the Christian Indians, is in hiding. Bing Leggett now has the field. He's a hard nut, a cunning woodsman, and capable leader who surrounds himself with only the most desperate Indians and renegades. Brandt is an agent of Leggots, and I'll bet we'll hear from him again. End of Chapter 12. of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray. Chapter 13 Jonathan traveled towards the east, straight as a crow flies. Wetzel's trail as he pursued Brant had been left designingly plain.

Branches of young maples had been broken by the bordermen. They were glaring evidences of his passage. On open ground or through swampy meadows, he had contrived to leave other means to facilitate his comrades' progress. Bits of sumac lay strewn along the way, every red leafy branch, a bright marker of the course. Crimson maple leaves served their turn, and even long-bladed ferns were scattered at intervals.

Ten miles east of Fort Henry, at a point where two islands lay opposite each other. Wensel had crossed the Ohio. Jonathan removed his clothing and, tying these together to his knapsack, to the rifle held them above the water while he swam the three narrow channels. He took up the trail again, finding here as he expected, where Brandt had joined the waiting Shawnee Sheaf. The borderman pressed on harder to the eastward.

About the middle of the afternoon, signs betokened that Wensel and, and his quarry were not far in advance. Fresh imprints in the grass crushed asters and a moss, broken branches with unwethered leaves and plots of grassy ground where Jonathan saw that the blades of grass were yet springing back to the original position, proved to the borderman's practiced eye that he was close upon Wetzel. In time he came to a grove of yellow birch trees. The ground was nearly free from brush,

beautifully carpeted with flowers and ferns, and except where brushy windfalls obstructed the way, was singularly open to the gaze for several hundred yards ahead. Upon entering this wood, Wetzel's plain, intentional markings became manifest, then wavered and finally disappeared. Jonathan pondered a moment. He concluded that the way was so open and clear

with nothing but grass and moss to mark a trail that Wetzel had simply considered it a waste of time, for perhaps the short length of this grove. Jonathan knew he was wrong, after taking a dozen steps more. Wetzel's trail, known so well to him, as never to be mistaken, sheared abruptly off to the left,

and after a few yards the distance between the footsteps widened perceptibly. Then came a point where they were so far apart that they could have only been made by long leaps. On the instant the borderman knew that some unforeseen peril or urge, and cause had put Wetzlittle flight, and he now bent piercing eyes around the grove. Retracing his steps to where he had found the break in the trail, he followed up

Brandt's tracks for several rods, not one hundred paces beyond where Wetzled quit the pursuit, were the remains of a campfire, the emberer still smoldering, and obnoxon tracks of a small band of Indians, the trail of Brandt and his Shawnee Guide, met the others at almost right angles. The Indian, either by accident or design, had guided Brandt to a band of his fellows, and thus led Wetzel almost into an ambush. Evidence was not clear, however, that the Indians had discovered the keen tracker who had run almost into their midst. While studying the forest ahead, Jonathan's mind was running over the possibilities.

How close was Wetzel? Was he still in flight? Had the savages an inkling of his pursuit? or was he now working out one of his cunning tricks of woodcraft? The borderman had no other idea than that of following the trail to learn all this. Taking the desperate chances warranted under the circumstances, he walked boldly forward in his comrade's footsteps. Deep and gloomily was the forest adjoining the birch grove.

It was a heavy growth of hardwood trees, interspersed with slender ash and maples, which with their scanty foliage resembled a labyrinth, labyrinth of green and yellow network, like filmy dotted lace, hung on the taller, darker oaks. Jonathan felt safer in this deep wood. He could still see several rods in advance. Following the trail, he was relieved to see that Wetzel's leaps had become shorter and shorter, until they once again were about the length of a long stride. The borderman was, moreover, swinging in a curve to the northeast. This was proof that the borderman had not been

pursued, but was making a wide detour to get ahead of the enemy. 500 yards further on, the trail turned sharply towards the birch grove in the rear. The trail was fresh. Wetzel was possibly within signal call, surely within sound of a rifle shot. But even more stirring was a certainty that Brent and his Indians were inside the circle Wetzel had made. Once again, in sight of the more open woodland, Jonathan crawled on his hands and knees, keeping close to the cluster of ferns

until well within the eastern end of the grove, he lay for some minutes listening. A threatening silence, like the hush before a storm, permeated to the wilderness. He peered out from his covert, but, owing to its location in a little hollow, he could not see far. Crawling to the nearest tree,

he rose to his feet slowly, cautiously. No unnatural sight or sound arrested his attention. Repeatedly with the acute, unsatisfied gaze of the borderman who knew that every tree, every patch of fern, every tangled brush-heap might harbor a foe. He searched the grove with his eyes, but the curly-barked birches, the clumps of colored ferns, the bushy windfalls, kept their secrets. For the bordermen, however, the whole aspect of the birch grove had changed. Over the forest was a deep calm, a gentle, fairly perceptible wind sighed among the leaves like rustling silk. The far-off drowsy drum of a grouse intruded on the vast stillness. The silence of the birds betokened a message.

That mysterious breathing, that beautiful life of the woods they hushed, locked in a waiting, brooding silence, far away among the somber trees. where the shade deepened into impenetrable gloom lay immense, invisible and indefinable. A wind, a breath, a chill, terribly potent, seemed to pass over the bordermen. Long experience had given him intuition of danger. As he moved slightly with Link's eyes fixed on the grove before him,

a sharp, clear, perfect bird note broke the ominous quiet. It was like the melancholy cry of an oil, short, deep, suggestive of lonely forest dells. By a slight variation in the short call, Jonathan recognized it as a signal from Wetzel. The borderman smiled as he realized that with all his stealth, Wetzel had heard or seen him re-enter the grove. The signal was a warning to stand still or retreat. Jonathan's gaze narrowed down to the particular point Wetz had come the signal. Some 200 yards ahead in this direction were several large trees standing in group.

With one exception, they all had straight trunks. This deviated from the others in that it possessed an irregular bulging trunk or else half-shieldered the form of Wetzel. So indistinct and immovable was this irregularity. that the watcher could not be certain. Out of blind somewhat, with this tree which he suspected screened his comrade, lay a large windfall, large enough to conceal an ambush, a whole band of savages.

Even as he gazed, a sheet of flame flashed over the cover. Crack! A loud sound followed. Then the whistle and zip of a bullet as it whizzled close by his head. Shawnee lead, muttered Jonathan. Unfortunately, the tree he had selected did not hide him sufficiently. His shoulders were so wide that either one or the other was exposed affording a fine target for a marksman.

A quick glance showed him a change in the naughty tree trunk. The seeming bulge was now the well-known figure of Wetzel. Jonathan dodged to some object glanced slantingly before his eyes. Twain was thud! Three familiar and distinct sounds caused him to press hard. against the tree. A tufted arrow quiddard in the bark, not a foot from his head. Close shave. Damn, that arrow was shooting Shawnee, muttered Jonathan. And he ain't in the windfall either. His eyes searched to the left for the source of this new peril. Another sheet of flame. Another

report from the windfall. A bullet sang close overhead and glancing on a branch went harmlessly into the forest. Engines all around, I guess I better be making tracks, Jonathan. Jonathan said to himself, peering out to learn if Wetzel was still undercover. He saw the tall figure straighten up, a long, black rifle rise to a level, and become rigid, a red fire belched forth, followed by a puff of white smoke. Bang! And Indians horrible, strangely, breathtaking death yell, rent the silence. Then a chorus of plenty of howls, followed by angry shouts rang through the forest.

Naked, painted savages darted out of the windfall toward the tree that had shed. sheltered Wetzel. Quick as thought, Jonathan covered the foremost Indian, and with the crack of his rifle saw the redskin drop his gun, stop and his mad run, stagger sideways, and fall. Then the borderman looked to see what had become of his ally. The cracking of the Indian's rifle told him that Wetzel had been seen by his foes. With almost incredible fleetness, a brown figure with long black hair streaming behind,

darted in and out among the trees, flashed through the sunlit glade and vanished in the dark depth of the forest. Jonathan turned to flee also. When he heard again the twang of an Indian's bow, a wind smote his cheek, a shock blinded him, an excruciating pain seized upon his breast. A feathered arrow had pinned his shoulder to the tree. He raised his hand to pull it out,

but slippery with blood it afforded a poor hold for his fingers. violently exerting himself. With both hands he reched away the weapon. The flint head lacerating his flesh and scraping his shoulder bones caused sharpest agony. The pain gave way to sudden sense of giddiness. He tried to run.

A dark mist veiled his sight. He stumbled and fell. Then he seemed to sink into a great darkness and knew no more. When consciousness returned to Jonathan, it was night. He lay on his back and knew because of his cramped limbs that he had been securely bound. He saw the glimmer of a fire but could not raise his head.

A rustling of leaves in the wind told him he was yet in the woods, and the distant rumble of a waterfall sounded familiar. He felt drowsy. His wound smarted slightly. Still he did not suffer any pain. Presently he fell asleep. Broad daylight had come when again he opened his eyes. The blue sky was directly above, and before him he saw a ledge covered with dwarfed pine trees.

He turned his head and saw that he was in a sort of amphitheater of about two acres an extent closed by low cliffs. A cleft in the stony wall led out a brawling brook and served no doubt as entrance to the place. Several rude log cabins stood on that side of the enclosure. Jonathan knew he had been brought to Bing Leggett's retreat. Voices attracted his attention and turning his head to the other side. He saw a big Indian pacing near him, and beyond seven savages and three white men, reclining in the shade.

The powerful, dark-visage savage near him, he at once recognized as Ashbow, the Shawnee Cheap, and noted emissary of Bing Leggett. Of the other Indians, three were Delawares and four Shawnees. All veterans were swarthy, somber faces, and glistening heads on which the scalp locks were trimmed and tucked in. Their naked, muscular bodies were painted for the warpath with their strange emblems of death. A tree of white men, nearly as bronzed to their savage comrades, completed the group. One a desperate-looking outlaw, Jonathan did not know.

The blonde bearded giant in the center was laid. Leggett, steel-blue and humanized, with the expression of a free but hunted animal. A set mastiff-like job, brutal in course, individualized him. The last man was the haggard-faced Brandt. I tell you, Brant, I ain't going against his engine, Ligott was saying positively. He's the best ready on the border and has saved me scores of time. This fellow Zane belongs to him And while I'd much rather see the scout knifed right here and now

I won't do nothing to interfere with the Shawnee's plans Why does the Redskin want to take him away to his village? Brandt growled all engine vanity and pride It's engine ways and we can do nothing to change him But your boss here you can make him put this borderman out of the way Well, I ain't going to interfere Anyways, Brent The Shawnee'll make sure

short work of the scout when he gets him among the tribe. Indians is Indians. It's a great honor for him to get Zane, and he wants his own people to figure in the finish. Quite natural, I reckon. I understand all that, but it's not safe for us, and it's courting death for Ashbow. Why don't he keep Zane here

until you can spare more than three Indians to go with him? These bordermen can't be stopped. You don't know them, because you, you're new in this part of the country. I've been here long as you, and a-going some too, I reckon, replied Liggett complacently. But you've not been hunted until lately by these bordermen, and you've had little opportunity to hear of them, except from Indians. What can you learn from these silent redskins? I tell you, letting this fellow get out of your life, even for an hour is a fatal mistake.

It's two full days tramp to the Shawnee Village. He don't suppose Wetzel will be afraid of four savages? Why, he sneak right into eight of us when we were ambushed waiting for him. He killed one and then was gone like a streak. It was only a piece of pure luck we got Zane. I've reasoned to know this Wetzel, this death wind, as the Delaware's call him.

I've never seen him, though, and always I reckon I can handle him ever I get the chance. Man, you're crazy, cried Brandt. He'd cut you to pieces before you'd have time to draw. He could give you a tomahawk, then take it away and split your head. I'd tell you, I know.

You remember Jake Deering? He came from up your way. Wetzel fought Dearing and Jim Gertie together and killed them. You know how he left Gertie? I'll allow he must be a fighter, but I ain't afraid of him. That's not the question. I'm talking since. You've got a chance now to put one of these bordermen out of the way.

Do it quick. That's my advice. Prant spoke so vehemently that Legget seemed impressed. He stroked his yellow beard and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. Presently he addressed the Shawnee chief in the native tongue. Will Ashbro take five horses for his prisoner? The Indian shook his head. How many will he take?

The chiefs strode with dignity to and fro before his captive. His dark and passing face gave no clue to his thoughts. But his lofty bearing, his measured stately walk, were indicative of great pride. Then he spoke in a deep base. The Shawnee knows the woods from the great lakes where the sun sets, to the blue hills where it rises. He has met the great pale-face hunters.

Only for Deathwind will Ashbow trade his captive. See, it ain't you own use, said Leggett spreading his hands. Let him go. He'll out with the borderman. If any Redskins able to, the sooner he goes, the quicker he'll get back. And we can go to work. You ought to be satisfied to get the girl. Shut up.

Interrupted Brant sharply. Fears to me, Brant, being a love has kind of worked on your nerves. You used to be game. Now you're feared of a... bound and tied man who ain't got long to live. I fear no man, answered Brant, scowling darkly. But I know what you don't seem to have sense enough to see. If this saying gets away, which is probable, he and Wetzel will clean up your gang.

Oh, ho ho, roared leg at slapping his knees. Then you'd have a little chance to get in the lass, huh? All right. I have no more to say, Snap Brand. raising and turning on his heel, as he passed Jonathan, he paused, saying if I could, I'd get even with you for that punch you once gave me, as it is, I'll stop at the Shawnee Village on my way west. With the pretty lass, interposed, Blaget,

where I hope to see your scalp drying in the Chief's Lodge. The porterman eyed him steadily, but in silence. Words could not so well have conveyed, his thought as did the cold glance of dark scorn and merciless meaning. Brand shuffled on with a curse. No coward was he. No man ever saw him flinch. But his intelligence was against him as a desperado.

While such as these bordermen lived, an outlaw should never sleep. For he was a marked and doomed man. The deadly, cold-pointed flame, which sidelated in the prisoner's eyes, was only a gleam of what the border felt towards outlaws. While Jonathan was considering all he had heard, three more Shanis entered the retreat, and were at once called aside in consultation by Ashbow.

At the conclusion of this brief conference, the sheaf advanced to Jonathan, cut the bonds around his feet, and motioned for him to rise. The prisoners complied to find himself weak and sore, but able to walk. He concluded that his wound, while very painful, was not of a serious nature, and that he would be taken once on the march toward the Shawnee village.

He was correct, for the chief led him, with the three Shawnee's following, toward the outlet of the enclosure. Jonathan's sharp eye took in every detail of Leggett's rendezvous. In a corral near the entrance he saw a number of fine horses, and among them his sister's pony, A more inaccessible natural refuge than legates could hardly have been found in that country. The entrance was a narrow opening in the wall

and could be held by half a dozen against an army of besiegers. It opened, moreover on the side of a barren hill, from which could be had good survey of the surrounding forests and plains. As Jonathan went with his captors down the hill, his hopes which, while ever were, alive had been flagging, now rose. The long journey to the Shawnee town led through an untracked wilderness. The Delaware villages lay far to the north, the wind dot to the west. No likelihood was there of falling in with a band of Indians hunting because this region, stony, barren, and

poorly watered, afforded sparse pasture for deer or bison. From the prisoner's point of view, this enterprise of Ashbow's was reckless and ving glorious. Cunning as the chief was, he erred in one point. A great warrior's only weakness, love of show, of pride, of his achievement, in Indian nature this desire for fame was as strong as love of life. The brave risked everything to win his eagle feathers,

and the matured warrior found death while keeping bright the glory of the plumes he had won. One. Wetzel was in the woods, bleat as a deer, fierce and fearless as a lion. Somewhere among those glades he trod, stealthily, with the ears of a doe and the eyes of a hawk's strained for sound or sight of his comrade's captors. When he found their trail, he would stick to it as the wolf to that of a bleeding bucks. The rescue would not be attempted until the right moment, even though that came within rifle-shot, the Shawnee encampment. Wonderful as his other gifts was the Borderman's Patience.

End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of the Lost Trail. This is a Libravox recording. All LeBerbox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com. The last trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 14. "'Good morning, Colonel Zane,' said Helen, cheerily, coming into the yard where the colonel was at work.

Did Will come over this way? "'I reckon you'll find him if you find Betty,' replied Colonel Zane dryly. "'Come to think of it, that's true,' Helen said, laughing. "'I have a suspicion Will ran off from me this morning.' "'He and Betty have gone nutting.' "'I declare, it's mean of Will,' Helen said petulantly. I have been wanting to go so much, and both he and Betty promised to take me. Say, Helen, let me tell you something, said the Colonel, resting on his spade and looking at her

quizzically. I told them we hadn't had enough frost yet to ripen hickory nuts and chestnuts, but they went anyhow. Will did remember to say if you came along to tell you he'd bring the colored leaves you wanted. How extremely kind of him! I have a mind to follow them. Now see here, Helen,

it might be a right good idea for you not to, returned the Colonel, with a twinkle and a meaning in his eye. Oh, I understand. How singularly dull I've been. It's this way. We're mighty glad to have a fine young fellow like Will come along, an interest, Betty.

Lord knows we had a time with her after Alfred died. She's just beginning to brighten up now, and Helen, the point is that young people on the border must get married. No, my dear, you need to laugh. You'll have to find a husband same as the other girls. It's not here as it was back east, where a lass might have her fling, so to speak, and take her time choosing. An unmarried girl on the border is a positive menace.

I saw not many years ago, two first-rate youngsters, wild with border fire and spirit, fight and kill each other over lass. who wouldn't choose. Like as not, if she had done so, the three would have been good friends. For out here, we're like one big family. Remember this, Ellen. And as far as Betty and Will are concerned,

you will be wise to follow our example. Leave them to themselves. Nothing else will so quickly strike fire between a boy and a girl. Betty and Will, I'm sure I'd love to see them care for each other. Then, with big bright eyes, bent gravely on him, she continued. My ask, Colonel Zane, who you have picked out for me?

There, now, you've said it, and that's the problem. I've looked over every marriageable young man in the settlement except Jack. Of course, you couldn't care for him, a borderman, a fighter and all that, but I can't find a fellow, I think, quite up to you. Colonel Zane, is not a borderman such as Jonathan worthy a woman's regard? Helen asked a little wistfully. "'Bless your heart last yes,' replied Colonel Zane heartily. "'People out here are not as they are back east, "'an educated man polished and all that, "'but incapable of hard labor,

"'or shrinking from dirt and sweat on his hands, "'or even blood, would not help us in the winning of the West. "'Plain as Jonathan is, and with his lack of schooling, "'he is greatly superior to the majority of young men on the frontier. "'But, unlettered or not, he is a fine a man, has ever stepped in moccasins or any other kind of footgear. Then why did you say that what you did? Well, it's this way, replied Colonel Zane, stealing a glance at her pensive downcast face.

Girls all like to be wooed. Almost everyone I ever knew wanted the young man of her choice to outstrip all her admirers, and then, for a spell, nearly die of love for her, after which she'd give in. Now Jack, being a borderman, a man with no occupation except scouting, will never look at a girl, let alone make up to her. I imagine, my dear, it would take some mighty tall courting to fetch home Helen Shepard a bride. On the other hand, if some pretty and spirit at last, like, say, for instance, Helen Shepard, would come along and just make Jack forget Indians and fighting. She'd get the finest husband in the world.

True, he's wild, but only in the woods. A simpler, kinder, cleaner man cannot be found. I believe that, Colonel Zane, but where is the girl who would interest him? Helen asked with spirit. These bordermen are unapproachable. Imagine a girl interesting that great cold, stern wetsle, all her flatteries, her wiles,

the little coquettories that might attract an ordinary man, would not be noticed by him or Jonathan either. I grant it did not be easy, but woman was made to subjugate man, and always, everlastingly, until the end of life here on this beautiful earth, she will do it. Do you think Jonathan and Wetzel will catch Brandt? asked Helen, changing the subject abruptly. I'd stake my awe that this year's autumn leaves will fall on Brant's grave. Colonel Zane's calm, matter-of-fact coldness made Helen shiver. Why the leaves have already begun to fall,

Papa told me Brant had gone to join the most powerful outlaw band on the border. How can these two men alone cope with savages, as I've heard they do, and break up such an outlaw band as Leggots? That's a question I've heard Daniel Boone ask about Wetzel, and Boone, though not a borderman in all the name implies, was a great Indian fighter. I've heard old frontiersmen grown grissel,

on the frontier, used the same words. I've been 20 years with that man, yet I can't answer it. Jonathan, of course, is only a shadow of him. Wetzel is the type of these men who have held the frontier for us. He was the first borderman, and no doubt he'll be the last. What if Jonathan and Wetzel that other men do not possess? In them is united a marvellously developed woodcraft, with wonderful physical powers.

Imagine a man having a sense, almost an animal instinct, for what is going on in the woods. Take, for instance, the fleetness of foot. That is one of the greatest factors. It is absolutely necessary to run, to get away when to hold ground would be death. Whether at home or in the woods, the bordermen retreat every day. You wouldn't think they practiced anything of the kind, would you? Well, a man can't be great in anything without keeping ass. it. Jonathan says he exercises to keep his feet light. Wetzel would just as soon run as walk.

Think of the magnificent condition of these men. When a dash of speed is called for, when to be fleet of foot is to elude vengeance-seeking Indians, they must travel as swiftly as the deer. The Zanes were all sprinters. I could do something of the kind. Betty was fast on her feet, as that old fort will testify until the logs rot. Isaac was fleet, too. and Jonathan can get over the ground like a scared buck. But even so, Wetzel can beat him. Goodness me, Helen, exclaimed the Colonel's buxom wife from the window.

Don't you ever get tired of hearing ebb talk of Wetzel and Jack and Indians? Come in with me. I ventured to say my gossip will do you more good than his stories. Therefore, Helen went into Chad with Mrs. Zane. for she was always glad to listen to the colonel's wife, who was so bright and pleasant, so helpful and kindly in her womanly way. In the course of their conversation, which drifted from weaving Lindsay, Mrs. Zane's occupation at the time to the costly silks and satins of remembered days,

and then to manage of more present interest, Helen spoke of Colonel Zane's hint about Will and Betty. Isn't it but terror? He's the worst matchmaker you ever saw, declared the Colonel's good spouse. There's no harm in that. No, indeed, it's a good thing, but he makes me laugh. And Betty, he sets her furious. The Colonel said he had designs on me.

Of course he has. Dear old Eb, how'd he love to see you happily married? His heart is as big as that mountain yonder. He has given this settlement his whole life. I believe you. He has such interest, such zeal for everybody. Only the other day he was. speaking to me of Mr. Mordaunt, telling how sorry he was for the Englishman and how much he'd

like to help him. It does seem a pity a man of Mordaunt's blood and attainments should sink to utter worthlessness. Yes, tis a pity for any man, blood or no, and the world's full of such wrecks. I always like that man's looks. I never had a word with him, of course, but I've seen him often and something about him appealed to me. I don't believe it was just his handsome face. Still I know women are susceptible that way. I too, liked him once as a friend, said Helen feelingly. Well,

I'm glad he's gone. Gone? Yes, he left Fort Henry yesterday. He came to say goodbye to me and except for his pale face and trembling hands. Was much as he used to be in Virginia, said he was going home to England and wanted to tell me he was sorry for for all he'd done to make Papa and me suffer. Drink had broken him.

He said, and surely he looked a broken man. I shook hands with him and then slipped upstairs and cried. Poor fellow, sighed Mrs. Zane. Papa said he left Fort Pitt with one of Metzor's men as a guide. Then he didn't take the little cuss, as Ebb calls his man case. No, if I remember rightly, Papa said case wouldn't go. I wish he had. He's no addition to our village.

Voices outside attracted their attention. Mrs. Zane glanced from the window and said, There come Betty and Will. Helen went on the porch to see her cousin and Betty entering the yard, and Colonel Zane once again leaning on his spade. Gather any hickory nuts from birch or any other kind of trees? Asked the Colonel Grimley. No, replied Will cheerily.

The shells haven't opened yet. Too bad. The frost is so backward, said Colonel. Colonel Zane with a laugh. But I can't see it makes any difference. Where are my leaves? asked Helen, with a smile and a nod to Betty. What leaves? inquired the young woman, plainly mystified. Why, the autumn leaves, Will promised to gather with me, then changed his mind and said he'd bring them. I forgot, Will replied a little awkwardly.

Colonel Zane coughed and then catching Betty's glance, which had begun to flush. He plied his spade vigorously. Betty's face had colored warmly at her brother's first question. It toned down slightly when she understood that he was not going to tease her as usual, and suddenly, as she looked over his head, it paled white as snow. Eb! Look down the lane, she cried. Two tall men were approaching with libert tread, one half supporting his companion.

"'Wetzel, Jack, and Jack's Mert,' cried Betty. "'My dear be calm,' said Colonel Zane. In that quiet tone he always used during moments of excitement, he turned toward the waterman and helped Wetzel lead Jonathan up the walk into the yard. From Wetzel's clothing water ran, his long hair was disheveled, his aspect frightful. Jonathan's face was white and drawn, his buckskin honeycoat was covered with blood, and the hand which he held tightly against his left breast showed dark red stains.

Helen shuddered, almost fainting. She leaned against the porch, too horrified to cry out, with contracting heart and a chill stealing through her veins. Jack! Jack! cried Betty in agonized appeal. Betty, it's nothing, said Wetzel. Now, bets, don't be scared of a little blood, Jonathan said, with a faint smile flirting across his haggard face. Bring water, shears in some lindsay cloth, added Wetzel,

as Mrs. Zane came running out. Come inside, cried the colonel's wife, as she disappeared again immediately. No, replied to Borderman, removing his coat, and, with the assistance of his brother, he unlaced his hunting shirt, pulling it down from a wounded shoulder. A great, gory hole gaped just beneath his left collarbone.

Although stricken with fear, when Helen saw the bronze massive shoulder, the long, powerful arm with its cords of muscles playing under the brown skin. She felt a thrill of admiration. Just missed the lung, said Mrs. Zane. Eb, no bullet ever made that hole.

Wetzel washed the bloody wound and, placing on it a wad of leaves, he took from his pocket, bound up the shoulder tightly. What made that hole? asked Colonel Zane. Wetzel lifted the quiver of arrows Jonathan had laid on the porch, and selecting one handed it to the Colonel. The flint head and a portion of the shaft were stained with blood.

Shawnee! exclaimed Colonel Zane. Then he led Wetzel aside and began conversing in low tones while Jonathan, with Betty, holding his arm, ascended the steps and went within the dwelling. Helen ran home and once in her room gave vent to her emotions. She cried because of fright, nervousness, relief, and joy. Then she bathed her face, tried to rub some color into her pale cheeks, and set about getting dinner as one in a trance. She could not forget that broad shoulder with its frightful wound. What a man Jonathan must be to receive a blow like that and live, exhausted. Almost spent had been

his strength when he reached home. Yet how calm and cool he was! What would she not have given for the faint smile that shone in his eyes? For Betty? That afternoon was long for Helen. When at last supper was over, she changed her gown and asking Will to accompany her, went down the lane toward Colonel Zane's cabin. At this hour the Colonel almost invariably could be found

sitting on his doorstep, puffing a long Indian pipe, and gazing with dreamy eyes over the valley. Well, well, how sweet you look, he said to Helen. Then with a wink of his eyelid, "'Hello, Willie, you'll find Elizabeth inside with Jack.' "'How is he?' asked Helen Yearly, as Will with a laugh and a retort, and mounted the steps. Jack's doing splendidly. He slept all day. I don't think his injury amounts to much,

at least not for such as him or Wetzel. It would have finished ordinary men. Best says if complications don't sit in, blood poison, or something to start a fever, he'll be up shortly. Wetzel believes the two of them will be on the trail inside of a week. Did they find Brandt? asked Helen in a low voice. Yes, they ran him to his hole, and, as might have been expected, it was Bing Leggett's camp. The Indians took Jonathan there.

Then Jack was captured? Colonel Zane related to the events, as told briefly by Wetzel, that had taken place during the preceding three days. The Indian I saw it this spring carried that bow Jonathan brought back. He must have shot the arrow. He was a magnificent savage. He was indeed a great and bad Indian. One of the craftiest spies who ever stepped in Marcissons,

but he lies quiet now on the moss and the leaves. Ben Liggett will never find another runner like that, Shawnee. Let's go indoors. He led Helen into the large living room where Jonathan lay on a couch, with Betty and Will sitting beside him, the Colonel's wife and children, Silas Zane, and several neighbors were present. Here, Jack, is the lady inquiring after your health.

Betts? This reminds me of the time Isaac came home wounded, after his escape from the Hurons. Strikes me he and his Indian bride should be about due here on a visit. Helen forgot everyone except the wounded man lying so quiet and pale upon the couch. She looked down upon him with eyes strangely dilated and darkly bright. How are you?

She asked softly. I'm all right, thank you, lass, answered Jonathan. Colonel Zane contrived with inevitable skill to get Betty, Will, Silas, Bessie, and the others interested in some remarkable news he had just heard or made up, and this left Jonathan and Helen, comparatively alone for the moment.

The wise old colonel thought perhaps this might be the right time. He saw Helen's face as she leaned over Jonathan, and that was enough for him. He would have taxed his ingenuity to the utmost to keep the others away from the young couple. I was so frightened, murmured Helen. Why? asked Jonathan. Oh, you look so deadly the blood in that awful wound.

It's nothing last. Helen smiled down upon him. Whether or not the hurt amounted to anything in the Borderman's opinion, She knew from his weakness and his white-drawn face that the strain of the march home had been fearful. His dark eyes held now nothing of the coldness and glitters so natural to them. They were weary, almost sad. She did not feel afraid of him now.

He lay there so helpless his long, powerful frame as quiet as a sleeping child. Hitherto, an almost indefinable antagonism in him, had made itself felt. Now there was only gentleness as of a man too weary to fight longer. Helen's heart swelled with pity and tenderness and love. His weakness affected her as had never his strength. With an involuntary gesture of sympathy, she placed her hand softly on his. Jonathan looked up at her with eyes no longer blind.

Pain had softened him. For the moment he felt carried out of himself, as it were, and saw things differently. The melting tenderness of her gaze, The glowing softness of her face, the beauty, bewitched him. And beyond that, a sweet, impelling gladness stirred within him And would not be denied. He thrilled as her fingers lightly, timidly, touched his,

And opened his broad hand to press hers closely and warmly. Lass, he whispered with a huskiness and unsteadiness unnatural to his deep voice, Helen bent her head closer to him. She saw his lips tremble and his nostrils dilate, but an unutterable sadness shaded the brightness in his eyes. I love you. The low whisper reached Helen's ears. She seemed to float dreamily away to some beautiful world,

with the music of those words ringing in her ears. She looked at him again. Had she been dreaming? No, his little. His dark eyes met hers with the love that he could no longer deny. An exquisite emotion, keen, strangely sweet and strong, yet terrible with sharp pain, pulsated through her being. The revelation had been too abrupt.

It was so wonderfully different from what she had ever dared hope. She lowered her head, trembling. The next moment she felt Colonel Zane's hand on her chair, and heard him say in a cheery voice, Well, well, see here, lass, you mustn't make Jack talk too much. See how white and tired he looks? End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of the last trail.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 5.5. After 15. In 48 hours, Jonathan Zane was up and about the cabin as though he had never been wounded. The third day he walked to the spring.

In a week, he was waiting for Wetzel, ready to go on the trail. On the eighth day of his enforced idleness as he sat with Betty and the Colonel in the yard, Wetzel appeared on the ridge east of the fort. Soon he rounded the stockade fence and came straight toward them. To Colonel Zane and Betty, Wetzel's expression was terrible. The stern, kindliness, the calm, tough, cold gravity of his continents, as they usually saw it, had disappeared, yet it showed no trace of his unnatural passion to pursue and slay. No doubt, that terrible instinct, or lust, was at white heat, but it wore a mask of impenetrable stone-gray gloom.

Wetzel spoke briefly after telling Jonathan to meet him at sunset on the following day at a point five miles up the river, he reported to the Colonel that Leggett with his band had left the retreat, moving southward apparently on a marauding expedition. Then he shook hands with Colonel Zane and turned to Betty. Goodbye, Betty, he said in his deep, sonorous voice. Goodbye, Lou, answered Betty slowly, as if surprised. God save you, she added. He shouldered his rifle and hurried down the lane, halting before entering the thicket

it bounded the clearing, to look back at the settlement. In another moment his dark figure had disappeared among the bushes. Betts, I have seen Wetzel go like that hundreds of times, though he never shook hands before. And I feel sort of queer about it now. Wasn't he strange? Betty did not answer until Jonathan, who started to go within was out appearing.

Lou looked and acted the same the morning he struck Miller's trail. Betty replied in a low voice. I believe, despite his indifference to danger, he realizes that the chances are greatly against him, as they were when he began the trailing of Miller. Certain it would lead him into Gertie's camp. Then I know Lou has an affection for all of us, though it is never shown in ordinary ways.

I pray he and Jack will come home safe. This is a bad trail they're taking up, the worst, perhaps, in border warfare, said Colonel Zane gloomily. Did you notice how Jack's face darkened when his comrade came? Much of this borderman's life of his is due to Wetzel's influence. Eb, I'll tell you one thing, returned Betty, with a flash of her old spirit. This is Jack's last trail.

What do you think so? If he doesn't return, he'll be gone the way of all Borderman. But if he comes back, once more, he'll never. never get away from Helen. Ugh, exclaimed Zane, fending his pleasure in characteristic Indian way. That night after Jack came home, wounded, continued Betty, I saw him as he lay on the couch, gazed at Helen.

Such a look, ebb she has one. I hope so, but I fear, I fear, replied her brother gloomily. If only he returns, that's the thing, bets. Be sure he sees Helen before he goes away. I shall try. Here he comes now, said Betty. Hello, Jack, cried the Colonel, as his brother came out in somewhat of a hurry. What have you got, by George? It's that blamed arrow, the Shawnee shot into you. Where are you going with it? What the deuce? Say, bets, eh?

Betty had given him a sharp little kick. The borderman looked embarrassed. He hesitated and flushed. Evidently, he would have liked to void his brother's question. But the inquiry came direct. The simulation with him was impossible. Helen wanted this, and I reckon that's where I'm going with it, he said finally, and walked away. Eb, you're stupid, exclaimed Betty. Hang at.

Who'd have thought he was going to give her that blamed bloody arrow? As Helen ushered Jonathan for the first time into her cozy little sitting room, her heart began to thump so hard she could hear it. She had not seen him since the night he whispered the words which gave such happiness. She had stayed at home, thankful beyond expression to learn every day of his rapid improvement, living in the sweetness of her joy and waiting for him, and now as he had come so dark, so grave, so unlike a lover to woo, that she felt a chill steal over her.

I'm so glad you've brought the arrow, she faltered, for, of course, coming so far means that you're well once more. You ask me for it, and I've fetched it over. Tomorrow, I'm off on a trail. I may never return from, he answered simply, and his voice seemed cold. An immeasurable distance stretched once more between them. Helen's happiness slowly died.

Thank you, she said with a voice that was tremulous, despite all her efforts. It's not much of a keepsake. I did not ask for it as a keep. keepsake. But because? Because I wanted it. I need nothing tangible to keep a lot of my memory. A few words whispered to me not many days ago would suffice for remembrance. Or, or did I dream them? Bitter disappointment almost choked Helen. This was not the gentle soft-voiced man who had said he loved her. It was the indifferent borderman. Again, he was the embodiment of his strange, quiet woods.

Once more he seemed the comrade of the cold, inscrutable Wetzel. No, lass, I reckon you didn't dream, he replied. Helen swayed from sick bitterness in a suffocating sense of pain packed to her old, sweet, joyous, tumultuous, heart throbbing. Tell me, if I didn't dream, she said softly, her face flashing warm again. She came close to him and looked up with all her. her heart in her great dark eyes and love trembling on her red lips.

Calmness deserted the borderman after one glance at her. He paced the floor, twisted, and clasped his hands while his eyes gleamed. "'Las, I'm only human!' he cried hoarsely, facing her again. But only for a moment did he stand before her. But it was long enough for him to see her shrink a little, the gladness in her eyes giving way to uncertainty and a fugitive hope. Suddenly he began to pace the room again and to talk incoherently. With the flow of words he gradually grew calmer,

and with something of his natural dignity spoke more rationally. I said I loved you, and it's true. But I didn't mean to speak. I oughtn't have done it. Something made it so easy, so natural like I'd have died before letting you know. if any idea had come to me of what I was saying. I've fought this feeling for months. I allowed myself to think of you at first,

and there's the wrong. I went on a trail with your big eyes pictured in my mind, and before I dreamed of it, you'd crept into my heart. Life has never been the same sense. That kiss? Betty said was how you cared for me, and that made me worse, only I never really believed. Today I came over here to say,

by expecting to hold myself well in hand, but the first glance of your eyes unmanned me. Nothing can come of it last, nothing but trouble. Even if you cared and I don't dare believe you do, nothing can come of it. I have my own life to live, and there's no sweetheart in it. Maybe, as Lou says, there's one in heaven. Oh, girl, this has been hard on me. I see you always on my lonely Tramps, I see your glorious eyes in the sunny fields and in the woods, at great twilight, and when the stars shine brightest, they haunt me. Oh, you're the sweetest lass was ever tormented in the man. I love you.

I love you. He turned to the window only to hear a soft, broken cry and a flurry of skirts. A rush of wind seemed to envelop him. Then two soft, rounded arms encircled his neck, and a golden head lay on his breast. My borderman, my hero, my love. Jonathan clasped the beautiful, quivering girl to his heart. Lass, for God's sake, don't say you love me, he implored, thrilling with the contact of her warm arms.

Oh, she breathed and raised her head, her radiant eyes darkly wonderful with unutterable love, burned into his. He had almost pressed his lips to the sweet red ones so near his when he drew back with a start in his frame straightened. Am I a man, or only a coward, he muttered. Lass, let me think, don't believe I'm harsh nor cold nor nothing, except that I want to do what's right.

He leaned out of the window while Helen stood near him with a hand on his quivering shoulder. When at last he turned, his face was colorless, white as marble and sad and set and stern. Lass, it mustn't be, I'll not ruin your life. But you will if you give me up. No, no, lass. I cannot live without you.

You must. My life is not mine to give. But you love me. I'm a borderman. I will not live without you. Hush, lass. Hush. I love you.

Jonathan breathed hard once more the tremor, which seemed pitiful and such a strong man came upon him. His face was gray. and love you. She repeated her rich voice, indescribably deep and full. She opened wide her arms and stood before him with heaving bosom,

with great eyes dark, with woman's sadness, passionate with woman's promise, perfect in her beauty, glorious, in her abandonment. The borderman bowed and bent like a broken reed. Listen, she whispered coming closer to him. Go if you must.

leave me. But let this be your last trail. Come back to me. Jack, come back to me. You've had enough of this terrible life. You have won a name that will never be forgotten. You have done your duty to the border. The Indians and outlaws will be gone soon. Take the farm your brother want you to have and live for me. We will be happy. I shall learn to keep your home. Oh my dear, I will compents you for the loss of all this wild hunting and fighting, let me persuade you as much for your sake as for mine. For you are my heart and soul and life. Go out upon your last trailjack.

Come back to me. And let Wetzel go always alone? He is different. He lives only for revenge. What are these poor savages to you? You have a nobler life opening. Last I can't give him up. "'You need not, but give up this useless seeking of adventure

"'that you know as half a borderman's life. "'Give it up, Jack. "'It's not for your own, then for my sake. "'No, no, never I can't. "'I won't be a coward. "'After all these years, I won't desert him. "'No, no. "'Do not say more,' she pleaded,

"'stealing closer to him until she was against his breast. "'She slipped her arms around his neck. For love and more than life she was fighting now. Goodbye, my love, she kissed him, a long, lingering pressure of her soft, full lips on his. Dearest, do not shame me further. Darest Jack, come back to me, for I love you. She released him and ran sobbing from the room.

Unsteady as a blind man, he grew up for the door, found it, and went out. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All LeBrovoc's recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mikevindetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 16.

The longest day in Jonathan Zane's life, the oddest, the most terrible and complex with unintelligible emotions, was that one in which he, 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. Rambling along the shady trails he looked for that contentment, which had always been his, but found it not.

He plunged into the depth of deep, gloomy ravines, into the fastness of heavy timbered hollows where the trees hid the light of day, he sought the open grassy hillsides and roamed far over meadow and plain, yet something always alluded him. The invisible and beautiful life of all, inanimate things sang no more to his heart.

The springy moss, the quavering leap, the tell-tale bark of the trees, the limpid, misty, edding pools under green banks, the myrids of natural objects from which he had learned so much, and the manifold joyous life around him no longer spoke with soul-satisfying faithfulness. The environment of his boyish days, of his youth and manhood, rendered not as

sweetness as of old. His intelligence sharpened by the pain of new experience, told him he had been vain to imagine that he, because he was a borderman, could escape the universal destiny of human life. Dimly, he could feel the broadening, the awakening into a fuller existence, but he did not welcome this new light. He realized that men had always turned at some time in their lives to women even as the cypress leans toward the sun. This weakening of the sterner stuff in him, this softening of his heart,

and especially the inequitude and lack of joy and harmony in his old pursuits of the forest trails bewildered him and troubled him some. Thousands of times his borderman trail had been crossed yet never to his sorrow until now when it had been crossed by a woman. Sick at heart, hurt in his pride, darkly savage, sad, remorseful, and thrilling with awakened passion, all in turn, he roamed the woodland unconsciously, visiting the scenes where

he had formerly found contentment. He paused by many a shady glen, and beautiful quiet glade, by grey cliffs and mossy banks, searching with moody eyes for the spirit which evaded him. Here in the green and golden woods rose before him a rugged giant rock, moss-stained and gleaming with trickling water. Tangled ferns dressed in autumn's russet hue lay at the base of the green-gray cliff and circled a dark deep pool dotted with yellow leaves. Halfway up, the perpendicular scent was broken by a protruding ledge upon which

waved broad-leaf plants and rusty ferns, above the cliff, sheared out with many cracks and seams in its weather-beaten front. The forest grew to the verge of the precipice, a full foliageed oak and a luxuriant maple, the former still fresh with its dark green leaves, the latter making a vivid contrast

with its pale yellow, purple-red, and orange hues, leaned far out over the bluff, A mighty chestnut Grasped with gnarled roots Deep into the broken cliff Dainty plumes of goldenrods Wade swayed on the brink Red berries amber moss

And green trailing vines Peeped over the edge And every little niche in cranny Sported fragile ferns And pale-faced asters A second cliff higher than the first And more heavily wooded Loomed above

And over it sprayed A transparent film of water thin as smoke, and iridescent in the sunshine. Far above were the glancing rill caressed the mossy cliff, and shone like gleaming gold against the dark branches with their green and red purple leaves lay the faint blue of the sky. Jonathan pulled on down the stream with humbler heart. His favorite waterfall had denied him.

The gold that had gleamed there was a sweetheart tear. The red was her lips, the dark pool with its light in shades, its unfathomable mystery was like her eyes he came at length to another scene of milder aspect an open glade where the dancing dimpling brook raced under dark hemlocks and where blood-red sumac leaves and beech leaves like flashes of sunshine lay up against the green under a leaning birch he found a patch of purple asters and a little apart from them by a mossy stone a lonely fringed gentian Its deep color brought him, the dark blue eyes that haunted him. And once again, like one possessed of an evil spirit, he wandered along the merry watercourse. But finally pain and unrest left him.

When he surrendered to his love, peace returned. Though he said in his heart that Helen was not for him, he felt he did not need to torture himself by fighting against resistless power. He could love her without being a coward. He would take up his life where it had been changed and live it, carrying this bittersweet burden always. Memory now that he admitted himself conquered,

made a toy of him, bringing the sweetness of fragrant hair and eloquent eyes and clinging arms and dewy lips a thousandfold harder to fight than pain was the seductive thought that he had but to go back to Helen, to feel again the charm of her presence, to see the grace of her person, to hear the music of her voice, to have again her lips on his. Jonathan knew then that his trial had but begun,

that the pain and suffering of a Borderman's broken pride and conquered spirit was nothing, that to steal his heart against the joy, the sweetness, the longing of love was everything. So a tumult raged within his heart, No bitterness nor wretchedness stabbed him as before, but a passionate yearning, born of memory, and unquenchable as the fires of the sun burned there.

Helen's reply to his pale excuses, to his duty, to his life, was that she loved him. The wonder of it made him weak. Was not her answer enough? I love you. Three words only, but they changed the world. A beautiful girl loved him. She had kissed him,

and his life could never again be the same. She had held out her arms to him, and he, cold, curly, unfeeling brute, had let her shame herself, fighting for her happiness, for the joy that is a woman's divine right. He had been blind. He had not understood the significance of her gracious action.

He had never realized until too late what it must have cost her. What heartbreaking shame and scorn his refusal brought upon her. If she ever looked tenderly at him again with those great eyes or leaned toward him with her beautiful arms outstretched, he would fall at her feet and throw his duty to the winds, swearing his love was hers always and his life forever. So love stormed in the Borderman's heart. Slowly the melancholy Indian summer day waned as Jonathan strode out of the woods into a plain beyond where he was to meet Wetzel at sunset.

A smoky haze like a purple cloud lay upon the gently waving grass. He could not see across the stretch of prairie land, though at this point he knew it was hardly a mile wide. With the trilling of the grass operas alone disturbing the serene quiet of this autumn afternoon, all nature seemed in harmony with the declining season. He stood a while, his thoughts becoming the calmer for the silence and loneliness of this breathing meadow. When the shadows of the trees began to lengthen and to steal far out over the yellow grass,

he knew the time had come, and glided out upon the plain. He crossed it and sat down upon a huge stone which lay with one shelving end overhanging the river. Far to the west the gold red sun, too fiery for his direct gaze, lost the brilliance of its undercircle behind the fringe of the wooded hill. Slowly the red ball sank. When the last bright gleam had vanished in the dark horizon,

Jonathan turned to search the wood and plain. Wetzel was to meet him at sunset. Even as his first glance swept around, a light step sounded behind him. He did not move, for that step was familiar. In another moment the tall form of Wetzel stood beside him. I'm about as much behind as you was ahead of time, said Wetzel. We'll stay here for the night and be off early in the morning. Under the shelving side of the rock and in the shade of the thicket,

the borderman built a little fire and roasted strips of deer meat, then puffing up their long pipes they sat for a long time in silence, while twilight let fall a dark gray cloak over river and plain. Leggits move up the river was uplined, as I suspected. He said Wetzel presently. He's not far back in the woods from here and seems to be waiting for something or somebody. Brant and seven redskins are with him. We'd have a good chance at them in the morning.

Now we've got them a long ways from their camp. So we'll wait and see what devil tree they're up to. Maybe he's waiting for some engine band, suggested Jonathan. I earn Redskins in the valley and close to him, but I reckon he's barking up another tree. Suppose we run into some of these engines. I'll have to take what comes, replied Wetzel, lying down on a bed of leaves.

When darkness enveloped the spot, Wetzel lay wrapped in deep slumber while Jonathan sat against the rock, watching the last flickering of the campfire. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libra Box recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail, by Zane Gray, Chapter 17. Will and Helen hurried along the river road, beguiled by the soft beauty of the autumn morning, they ventured further from the fort than ever before, and had been suddenly brought to a realization of the fact by a crackling in the underbrush. Instantly their minds reverted to bears and panthers, such as they had heard invested the thickets round the settlement. Oh, Will! I saw a dark form stealing along the woods from tree to tree.

exclaimed Helen in a startled whisper. So did I. It was an Indian, or I never saw one. Walk faster. Once we round the bend in the road, we'll be within sight of the fort, then we'll run, replied Will. He had turned pale,

but maintained his composure. They increased their speed and almost had come up to the curve and the road marked by dense undergrowth on both sides. When the branches in the thick had swayed violently, a sturdy little man armed with a musket appeared from among them.

A vast eve ho, he commanded in a low fierce voice, leveling his weapon. One breeze from ye, and I'll let sail is broadside. What do you want? We have no valuable, said Will, speaking low. Helen stared at the little man. She was speechless with terror. It flashed into her mind as soon as she recognized the red, evil face of the sailor, that he was the accomplice upon Houdn-Brandt, had told Metzer he could rely.

"'Shut up! It's not ye I want, no valuables.' "'But this wench!' growled Case. He pushed Will around with the muzzle of the musket, which action caused the young man to turn a sickly white and shrink involuntarily with fear. The hammer of the musket was raised and might fall at the slightest jar. "'For God's sake, Will, do as he says,' cried Helen, who saw murder in Case's eyes. "'Capture or anything was better than sacrifice of life. March, ordered Case, with the musket against Will's back.

Will hurriedly started forward. Jocelyn Helen, who had preceded him, he was forced to hurry because every few moments Case pressed the gun to his back or side. Without another word, the sailor marched them swiftly along the road, which now narrowed down to a trail. His intention, no doubt, was to put as much distance between him and the fort as was possible. No more than a mile had been thus traversed when two Indians stepped into view.

"'My God, my God!' cried Will as the savages proceeded first to bind Helen's arms behind her and then his in the same manner. After this the journey was continued in silence, the Indians walking beside the prisoners and case in the rear. Helen was so terrified that for a long time she could not think coherently. It seemed as if she had walked miles,

yet did not feel tired. Always in front wound the narrow leaf-gurred trail, and to the left the broad river gleamed at intervals through open spaces. In the thickets, flocks of birds rose in the line of march. They seemed tame,

and uttered plaintive notes as if in sympathy. About noon, the trail led to the riverbank. One of the savages disappeared in a corpse of willows, and presently reappeared carrying a birch-bark canoe. Case ordered, Helen and Will into the boat, got in himself and the savages, taking stations at Bowen's stern paddled out into the stream. They shot over under the lee of an island, around a rocky point, and across a straight to another island. Beyond this, they gained the Ohio shore,

and beached the canoe. "'Oh, hey there, Gavin,' cried Case, pushing Helen up the bank before him, and she gazing upward, was more than amazed to see Mordaunt, leaning against the tree. "'Mordaunt had you anything to do with this?' cried Helen, breathlessly. "'I had all to do with it,' answered the Englishman. "'What do you mean?' He did not meet her gaze nor make reply, but turned to address a few words in a low tone to a white man sitting on a log.

Helen knew she had seen this person before, and doubted not he was one of Metzor's men. She saw a rude bark leaned to the remains of campfires and a pack tied in blankets. Evidently, Mordaunt and his men had tarried here awaiting such developments as had come to pass. You white-faced hound! hissed Will beside himself with rage when he realized the situation. Bound as he was, he leapt up, and tried to get at Mordaunt. Case knocked him on thy head with the handle of his knife. Will fell with blood streaming from a cut over the time. temple. The dastardly act aroused all Helen's fiery courage. She turned to the Englishman with eyes

ablaze. "'So you've at last found your level, border outlaw. Kill me at once. I'd rather be dead than breathe the same air with such a coward.' "'I swore I'd have you, if not by fair means, then by foul,' he answered, with dark and haggard face. "'What do you intend to do with me now, then I'm tied, she demanded scornfully. Keep you a prisoner in the woods till you consent to marry me? Helen laughed and scorn. Desperate as was the blight, her natural courage had arisen at that cruel blow dealt her cousin, and she faced the Englishman with flashing eyes and undaunted mane.

She saw he was again, unsteady, and had the cough and catching breath habitual to certain men under the influence of liquor, she turned her attention to Will. He lay as he had fallen, with blood streaming over his pale face and fair hair. While she gazed at him, Case whipped out his long knife and looked up at Mordaunt. "'Captain, we'd better loosen a hatch for him,' he said brutally. "'He's dead cargo for us in the way.' He lowered the glimming point upon Will's chest. Oh, breathe Helen in horror.

She tried to close her eyes, but was so fascinated she could not. Get up, I'll have no murder, ordered Mordaunt. Leave him here. He's not bad cut, said the man sitting on a log. He'll come too after a spell. Go back to the fort and give an alarm. What's thought to me? asked Mordaunt sharply. We shall be safe.

I won't have him with us because some Indian, or another will kill him. It's not my purpose to murder anyone. Oh, grunted one of the savages, and pointed eastward with his hand. Hurry, long way go, he said in English. With the Indians in the lead, the party turned from the river to into the forest.

Helen looked back into the sandy glade and saw Will lying as they had left him, unconscious, with his hands still bound tightly behind him, and blood running over his face. Painful as was the thought of believing him thus, it afforded her relief. She assured herself he had not been badly hurt, would recover consciousness before long,

and, even bound as he was, could make his way back to the settlement. Her own situation, now that she knew Mordaunt, had instigated the abduction, did not seem hopeless. Although dreading Brandt with unspeakable horror, she did not in the least fear of the Englishman. He was mad to carry her off like this into the wilderness,

but would force her to do nothing. He could not keep her prisoner long while Jonathan Zane and Wetzel were free to take his trail. What were his intentions? Where was he taking her? Such questions as these, however, troubled Helen more than a little. They brought her thoughts back to the Indians leading the way with life and stealthy step.

How had Mordaunt associated himself with these savages, then? Suddenly it dawned upon her that Brant also might be in this scheme to carry her off. She scouted the idea, but it returned. Perhaps Mordaunt was only a tool. Perhaps he himself was being deceived. Helen turned pale at the very thought. She had never forgotten the strange, unreadable, yet threatening expression which Brant had warned the day she had refused to walk with him.

Meanwhile, the party made rapid progress through the forest. Not a word was spoken, nor did any noise of rustling leaves or crackling twigs follow their footsteps. The savage in the lead chose the open and less difficult ground. He took advantage of glades, mossy places, and rocky ridges. This careful choosing was, evidently, to avoid noise and make the trail as difficult to follow as possible. Once he stopped suddenly and listened.

Helen had a good look at the savage while he was in this position. His lean athletic figure resembled, in its half-clothed condition, a bronze statue. His powerful visage was set. Changeless like iron, his dark eyes seemed to take in all points of the forest before him. Whatever had caused the halt was an enigma to all save his red-skinned companion. The silence of the wood was the silence of the desert. No bird chirped, no breath of wind sighed in the treetops. Even the aspens remain unagitated.

Pale yellow leaves sailed slowly, reluctantly down from above. But some faint sound, something unusual, had jarred upon the exquisitely sensitive ears of the leader, for with a meaning shake of the head to his followers, he resumed the march in a direction at right angles with the original course. This caution and evident distrust of the forest ahead made Helen think again of Jonathan Wetzel. Those great bordermen might already be on the trail of her captors. The thought thrilled her presently she realized, from another long silent march to the forest thickets, glades, aisles, and groves,

over rock-strewn ridges and down mossy-stone ravines, that her strength was beginning to fail. I can go no further with my arms tight this way. She declared stopping suddenly. Oog, uttered the savage before her turning sharply. He brandished a tomahawk before her eyes. Mordaunt hurriedly set free her wrists. His pale face flushed a dark flaming red

when she shrank from his touch as he were a viper. After they had traveled what seemed to hell on many miles, the vigilance of the leaders relaxed. On the banks of the willow skirted stream, the Indian guide halted them, and proceeded on alone to disappear in a green thicket. Presently he reappeared, and motioned for them to come on. He led the way over smooth, sandy path between clumps of willows, into a heavy growth of alder bushes and prickly thorns,

had length to emerge upon a beautiful, grassy plot enclosed by green and yellow shrubbery. Above the stream, which cut the edge of the glade, rose a sloping wooded ridge, with huge rocks projecting here and there, of the brown forest. Several birch-bark huts could be seen. Then two rough-bearded men lolling upon the grass, and beyond them a group of painted Indians. A whoop so shrill, so savage, so exultant,

that it seemingly froze her blood, rent the silence. A man, unseen before, came crashing through the willows on the side of the ridge. He leapt a stream with a spring of a wild horse. He was big and broad, with disheveled hair, keen hard face and wild gray eyes. Helen's sight almost failed her. Her head whirled dizzily. It was as if her heart had stopped beating

and was become a cold, dead weight. She recognized in this man, the one whom she feared most of all, Brandt. He cast one glance full at her, the same threatening, cool, and evil-meaning look she remembered so well and then engaged the Indian guide in low conversation. Helen sank at the foot of a tree, leaning against it.

Despite her weariness, she had maintained some spirit, until this direful revelation broke her courage. What worse could have happened? Mordaunt had led her for some reason that she could not divine into the clutches of Brant, into the power of Liggett and his outlaws. But Helen was not one to remain long, dispirited or hopeless.

As this plot thickened, as every added misfortune weighed upon her, when just ready to give up to despair she remembered the borderman. Then Colonel Zane's tales of their fearless, implacable pursuit when bent on rescue or revenge recurred to her, and fortitude returned. While she had life, she would hope.

The advent of the party with their prisoner enlivened Leggett's gang. A great giant of a man, blonde-bearded and handsome in a wild, rugged, uncouth way, a man, Helen instinctively knew to be legged, slapped Brand on the shoulder. Damn, roach, if she ain't a regular little daisy, never seed such a pretty lass in my life. Brant spoke hurriedly, and legged laughed. All this time, Case had been sitting on the grass, saying nothing but with his little eyes watchful. Mordaunt stood near him, his head bowed, his face gloomy.

"'Hey, Captain, I don't like this mess,' whispered Case to his master. "'They ain't no crew for us. I know men, for I've sailed the seas, and you gotta get what Mets calls the double cross.' Mordaunt seemed to arouse from his gloomy reverie. He looked at Brant and Leggett, who were now in earnest counsel. Then his eyes wandered toward Helen. She beckoned him to come to her. Why did you bring me here, she asked.

Brant understood my case. He planned this thing, and seemed to be a good friend of mine. He said, if I once got you out of the settlement, he would give me protection until I crossed the border into Canada. There we could be married, replied Mordaunt, unsteadily. Then you meant marriage by me if I could be made to consent. Of course, I'm not utterly vile, he replied, with face lowered in shame. Have you any idea what you've done?

Done? I don't understand. You have ruined yourself, lost your manhood, become an outlaw, a fugitive, made yourself the worst thing on the border, a girl thief, and all for nothing. No, I have you. You are more to me than all. But can't you see you've brought me out here for Brandt? My God! exclaimed Mordaunt. He rose slowly to his feet and gazed around like a man suddenly awakened from a dream. I see it all now, miserable, drunken wretch that I am.

Helen saw his face change in lighten as if a cloud of darkness had passed away from it. She understood that love of liquor had made him a party to this plot. Brant had cunningly worked upon his weakness, proposed a daring scheme, and filled his befogged mind with hopes that, in a moment of clear-sightedness, he would have seen to be vain and impossible, and Helen understood also that the sudden shock of surprised pain, possible fury, had sobered Mordaunt, possibly for the first time in weeks. The Englishman's face became exceedingly pale, seating himself on a stone near case. he bowed his head, remaining silent and motionless. The conference between Leggett and Brandt lasted for some time. When it ended, the latter strode toward the motionless figure on the rock. Mornat, you in case will do well to follow this Indian at once to the river,

where you can strike for Fort Pitt trails, said Brent. He spoke arrogantly and authoritatively. His keen, hard face, his steely eyes bespoke the iron will and purpose of the man. Mordaunt rose with cold dignity. If he had been a dupe, he was one no longer, as could be plainly red in his calm, pale face. The old listless unsteadiness had vanished. He wore a manner of extreme quietude,

but his eyes were like balls of blazing blue steel. Mr. Brent, I seem to have done you a service, and I am no longer required. He said in a courteous tone. Brant eyed this man, but judged him wrongly, an English gentleman was new to the border outlaw. I swore the girl should be mine, he hissed. Doomed men cannot be choosers, cried Helen,

who had heard him. Her dark eyes burned with scorn and hatred. All the party heard her passionate outburst. Case arose as if unconcernedly, and stood by the side of his master, Master. Leggett and the other two outlaws came up. The Indians turned their swarthy faces. Ah, ain't she sassy? cried Leggett. Brant looked at Helen, understood the meaning of her words, and laughed, but his face paled

and involuntarily, his shifty glance, sought the rocks and trees upon the ridge. You played me from the first, asked Mudron quietly. I did, replied Brent. You met nothing of your problem. to help me across the border. No. You intended for me to shift for myself out here in the wilderness. Yes, after this Indian guide you to the river trail,

said Brandt, indicating with his finger the nearest savage, I get what you front-terman call a double-cross? That's it, replied Brandt with a hard laugh, in which legget joined, a short pause ensued. What will you do with the girl? That's my affair. "'Marry her?' Mordaunt's voice was low and quiet. "'No,' cried Brandt.

"'She flotted my love in my face, scorn me. She saw that borderman strike me, and by God I'll get even. I'll keep her here in the woods until I'm tired of her. And when her beauty fades, I'll turn her over to legate.' Scarcely had the words dropped from his vile lips. When Mordaunt moved with tigory's agility, he seized a knife from the belt of one of the Indians. "'Duh!' he screamed. "'Brant grasped his tommy-hawk.

"'At the same instant the man who had acted as Mordonskide "'grasped the Englishman from behind. "'Brant struck in effectively at the struggling man. "'Bare play!' roared Case, "'leaping at Mordant. "'His long knife sheathed its glaring length in the man's breast. "'Without even a groan he dropped. "' Clear the decks!' Case yelled,

"'sweeping round in a circle, "'all fell back before that whirling knife. Several of the Indians started as if to raise the rifles, but legate stern command caused them to desist. The Englishman and the outlaw now engaged in a fearful encounter. The practiced, rugged frontier desperado apparently had found his match and his pale-faced slender man. His border skill with the hatchets seemed offset by Mordaunt's terrible rage. Brant whirled and swung the weapon as he leaped around his antagonist. With his left arm, the Englishman sought only to protect his head,

with his right, he brandished the knife. Whirling here and there, they struggled across the cleared space, plunging out of sight among the willows. During a moment, there was a sound as of breaking branches, then a dull blow, horrible to hear. Followed by a low moan,

and thin, deep silence. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of the last trail. This is a Librevox recording. All Liprovoc's recordings are in the public, domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray,

Chapter 18. A black weight was seemingly lifted from Helen's weary eyelids. The sun shone, the golden forest surrounded her. The brook babbled merrily. But where were the struggling, panting men? She noticed presently, when her vision had grown more clear, that the scene differed entirely from the willedglade where she had closed her eyes upon the fight. Then came the knowledge that she had fainted,

and during the time of unconsciousness been moved. She lay upon a mossy mound a few feet higher than a swiftly running brook. A magnificent chestnut tree spread its leafly branches above her, directly opposite, about a hundred feet away, loomed a gray, ragged, moss-stained cliff. She noted this particularly because the dense forest, encroaching to its very edge, excited her admiration.

Such wonderful coloring seemed unreal. Dead gold and bright red foliage flamed everywhere. Two Indians stood nearby, silent and movable. No other of Ligot's band was visible. Helen watched the red men. Sinewy muscular warriors they were. with bodies partially painted and long straight hair, black as burnt wood. It woven with bits of white bone and hand-plated round waving eagle blooms.

At first glance their dark faces and dark eyes were expressive of craft, cunning, cruelty, courage, all attributes of the savage. Yet wild as these savages appeared, Helen did not fear them as she did the outlaws. Brant's eyes and Leggots too, when turned on her, emitted a flame that seemed to scorch and shrivel her soul. When the savages met her gaze, which was but seldom, she imagined she saw intelligence, even pity in their dusky eyes. Certain it was she did not shrink from them as from Brandt. Suddenly with a sensation of relief and joy, she remembered Mordaunt's terrible onslaught upon Brandt, Although she could not recollect determination of that furious struggle,

she did recall Brandt's scream of mortal agony, and the death of the other at Case's hands. This meant whether Brant was dead or not, that the fighting strength of her captors had been diminished. Surely as the sun had risen that morning, Helen believed Jonathan and Wetzel lurked on the trail of these renegades. She prayed that her courage, hope, strength might be continued. Ogh, exclaimed one of the savages, pointing across the open space.

A slight swaying of the brushes told that some living thing was moving among them, and an instant later the huge frame of the leader came into view. The other outlaw and a case followed closely, further down the margin of the thicket the Indians appeared, but without the slightest noise or disturbance of the shrubbery. It required but a glance to show a helen. The case was in high spirits. His repulsive face glowed with satisfaction. He carried a bundle which Helen saw with a sickening sense of horror

was made up of Mordaunt's clothing. Brandt had killed the Englishman. Leggett also had a package under his arm, which he threw down when he reached the chestnut tree, to draw from his pocket a long leather belt, such as travelers used for the carrying of valuables. It was evidently heavy, and the musical clink which accompanied his motion

proclaimed the contents to be gold. Brand appeared next. He was white and held his hand to his breast. There were dark stains on his hunting coat, which he removed to expose his shirt, blotched with red. You ain't much hurt, I reckon, inquired Leggett solicitly. No, but I'm bleeding bad, replied Brant coolly. He then called an Indian and went among the willows skirting the stream.

"'So on to be in this border crew?' asked Case, looking up at Ligget. "'Sure,' replied the big outlaw. "'You're a handy feller. "'Case, and after I break you into borderways, you will fit in here, tip-top. "'Now, you better stick by me. "'When Ebzane, his brother Jack and Winsle, find out this here days work, "'Hell will be a cool place compared with their whereabouts. "'You'll be safe with me.

and this is the only place on the border, I reckon, where you can say your life is your own. I'm your mate, captain. I've sailed with soldiers, pirates, sailors, and I guess I can navigate this borderland. Do we miss here? You didn't come far. Well, I ain't particular, but I don't like eating with buzzards,

said Legget with a grin. That's why we moved a bit. What's buzzards? Oh, maybe you'll have a bit. them closer and you'd like some day if you'd only know it buzzards are fine birds most particular birds as won't eat nothing but flesh and white man or engine is pie for em captain i've seed birds as wouldn't wait till a man was dead said case oh oh can't come no sailor yarns on this fellow well now we've got their englishman's gold one or thother of us might just as well have it all

"'Right here, captain, dice, cards, anyways, so long as I knows the game.' "'Here, Jink. "'Hind over your clickers and bring us a flat stone,' said Leggett, sitting on the moss and emptying the belt in front of him. Case took a small bag from the dark blue jacket that had so lately covered Mordaunt's shoulders and poured out its bright contents. "'This God ain't worth keeping,' he said, holding it up. The garment was rent and slashed, and under the left sleeve was a small blood-stained hole where one of Brant's blows had fallen.

Hello, what's this? muttered the sailor, feeling in the pocket of the jacket. Blast my timber. Hooray! He held up a small, silver-mounted whiskey flask, unscrewed the lid, and lifted the vessel to his mouth. I'm kind of thirsty myself, suggested Leggett. Captain, a nip, and no more. Case replied, holding the flask to lick its lips. The outlaw called Jenks now returned with a flat stone which he placed between the two men. The Indians gathered around, with greedy eyes they bent their heads over the gamblers, and watched every movement with breathless interest.

At each click of the dice or clink of gold, they uttered deep exclamations. "'Lewks again, you, cabin,' said Case, skillfully shaking the ivory cubes. "'Ain't I got eyes,' "'rolled the outlaw. "'Steadily his pile of gold diminished "'and darker grew his face. "'Captain, I'm a bad wind to draw,' "'case rejoined, drinking again from the flask.

"'His naturally red face had become livid, "'his skin moist and his eyes wild with excitement. "'Hello, if them dice wasn't janks, "'and I hadn't played a four with them, "'I'd swear they's loaded. "'You ain't insinuating nothin, Captain,' inquired Kay softly, hesitating with the dice in his hand, his evil eyes glinting at Leggett. "'Now you're fair enough, ground leader. My tough luck.'

The game progressed with infrequent runs of fortune for the outlaw, and presently every piece of gold lay in a shining heap before the sailor. "'Queen busted,' exclaimed Leggett in disgust. "'Can't you find nothing more?' asked Case. "'The outlaw's blowled eyes wandered here and there "'until they rested upon their prisoner. "'I'll play their lass against your pile of gold,' he growled. "'Best two throws out in three.

"'See here? She's as much mine as Brants. "'Me can have my pile, huh? Now I'll go you.' "'A all right time. "'Better give me back watch your win,' replied Legget gruffly. "'She's the tram little craft. mistake, said Case critically surveying Helen. All right, Captain, I'm sporting blood, and I'll bet your throw first. Leggett won the first cast, and Case was second. With deliberation, the outlaw shook

the dice in his huge fist and rattled them out upon the stone. Oh, he cried in delight. He had come within one of the highest score possible. Case nonchalantly flipped the little white blocks. The Indians crowded forward, their dusky eyes shining. Leggett swore in a terrible voice which re-echoed from the stony cliff. The sailor was victorious. The outlaw got up, kicked the stone, and dice in the brook, and walked away from the group. He strode to and fro under one of the trees. Gruffly he gave an order to the Indians. Several of them began at once to kindle a fire. Presently he called Jinks, who was fishing the dice out of the trees out of the trees. He gave an order to the Indians. the brook, and began to converse earnestly with him, making fierce gestures in casting

lowering glances at the sailor. Case was too drunk now to see that he had incurred the anonymity of the outlaw leader. He drank the last of the rum and tossed the silver flask to an Indian who received the present with every show of delight. Case then, with the slow, uncertain movements of a man whose mind is befogged, began to the present. to count his gold, but only to gather up a few pieces when they slipped out of his trembling hands to roll on the moss. Laboriously, seriously, he kept at it with the doggedness of a drunken man. Apparently he had forgotten the others.

Failing to learn the value of the coins by taking up each in turn, he arranged them in several piles and began to estimate his wealth in sections. In the meanwhile, Helen, who had not failed to take in the slightest detail of what was going on, saw that a plot was hatching, which boated ill to the sailor. Moreover, she heard Lingott and Jenks whispering. "'I can take him from right here twixt his eyes,' said Jenks softly and tapped his rifle significantly. "'Well, go ahead, only I'd rather have it done quieter,' answered Liggett. "'We're yet a long ways near thirty miles from my camp, and there are no telling who's in their woods. But we've got to get rid of their fresh sailor, and there's no sure way.

Cautiously cocking his rifle, Jinks deliberately raised it to his shoulder. One of the Indian sentinels who stood near at hand sprang forward and struck up the weapon. He spoke a single word to lick it, pointed to the woods above the cliff, and then resumed his statue-like attitude. I told you, Jinks, that wouldn't do it. The red skin sent something. in the woods, and there's an engine I never seed fooled. We must make a noise. Take your knife and tomahawk, crawl down below the edge of the bank, and slip up on him. I'll give half their gold for their job. Janks buckled his belt more tightly, gave one threatening glance at the sailor, and slipped over the bank. The bed of the brook lay about six feet below the level of the ground.

This afforded an opportunity for the outlaw to get behind case without being observed. A moment passed. Jinks disappeared round a bend in the stream. Presently his grizzled head appeared above the bank. He was immediately behind the sailor, but still some 30 feet away. This ground must be covered quickly and noiselessly. The outlaw began to crawl. In his right hand he grasped a tomahawk,

and between his teeth was a long knife. He looked like a huge yellow bear. The savages, with the exception of the sentinel, who seemed absorbed in the dense thicket on the cliff, sat with their knees between their hands, watching the impending tragedy. Nothing but the merest chance or some extraordinary intervention

could avert cases doom. He was gloating over his gold. The creeping outlaw made no more noise than a snake. Nearer and nearer he came, his sweaty face shining in the sun, his eyes tigerish, his long body slipping silently over the grass. At length he was within five feet of the sailor. His naughty hands were dug into the sword

as he gathered energy for a sudden spring. At that very moment, Case with his hand on his knife rose quickly and turned around. The outlaw discovered in the act of leaping, had no alternative, and springy did, like a panther. The little sailor stepped out of line with, remarkable quickness, and as the yellow body whirled past him, his knife flashed blue bright in the sunshine. Jenks felt forward, his knife buried in the grass beneath him and his outstretched hand, still holding the tomahawk.

"'Ah, trying to double-cross me for my gold!' muttered the sailor, sheathing his weapon. He never looked to sea, rather or no, his blow had been fatal. "'The border felners might think a man assails the seas can't handle. a knife. He calmly began gathering up his gold evidently indifferent to further attack. Helen saw Leggett raise his own rifle, but only to have it struck aside as had Jenks. This time the savage whispered earnestly to Leggett, who called the other Indians around him. The Sentinel's low, thorntiton's mingled with the soft babbling of the stream. No sooner had he ceased speaking than the effect of his words showed how serious had been the

information. Warning or advice. The Indians cast few glances towards the woods. Two of them melted like shadows into the red and gold thicket. Another stealthily slipped from tree to tree until he reached the open ground, then dropped into the grass and was seen no more until his dark body rose under the cliff. He stole along the green-stained wall, climbed a rugged corner, and vanished amid the dense foliage. Helen felt that she was almost past discernment or thought. The events of the day, succeeding one another so swiftly and fraught with panic, had, despite her hope and fortitude,

reduced her to a helpless condition of piteous fear. She understood that the savages sent a danger or had in their mysterious way received intelligence such as rendered them wary and watchful. Come on now and make no noise, said Liggett-Case. Bring the girl and see that she steps light. Ah, Captain, replied to sailor. Where's Brand? He'll be coming soon as his cut stopped bleeding.

I reckon he's weak yet. Case gathered up his goods and, tucking it under his arm. Grasped Helen's arm. She was leaning against a tree, and when he pulled her, she wrenched herself free, raising with difficulty. This disgusting touch and revolting face had revived, her sensibilities. "'You can begin duty by carrying that,' said Case,

thrusting the package into Helen's arms. She let it drop without moving a hand. "'I'm running this ship. You belong to me,' hissed Case. And then he struck her on the head. Helen uttered a low cry of distress and half staggered against the tree. The sailor picked up the package. This time she took it, trembling with horror. "'That's right, now. Give her a cap on a kiss,' he leered and jostled against her.

Helen pushed him violently. With agonized eyes, she appealed to the Indians. They were engaged tying up their backs, legate looked on with a lazy grin. Uh-oh, breathed Helen as Case seized her again. She tried to scream, but could not make a sound. The evil eyes, the beastly face, transfixed her with terror. case struck her twice, then roughly pulled her toward him. Half fainting, unable to move, Helen gazed at the heated, bloated, bloated face approaching hers. When his coarse lips were within a few inches of her lips, something hot hissed across her brow.

Following so closely as to be an accompaniment rang out with singular clearness to the sharp crack of a rifle. Case's face changed. The hot, surging, flush faded. The expression became shaded, dulled into vacant emptiness. His eyes rolled wildly, then remained fixed, with a look of dark surprise. He stood upright an instant, swayed with the regular poise of a falling oak, and then plunged backward to the ground.

His face, ghastly and livid, took on the awful calm of death. A very small hole reddish blew round the edges, dotted the center of his temple. Leggett stared aghast at the dead sailor. Then he possessed himself of the bag of gold. Save me their trouble, he muttered giving case a kick. The Indians glanced at the little figure. Then out into the flaming thickets, each savage sprang behind a tree with incredible quickness. Legate saw this and grasping Helen, he quickly led her within cover of the

the chestnut. Brant appeared with his Indian companion and both leaped to shelter behind a clump of birches near where Lickett stood. Brandt's hawk eyes flashed upon the dead jinks and Case. Without asking a question, he seemed to take in the situation. He stepped over and grasped Helen by the arm. Who killed Case? he asked in a whisper, staring at the little blue hole in the Sailor's Temple. No one answered. The two Indians who had gone into the woods to the right of the stream now returned. Hardly were the under the trees with their party, when the savage who had gone off alone arose out of the grass, in the left of the brook, took it with a flying leap, and darted into their midst. He was the sentinel

who had knocked up the weapons, thereby saving cases life twice. He was life and supple. But not young, his grave, shadowy-lined iron visage showed the traces of time and and experienced, all gazed at him at once, whose wisdom was greater than nurse. Old horse, said Brandt in English. Haven't I seen bullet holes like this? The Chippewa bent over a case, and then slowly straightened his tall form. Deathwind, he replied, answering in the white man's language. His Indian companions uttered low plaintive murmurs, not signifying fear so much

his respect. Brandt turned as pale as the clean birch bark on the tree near him. The gray flare of his eyes gave out a terrible light of certainty and terror. Legget, you didn't try to hide your trail, he hissed. And it seemed as if there was a bitter, reckless pleasure in these words. Then the Chippewa glided into the low bushes bordering the creek. Legget followed him with Brant leading Helen. And the other Indians brought up the rear, each one.

one sending wild, savage glances into the dark surrounding forest. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of The Last Trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Van Diddy, Mike Vanetti.com The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 19.

A dense white fog rose from the river obscuring all objects. When the bordermen rolled out of their snug bed of leaves, the air was cool and bracing, faintly fragrant with drying foliage and the damp, dewy luxuriance of the ripened season. Wetzel pulled from under the protecting ledge a bundle of bark and sticks, he had put there to keep dry and built the fire, while Jonathan fashioning a cup from a green fruit resembling a gourd, filling it at a spring nearby. Lou, there's a frosty nip in the water this morning, said Jonathan. I reckon it's getting along into fall now, any clear.

Still night'll fetch all the leaves and strip the trees bare as burned timber, answered Butzel, brushing the ashes off the strip of meat he had roasted. Get a stick. and help me cook the rest of this chunk of bison. The sun will be an hour breaking up that mist, and we can't clear out till then. Maybe he won't have no chance to light another fire soon. With these bordermen,

everything pertaining to their lonely lives from the lighting of a fire to the trailing of a redskin was singularly serious. No glad some song ever came from their lips. There was no jollity around their campfire. Hunters had their moments of rapturous, delight. Borderman knew the peace, the content of the wilderness, but their pursuits wracked nerve and heart. Wetzel had his moments of frenzied joy, but they passed with

the echo of his vengeful yell. Jonathan's happiness, such as it was, had been to roam the forests, that before a woman's eyes had dispelled it, had been enough, and compensated him for the gloomy, bloody phantoms which haunted him. The bordermen having partaken of the frugal breakfast stowed in their spacious pockets all the meat that was left, and were ready for the day's march. They sat silent for a time waiting for the mist to lift. It broke in places, rolled in huge billows, sailed aloft like great white clouds, and again hung tenaciously to the river and the plain. Away in the west, blue patches of sky shone through the rifts, and eastward banks of misty vapor reddened beneath the river. the rising sun. Suddenly, from beneath the silver edge of the rising pall, the sun burst, gleaming

gold, disclosing the winding valley with its steaming river. We'll make upstream for two islands and cross there, if so be, we've reasoned. Wetzel had said, through the dewy dells, avoiding the wet grass and bushes along the dark, damp lades with their yellow carpets, under the thinning arches of the trees, down the gentle slopes of the ridges, rich with green, the bordean glided like gray shadows. The forest was yet asleep. A squirrel frisked up an oak and barked quarrelsomely at these strange, noiseless visitors,

a crow cawed from somewhere overhead. These were the only sounds disturbing the quiet early hour. As the bordermen advanced the woods lightened and woke. To life and joy, birds sang, trilled, warbled, and whistled. There are plenty of songs peculiar to the dying season and in harmony with the glory of the earth. Birds that in earlier seasons would have screeched and fought,

now sang, and fluttered side by side in fraternal parade on their slow pilgrimage to the far south. Bad time for us, when the birds are so tame and chipper. We can't put faith in them these days, says Whittsell. Seems like it never was wild, I can tell, except at this season. By the way they whistle and act in the woods,

there's been any engines along the trails the greater part of the morning passed thus with the bordermans steadily traversing the forest here through a spear and gloomy wood blasted by fire worn by age with many a dethroned monarch of bygone times rotting to punk and duff under the ferns with many a dark seamed and ragged king still standing but gray and bald of head and almost ready to take its place in the forest of the past there through a maze of young saplings where each ash maple hickory and oak added some new beautiful hue to the riot of color i just had a glimpse of the lower island as we passed an opening in the thicket said jonathan we ain't far away replied wetzel the borderman walked less rapidly in order to proceed with more watchfulness every rod or two they stopped to listen you think leggots across the river asked jonathan he was two days back and he was two days back and and had his gang with him. He's up to some bad work. But I can't make out what. One thing, I never seen his trail so near Fort Henry.

They merged at length into a more open forest which skirted the river. At a point still some distance ahead, but plainly in sight. Two small islands rose out of the water. "'St, what's that, whispered whistle?' slipping his hand in Jonathan's arm. A hundred yards beyond lay a long dark figure stretched at full length, under one of the trees close to the bank. Looks like a man, said Jonathan.

You've hit the mark. Take a good peep round now, Jack, for we're coming somewhere near the trail we want. Minutes passed while the patient bordermen searched the forest with their eyes, seeking out every tree within rifle range, or surveyed the level glades, scrutinized the hollows, and bent piercing eyes upon the patches of ferns. If there's a red skin around,

ain't big enough to hold a gun, said Wetzel, moving forward again, yet still with that same stealthy step and keen caution. Finally, they were gazing down upon the object which had attracted Wetzel's attention. "'Will Shepard!' cried Jonathan. "'Is he dead?' "'What's this mean.' Wetzel leaned over the prostrate lad, and then quickly turned to his companion. "'Get some water. Take his cap.' No, he ain't even hurt bad unless he's got some wound as don't show.

Jonathan returned with the water. Wetzel bathed the bloody face. When the gash on Will's forehead was clean, it told the Borderman much. Not an hour old that blow, muttered Wetzel. He's coming too, said Jonathan, as the lad stirred uneasily and moaned. Presently the lad opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. He looked bewildered. our moment and felt of his head while gazing vaguely at the borderman.

Suddenly he cried, I remember, we were captured, brought here, and I was struck down by that villain case. We, who was with you? asked Jonathan slowly. Hillen. We came after flowers and leaves. While in full sight of the fort I saw an Indian, we hurried back, he cried and proceeded with broken,

Panning Boys to tell his story. Jonathan Zane leapt to his feet with face deadly white and eyes blue-black like burning stars. Jack, study the trail while I get the lad across the river and steered for home, said Wetzel, and then he asked Will if he could swim. Yes, but you will find a canoe there in those willows. Come, lad, we've no time to spare, added Wetzel, sliding down the bank and entering the willows. He came out almost immediately with the canoe which he launched. Will turned that he might make a parting appeal to Jonathan to save Helen,

but could not speak. The expression on the borderman's face frightened him. Motionless and erect Jonathan stood, his arms folded, and his white stern face distorted with the agony of remorse, fear and anguish, which, even as Will gazed, froze into an awful, deadly look of fateful purpose. Wetzel pushed the canoe off and paddled with powerful strokes. He left Will on the opposite bank and returned as swiftly as he could,

propel the light craft. The Borterman met each other's glance and had little need of words. Wetzel's great shoulders began to sag slightly, and his head lowered as his eyes sought the grass. A dark and gloomy shade overcast his features. Thus he passed from bordermen to death wind. The saw of the wind overhead among the almost naked branches might well have warned Indians and renegades.

That death wind was on the trail. Brant's had a hand in this, and the Englishman's a fool, says Wetzel. An hour ahead, can we come up with them before they join Brandt and legate? We can drive, but like is not, we'll fail. Leggett's gang is thirteen strong by now. I said it. Something told me a long trail, a hard trail, and our last trail. It's over thirty miles to Leggett's camp.

We know the woods in every stream and every cover, hissed Jonathan Zane. With no further words, Wessel took the trail on the run, and so plain was it to his keen eyes, that he did not relax a steady lope except to stop and listen at regular intervals. Jonathan followed with easy swing, through the forest and meadow, over hill and valley that ran fleet and tireless. Once with unerring instinct, they abruptly left the broad trail and cut far across a wide, rugged ridge,

to come up on the tracks of the marching band. Then in open country, they reduced their speed to a walk. Ahead, in a narrow valley rose a thick of willows, yellow in the sunlight, and impenurable to human vision. Like huge snakes, the bordermen crept into this cope, over the sand, until the low branches, hard on a trail, finally in a light, open space, where the sun shone through the network of yellow branches and foliage. Wetzel's hand was laid upon Jonathan's shoulder. Listen, hear that, he whispered. Jonathan heard the flapping of wings in a low hissing.

sound, not unlike that made by a goose. Buzzards, he said, with a dark grim smile, maybe Brand has begun or work. Come. Out into the open they crawled to put to flight a flock of huge black birds with grizzly naked necks, hooked beaks and long yellow claws. Upon the green grass lay three half-naked men, ghastly, bloody, and terrible limp,

and lifeless positions. Metzor's man Smith, jinks the outlaw, and hordaunt. Jonathan Zane gazed darkly into the steely, sightless eyes of the traitor. Death's awful calm had set the expression, but the man's whole life was there. Its better part sadly shining forth

among the cruel shadows. His body was mutilated in a frightful manner. Cuts, stabs, and slashes told the take, of a long encounter, brought to an end by one clean stroke. Come here, Lou. You've seen men chopped up, but look at this dead Englishman called Zane. Mordaunt lay weltering in a crimson tide, strangely though his face was uninjured. A black bruise shod under his fair hair. The ghost of a smile seemed to hover around his set lips, yet almost intangible, though it was,

It showed that at last he had died a man. His left shoulders sighed an arm, short with the brunt of Brant's attack had fallen. How'd he ever fight so, mused Jonathan? You never can tell, replied Wetzel. Maybe he killed this other feller too, but I reckon not. Come, we must go slow now, for legget is near at hand. Jonathan brought huge flat stones from the brook

and laid them over Mordaunt. Then, cautiously, he left the glade on Wetzel's trail. Five hundred yards further on, Wetzel had ceased following the outlaw's tracks to cross the creek and climb a ridge. He was beginning his favorite trick of making a wide detour. Jonathan hurried forward, feeling he was safe from observation. Soon he distinguished the tall, brown figure of his comrade,

gliding ahead from tree to tree, from bush to bush. "'See them maples? Chestnuts down there?' said Wetzel, when Jonathan had come up, pointing through an opening in the foliage. They've stopped for some reason. On through the forest the bordermen glided. They kept near the summit on the ridge under the best cover they could find, and passed swiftly over the half circle. Then, beginning once more to draw toward the open grove in the valley, they saw a long, irregular cliff, densely wooded. They swerved a little and made for this excellent covered. They crawled the last hundred yards and never shook a fern, moved a leaf or broke a twig. Having ranged the break of the low precipice,

they saw the grassy meadow below, the straggling trees, the brook, the group of Indians crowding around the white men. See that point of rock there? That's better cover, whispered Wetzel. patiently, with no hurry or excitement, they slowly made their difficult way among the rocks and ferns to the vantage point desired. Taking a position like this one, the bordermen strongly favored they could see everywhere in front

and had the thick woods at their back. "'What are they up to?' whispered Jonathan, as he and Wetzel lay close together under a massive grapevine, still tenacious of its broad leaves. "'Dyson,' answered Wetzel. "'I can see him throw, anyways. Nothing but Benton ever makes Redskins act like that. Who is playing? Where's Brand? I can make out legate, see, shaggy head.

The other must be case. Brant ain't in sight. Nursing or hurt, perhaps. Ah, see there, over under the big creas stands dark like again the thicket. That's an engine. And he looks too quiet and keen to suit me. We'll have a care of him. Must be playing for more.

Mordaunt's gold. Like is not, for where'd them ruffins get any set they stole it. Ah, they're getting up. See Leggett walk away, shaking his big head? He's mad. Maybe he'll be mad or presently, growled Jonathan. Case is left alone. He's counting his winnings.

Jack, look out for more work, took off our hands. By gum, see that engine, knock up a level rifle? I told you. And that Redskin has his suspicion. He's seen us down along their ridge. There's Helen sitting behind the biggest tree. That engine guard, before he moved, kept us from seeing her. Jonathan made no answer to this,

but his breath literally hissed through his clenched teeth. There goes the other outlaw, whispered Wetzel, as if his comrade could not see. It's all up with case, see that sneak bending down the bank? Now that's a poor way. It had better be done from the front Walking up natural-like Instead of trying to cover that wide stretch

Case'll see him Hear him sure There he's up now And crawling He's too slow Too slow I knew it Case turns

Look at the outlaw spring Did you see that little cuss Whop his knife One more or less for us to quiet That makes four Jack and maybe soon It'll be five They're holding the council

said Jonathan. I see two engines sneaking off into the woods, and here comes that guard. He's a keen redskin, Jack, for we did come light through the brush. Maybe it'd be well to stop his scouting. Lou, that villain case, is bullying hell and cried Jonathan. Shh, whispered Wetzel. See, he's pulled her to her feet. Oh, he struck her.

Oh, Jonathan leveled his rifle and would have fired. but for the iron grasp on his wrists. If you lost your senses, it's full 200 paces and too far for your piece, said Wetzel and whisper. And it ain't sense to try from here. Let me your gun. Let me your gun. Suddenly, Wetzel handled him, the long black rifle.

Jonathan raised it, but trembled so violently that the barrel wavered like a leaf in a breeze. Take it. I can't cover him, groaned Jonathan. This is new to me. I ain't myself. God, Lou, he struck her again. Again, he's trying to kiss her. Retzel, if you're my friend, killing.

Jack, it'd be better to wait and... I love her, breathe, Jonathan. The long black barrels swept up to a level and stopped. White smoke belched from among the green leaves. The report rang throughout the forest. Ah, I saw him stop and pause. Johnathan he stands he sways he falls death for yours you sailor beast end of chapter 19 chapter 20 of the last trail this is a Libravox recording all Libravox recordings are in

the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit Libravox.org recording by Mike vendetti micvindtty.com Chapter 20 The borderman watched Leggett and his band disappear into the thicket adjoining the grove. When the last dark lithe form glided out of sight among the yellowing clops, Jonathan leapt from the low cliff and had hardly reached the ground before Wetzel dashed down to the grassy turf. Again they followed the outloss trail, darker-faced, fiercer visage than ever, with cocked, tightly-gripped rifles, thrust well before them, and light feet that scarcely brushed the leaves.

Wetzel halted after a long tramp up and down the ridges, and surveyed with keen intent the lay of the land ahead. Sooner or later we'll hear from that redskin, as discovered us a ways back, whispered he. I wish we might get a crack at him before he hinders us bad. I have seen many keener engines. It's lucky we've fixed their arrow-shooting Shawnee. We'd never have beat that combination, and for all of that,

I'm worrying some about the going ahead. Ambush? Jonathan asked. Like us not, Leggett'll send that engine back and maybe more on him, Jack. See them little footprints? They're Helens. Look how she's dragging along, almost tuckered out. Legget can't travel many more miles today.

You'll make a stand somewhere and lose all his redskins before he gives up the last. I'll never live through tonight with her and that gang. She'll be saved or dead before the stars pale in the light of the moon. I reckon we're nigh the end for some of us. It'll be moonlight in an hour after dusk, and now it's only the middle of the afternoon. We've timing up for any.

Now, Jack, let's not tackle the trail straight. We'll split and go round and head them off. See that dead white oak standing high over there? Jonathan looked out between the spreading branches of a beach and saw far over a low meadow, luxuriant with grasses and rushes and bright with sparkling ponds and streams, the dense wood out of which towered a bare, bleached treetop. You slip around along the right side of this matter, and I'll take the left side, go slow, and have your eyes open. We'll meet under that big dead tree. I'll allow we can see it from anywhere around. We'll leave the trail here and take it up further on.

Leggett's going straight for his camp. He ain't losing an inch. He wants to get in that rocky hole of hisin. Wetzel stepped off the trail, glided into the woods, and vanished. Jonathan turned to the right, traversed the summit of the ridge, softly traveled down the slope, and after crossing a slow, eddying, quiet stream, gained the edge of the forest on that side of the swamp.

A fringe of briars and prickly thorns bordered this wood affording an excellent covered. On the right the land rose rather abruptly. He saw that by walking up a few paces he could command a view of the entire swamp, as well as the ridge beyond, which contained Wetzel, and probably the outlaw, and his band. Remembering his comrade's admonation, Jonathan curbed his unusual impatience and moved slowly. The wind swayed the treetops and rustled the fallen leaves. Bird sang as if thinking the warm, soft weather was summer come again.

Squirrels dropped heavy nuts that cracked on the limbs or fell with a thud to the ground. And they scampered over the dry earth, scratching up the leaves as they barked and scolded. Crows caught clamorously after a hawk that had darted under the treetops to escape them. Deer loped swiftly up the hill and a lordly elk rose from a wallow in a grassy swamp, crashing into the thicket. When two-thirds around his oval plain, which was a mile long and perhaps one-fourth is wide, Jonathan ascended the hill to make a survey. The grass waved, bright brown and golden into sunshine, swished in the wind and swept like a choppy sea to the opposite ridge.

The hill was not densely wooded. In many places the red-brown foliage opened upon irregular patches, some black, as if having been burned over, others showing the yellow and purple colors of the low thickets and the gray barren stones. Suddenly, Jonathan saw something darken, one of those sunlit plots. It might have been a deer. He studied the rolling, rounded treetops,

the narrow strips between the black trunks and the open places that were clear in the sunshine. He had nearly come to believe he had seen a small animal or bird flit across the white of the sky far in the background, when he distinctly saw dark figures dealing along past a green-grey rock. only to disappear under-colored banks of foliage. Presently lower down, they reappeared and crossed an open patch of yellow fern. Jonathan countered them. Two were rather yellow in color.

The hue of buckskin, another slight of stature as compared with the first, and light gray by contrast. Then six black, slender, lining forms crossed the space. Jonathan then lost sight of them and did not get another glimpse. he knew them to be legged in his band the slight figure was helen jonathan broke into a run completed the circle around the swamp and slowed into a walk when approaching the big dead tree where he was to wait for Several rods beyond the lowland he came to a wood of white oaks, all giants rugged and old, with scarcely a sapling intermingled with him.

Although he could not see the objective point, he knew from his accurate sense of distance that he was near it. As he entered the wood he swept its whole length and width with his eyes, he darted forward twenty paces to halt suddenly behind a tree. He knew full well that a sharply moving object was more difficult, to sea in the woods, then one stationary. Again he ran, fleet and light, a few paces ahead to take up a position as before behind a tree. Thus he traversed the forest.

On the other side he found the dead oak, of which Whitsle had spoken. His trunk was hollow, Jonathan squeezed himself into the blackened space, with his head in a favorable position behind a projecting knot, where he could see what might occur near at hand. He waited for what seemed to him a long while, during which he neither saw nor heard anything, and then suddenly the report of a rifle rang out. A single, piercing scream followed, hardly had the echo ceased, when three hollow reports distinctly different in tone from the first could be heard from the same direction.

In quick succession, short, fierce yells attended rather than succeeded the reports. Jonathan stepped out of the hiding place, cocked his rifle, and fixed a short, sharp high on the ridge before him, whence those startling cries had come. The first rifle shot, unlike any other in its short, spiteful sting quality, was unmistakingly Wetzels. Zane had heard it, followed many times as now by the wild death cry of a savage. The other reports were of Indian guns, and the yells were the clamoring, exultant cries of Indians in pursuit. Far down where the open forest met the gloom of the thickets, a brown figure, flashed across the yellow ground, darting among the trees across the glades. It moved so swiftly

that Jonathan knew it was Wetzel. In another instant a chorus of Yelps resounded from the foliage, and three savages burst through the thicket, almost at right angles with a fleeing borderman, running to intercept him. The borderman did not swer from his course, but came on straight toward the dead tree, with the wonderful fleetness that so often had served him well. Even in that moment Jonathan thought of what desperate chances his comrade had taken. The trick was plain. Wetzel had most likely shot the dangerous scout, and, ticking to his heels,

raced past the others, trusting to his speed and their poor marksmanship to escape for the whole skin. When within a hundred yards of the oak, Wetzel's strength apparently gave out. His speed deserted him. He ran awkwardly and limped. The savages burst out into full cry

like a pack of hungry wolves. They had already emptied their rifles at him and now, supposing one of the shots had taken effect, redoubled their efforts, making the forest ring with their short savage yells. One gaunt, dark-bodied Indian with the long, powerful, springy stride, easily distance his companions and evidently sure of gaining the coveted scalp of the borderman,

rapidly closed the gap between them as he swung aloft his tomahawk, yelling the war cry. The sight on Jonathan's rifle had several times covered this savage's dark face. But when he was about to press the trigger, Wetzel's fleeting form, also in line with the savage, made it extremely hazardous to take a shot. Jonathan stepped from his place of concealment and led out a yell that peeled high over the cries of the savages. Wetzel suddenly dropped flat on the ground, with a whipping crack of Jonathan's rifle, the big

Indian plunged forward on his face. The other Indians, not 50 yards away, stopped aghast at the fate of their comrade, and were about to seek the shelter of trees when, with his terrible yell, Whitzels sprang up and charged upon them. He had left his rifle where he fell, but his tomahawk glittered as he ran. The lameness had been a trick, for now he covered ground with a swiftness which caused his former progress to seem slow. The Indians matured and seasoned warriors, though they were, gave but one glance at his huge brown figure bearing down upon them like a fiend

and uttering the Indian name of Deathwind, wavered, broke and ran. One not so fleet as his companion, Wetzel overtook and cut down with a single stroke. The other gained an hundred yards straight in the

slight interval of Wetzel's attack and spurred on by a peeling awful cry in the rear sped swiftly in and out of among the trees until he was lost to view. Wetzel scalped the two dead savages, and after returning to regain his rifle, joined Jonathan at the dead oak.

Jack, you can never tell how things is coming out. That redskin I allowed might worry us a bit. Fooled me as slick as you ever saw, and I'd had to shoot him. No one. It was a case of running. I'd just cut for this oak, drew the redskins fire,

and had them after me quicker, and you'd say Jack Robinson. I was hoping you'd be here, but wasn't sure till I seen your rifle. Then I kinder got a kink in my leg just to coax the brutes on. Three more quiet, said Jonathan Zane. What now? We've headed-legged and we'll keep nosing him off his course. Already he's looking for a safe camping place for the night. There is none in these woods for him.

We didn't plan this getting between him and his camp, but couldn't be better fixed. A mile further along the ridge is a camping place, with a spring and a little dell close under a big stone, and well wooded. Legate's heading straight for it. With a couple of engines guarding that spot, he'll think he's safe.

But I know the place, and can crawl to that rock the darkest night that ever was. was and never crack a stick. In the gray of the deepening twilight, Jonathan Zane sat alone. An owl hooted dismally in the dark woods beyond the thicket, where the borderman crouched waiting for Wetzel.

His listening ear detected as soft, rustling sound like the play of a mole under the leaves. A branch trembled and swung back. A soft footstep followed, and Wetzel came into the retreat. Well, ask Jonathan impatiently as Wetzel deliberately sat down and laid his rifle across his knee.

Easy, Jack, easy. We've an hour to wait. The time I've already waited has been long for me. There, there, said Wetzel grimly. How far from here? A half hour slow crawl. Close by hissed, Jonathan. Too near for you to get excited.

Let's us go. It's as light now as in the gray of morning. "'Morning would be best. "'Engines get sleepy along towards day. "'I've ever found that time the best. "'But we'll be lucky if we catch these redskins asleep. "'Lou, I can't wait here all night. "'I won't leave her longer with that renegade.

"'I've got to free or kill her. "'Most likely it'll be the last,' said Wetzel simply. "'Well, so be it then, and abortive. Hurterman hung his head. "'You didn't worry none about Helen. I just had a good look at her, not half an hour back. She's fagged out, but full of spunk yet. I seen that when Brant went near her,

Leggett got his hands full just now with the Redskins, he's having trouble keeping them on this slow trail. I ain't saying they were scared, but they're mighty restless. Will you take the chance now?' I reckon you needn't have asked that. Tell me the lay of the land. Well, if we get to this rock I spoke about, we'll be right over them.

It's ten feet high, and we can jump straight amongst them. Most likely, two or three will be garden opening, which is the little ways to the right. But there's a big tree, the only one lowed down by the spring. Helen's under it, half sitting, half leaning, against the roots.

When I first looked, her hands were free, but I saw Brent bind her feet, and he had to get an engine to help him, for she kicked a spirited little filly. There's moss under the tree, and there's where the redskins will lay down to rest. I've got that. Now out with your plan.

Well, I calculate it's this. The moon will be up in about an hour. We'll crawl, as we've never crawled before, because Helen's life depends as much on our not making a noise as it does on fighting. When the time comes, if they hear us afore we're ready to shoot, the last will be tomahawked quicker and lightning. If they don't suspicion us when the right moment comes, you shoot Brandt, yell louder you ever did before, lip amongst them and cut down the first engine that's near you on your way to Helen. Swing her over your arm and dig into

the woods. Well, asked Jonathan when Wetzel finished. That's all, replied the borderman, grimly, and leave you all alone to fight Leggett and the rest of them? I reckon. Not to be thought of? There are no other way. Well, there must be, let me think. I can't, I'm not myself. No other way, replied Wetzel curtly. Jonathan's broad hand fastened on Wetzel's shoulder and wheeled him around. Have I ever left you alone? That's it different. And Wetzel turned away again. His voice was cold and hard. How is it different? We've had the same thing to do almost more than once. We've never had a bad bunch to handle his legates. They're looking for us and we'll be hard to beat. That's no reason. We never had to save a girl one of us loved. Jonathan,

was silent. I said this would be my last trail, continued Wetzel. I felt it, and I know it'll be yours. Why? If he get away with the girls, she'll keep you at home, and it'll be well.

If he don't succeed, you'll die trying. So it's your last trail. Wetzel's deep, cold voice rang with truth. Lou, I can't run away and leave you to fight these devils alone. After all these years we've been together, I can't. No other chance to save the lass.

Jonathan quivered with the force of his emotion. His black eyes glittered, his hands grasped at nothing. Once more he was between love and duty. Again he fought over the old battle, but this time it left him weak. You love that big-eyed lass, don't you ask, Westl? turning with softened face and voice. I've gone mad, cried Jonathan, tortured by the simple question of his friend. Those big, dear, wonderful eyes he loved so well,

looked at him now from the gloom of the thicket. The old, beautiful, soft glow, the tender light, was there and more, a beseeching prayer to save her. Jonathan bowed his head, ashamed to let his friend see the tears that dimmed his eyes. Jack, we've followed the trail for years together. Always you've been true and staunch. This is our last. But whatever binds will break up Leggis band tonight,

and the border will be cleared. Maybe for always. At least his race has run. Let that content you. Our time have to come sooner or later, so why not now? I know how it is that you want to stick by me. But the last draws you to her, I understand, and want you to save her. Maybe you never dreamed it, but I can tell you just how you feel.

All the trembling and softness and sweetness and delight you got for that girl is no mystery to Lou Wetzel. You loved her last? Wetzel bowed his head as perhaps he had never before in all his life. Betty, always, he answered softly. "'My sister?' exclaimed Jonathan, and then his hand closed hard on his comrades. His mind going back to many things strange in the past, but now explained, Wetzel had revealed his secret.

And it's been all my life, since she wasn't higher in my knee. There was a time when I might have been closer to you than I am now. But I was a mad and bloody engine-hater, so I never let her know till I seen it was too late. Well, well, no more of me. I only told it for you. Jonathan was silent. And now to come back where we left off, continued Wetzel, let's take a more hopeful look at this coming fight. Sure, I said it was my last trail, but maybe it's not. You can never tell, feeling as we do, I imagine they've no odds on us. Never in my life did I say to you, list of all to anyone else,

what I was going to do, but I'll tell it now. If I land uninjured amongst that bunch, I'll kill them all. The giant Borderman's low-voiced hissed and stung. His eyes glittered with unearthly fire. His face was cold and gray. He spread out his brawny arms

and clenched his huge fist, making the muscles of his broad shoulders roll and bulged. I hate the thought, Lou. I hate the thought. Ain't there no other way? No other way? I'll do it, Lou,

because I do the same for you, because I have to, because I love her, but God it hurts. That's right, answered Wetzel, his deep voice softening until it was singularly low and rich. I'm glad you've come, to it, and sure it hurts, I want you to feel so at leaving me to go it alone. If we both get out

alive, I'll come many times to see you and Helen. If you live, and I don't, think of me sometimes, think of the trails we've crossed together. When the fall comes with its soft, cool air and smoky morning, and starry nights, when the wind sad among the bare branches, and a leaves drop down. Remember, they're fallen on a grave. Twilight darkened into gloom. The red tinge in the west changed to opal light. Through the trees over a dark ridge, a rim of silver glinted and moved. The moon had risen. The hour was come. The bordermen tightened their belts, replaced their leggings, tied their hunting coats, loosened their hatchets, looked to the priming of the rifles, and were ready.

Wetzel walked twenty paces and turned. His face was white in the moonlight. His dark eyes softened into a look of love as he gripped his comrades' outstretched hand. Then he dropped flat on the ground, carefully saw to the position of his rifle, and began to creep. Jonathan kept close at his heels.

Slowly but steadily they crawled. minute after minute. The hazelnut brushes above them had not yet shed their leaves. The ground was clean and hard, and the course, fateful, perfect for their deadly purpose. A slight rustling of their buckskin garment

sounded like the rustling of leaves in the faint breeze. The moon came out above the trees, and still Wetzel advanced softly, steadily, surely. The owl, lonely, surely. lonely sentinel of that wood hooted dismally. Even his night-eyes, which made the darkness seem clear as day, missed those gliding figures.

Even he, sure guardian of the wilderness, failed the savages. Jonathan felt soft moss beneath him. He was now into the woods under the trees the thicket had been passed. Wetzel's moccasin pressed softly against Jonathan's head, the first signal. Jonathan crawled forward and slightly raised himself. He was on a rock. The trees were thick and gloomy.

Below the little hollow was almost in the wan moonbeams. Dark figures lay close together. Two savages paced noiselessly to and fro. A slight form rolled in a blanket lay against a tree. Jonathan felt his arm gently squeezed. The second signal. Slowly he thrust forward his rifle and raised it in unison with Wetzels. Slowly he rose to his feet as if the same muscle guided them both.

Over his head a twig snapped in the darkness he had not seen a low branch. The Indian Guard stopped suddenly and became motionless as stone. They had heard, but too late, with the blended roar of the rifles both dropped. Lifeless. Almost under the spouting flame and white cloud of smoke, Jonathan, lit behind Wetzel. Over the bank, his yells were mingled with Wetzel's vows. vengeful cry. Like leaping shadows, the Borderman were upon their foes. An Indian sprang up, raised a weapon, and fell beneath Jonathan's savage blow to rise no more. Over his prostrate body,

the Borderman bounded. A dark, nimble form darted upon the captive. He swung high a blade that shone like silver in the moonlight. His shrill war cry of death rang out with Helen's scream of despair, even as he swung back her head with one hand in her long hair. His arm descended, but it fell upon the borderman's body. Jonathan and the Indian rolled upon the moss. There was a terrific struggle, a whirling blade, a dull blow, which silenced the yell, and the borderman rose alone. He lifted Helen, as if she were a child, leaped the brook, and plunged into the thicket.

The noise of the fearful conflict he left behind swelled high and hideously on the night air, Above the shrill cries of the Indians and the furious yells of Leggett rose the mad, booming roar of Wetzel. No rifle cracked, but sodden blows the clash of steel, the thrashing of struggling men, told of the dreadful strife. Jonathan gained the woods, sped through the moonlight glades, and far on under light and shadow. The shrill cries ceased. Only the hoarse yells and the mad roar could be heard. Gradually these all died away. and the forest was still.

End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Lost Trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraFox.org. Recording by Mike Vendiddy, Mike Vendiddy.com. The last trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 21.

Next morning, when the mist was breaking and rolling away under the warm rays of the Indian summer sun, Jonathan Zane beached his canoe on the steep bank before Fort Henry. A pioneer attracted by the Borderman's Hello, ran to the bluff and sounded the alarm with shrill whoops. Among the hurrying brown-clad figures that answered this summons was Colonel Zane. "'It's Jack, Colonel!' and he's got her,' cried one. The doughty colonel gained the bluff to see his brother climbing the bank with a white-faced girl in his arms. Well, he asked, looking darkly at Jonathan.

Nothing kindly or genial was visible in his manner now, rather grim and foreboding he seemed, thus showing he had the same blood in his veins as the borderman. Lemney hand, said Jonathan, as far as I know she's not hurt. They carried Helen towards Colonel Zane's cabin. Many women of the settlement saw them as they passed and looked gravely at one another, but none spoke. This return of an abducted girl was by no means a strange event. Somebody run for Shepard, ordered Colonel Zane as they entered his cabin.

Betty, who was in the sitting room, sprang up and cried, Oh, Eb, Eb, don't say she's... No, no, bets, she's all right. right. Where's my wife? Ah, Betts. Here, get to work. The colonel left Helen in the tender, skillful hands of his wife and sister, and followed Jonathan into the kitchen. I was just ready for breakfast when I heard someone yell, said he. Come, Jack, eat something. They ate in silence. From the sitting room came excited whispers, a joyous cry from Betty, and a faint voice, then heavy, hurrying footsteps, followed by Shepard's words of Thanksgiving.

"'Where's Wetzel?' began Colonel Zane. The borderman shook his head gloomily. "'Where did you leave him?' "'I jumped leg at Spunch last night, when the moon was about an hour high. I reckon about fifteen miles northeast. I got away with the last.' "'Ah, left Lou fighting?' The borderman answered the question with bowed head. You got off well, not a hurt that I can see, and more than lucky to save Helen.

Well, Jack, what do you think about Lou? Going back, replied Jonathan. No, no. The door opened to admit Mrs. Zane. She looked bright and cheerful. Hello, Jack. Glad you're home. Helen's all right, only faint from hunger and over-exertion.

I want something for her to eat. Well, you men didn't leave my husband. much. Colonel Zane went into the sitting-room. Shepard sat beside the couch where Helen lay, White and Juan. Betty and Nell were looking on with their hearts in their eyes. Silas Zane was there and his wife, with several women neighbors. Betty, go fetch Jack in here, whispered the colonel in his sister's ear. Drag him, if you have to, he added fiercely. The young woman left the room to reappear directly with her brother.

He came in reluctant. As the stern-faced borderman crossed the threshold a smile, beautiful to see, dawned in Helen's eyes. I'm glad to see you're coming round, said Jonathan, but he spoke dully as if his mind was on other things. She's a little flighty, but a night's sleep will cure that, cried Mrs. Aynne from the kitchen. What do you think, interrupted the Colonel. Jack's not satisfied to get back with Helen unharmed and a whole skin himself, but he's

going on the trail again. No, Jack, no, no, cried Betty. What's that I hear? Ask Mrs. Zane, as she came in. Jack's going out again. Well, all I want to say is that he's as mad as a march hare. Jonathan, look here, said Silas seriously. Can't you stay home now?

Jack, listen, whispered Betty, going close to him. Not one of us ever ever. expected to see either you are Helen again. Oh, we are so happy. Do not go away again. You're a man. You do not know. You cannot understand all a woman feels. She must sit and wait and hope and pray

for the safe return of husband or brother or sweetheart. The long days. Oh, the long sleepless nights with the wail of the wind and the pines and the rain on roof. It is maddening. Do not leave us. Do not leave me.

Do not leave Helen. Say you will not, Jack. To these entreaties, the borderman remained silent. He stood leaning on his rifle, a tall, dark, strangely sad and stern man. Helen beg him to stay, implored Betty. Colonel Zane took Helen's hand and stroked it. Yes, he said. You ask him, lass.

I'm sure you can persuade him to stay. Ellen raised her head. Is a Brent dead? She whispered faintly. Still, the borderman failed to speak, but his silence was not an affirmative. You said you love me, she cried wildly. You said you love me yet you didn't kill that monster?

The borderman moving quickly like a startled Indian, went out of the door. Once more Jonathan Zane entered the gloomy, quiet aisles of the forest with his soft, tireless tread, hardly stirring the leaves. It was late in the afternoon, when he had long left two islands behind and arrived at the scene of Mordaunt's death. Satisfied with the distance he had traversed, he crawled into a thicket to rest.

Daybreak found him again on the trail. He made a shortcut over the ridges, and by the time the mist had lifted from the valley, he was within stalking distance of the glade. He approached this in the familiar, slow, cautious manner, and halted behind the big rock from which he and Wensel had leapt. The wood was solemnly quiet. No twittering of birds could be heard. The only sign of life was a gaunt timber wolf, slinking away amid the foliage.

Under the big tree, the savage who had been killed, as he would have murdered Helen, lay a crumpled mass where he had fallen. Two dead Indians were in the center of the glade, and on the other side were three more bloody, lifeless forms. Wetzel was not there, nor Leggett, nor Brant. I reckon so, muttered Jonathan as he studied the scene. The grass had been trampled, the trees barked,

the boches crushed aside. Jonathan went out of the glade a short distance, and circling it began to look for Wetzel's trail, He found it, and near the light footprints of his comrade were the great broad moccasin tracks of the outlaw. Further searching disclosed the fact that Brant must have traveled in line with the others. With the certainty that Wetzel had killed three of the Indians and in some wonderful manner characteristic of him, routed the outlaws of whom he was now in pursuit.

Jonathan's smoldering emotion berths forth into full flame, love for his old comrade, deadly hate of the outlaws and passionate thirst for their blood, rioted in his heart. Like a lynx scenting its quarry, the borderman started on their trail, tireless and unswervable. The traces left by the fleeting outlaws and their pursuer were plain to Jonathan. It was not necessary for him to stop, Leggett and Brant, seeking to escape the implacable. Nemesis were traveling with all possible speed. regardless of the broad trail. Such hurried movements left behind.

They knew full well it would be difficult to throw this wolf off the scent. Understood that if any attempt was made to ambush the trail, they must cope with woodcraft keener than an Indian's. Flying in desperation, they hoped to reach the rocky retreat where, like foxes in their boroughs, they believed themselves safe, when the sun sloped low toward the western horizon. Lengthening Jonathan's shadow, he slackened pace. He was entering the rocky rugged country,

which marked the approach to the distant Alleghenies. From the top of a ridge he took his bearings, deciding that he was within a few miles of Leggett's hiding place. At the foot of this ridge where a murmuring brook sped swiftly over its bed, he halted. Here a number of horses had forded the brook. They were iron-shod, which indicated almost to a certainty. that they were stolen horses and in the hands of Indians. Jonathan saw where the trail of the steeds was merged into that of the outlaws.

He suspected that the Indians and Legget had held a short counsel. As he advanced, the bordermen found only the faintest impression of Wetzel's trail. Legget and Brant no longer left any token of their course. They were riding the horses. All the bordermen cared to know was if Wetzel still pursued, He passed on swiftly up a hill through a wood of birches, where the trail showed on a line of broken ferns. Then out upon a low ridge where patches of grass grew sparsely. Here he saw in this last ground no indication of his comrade's trail.

Nothing was to be seen save the imprints of the horses' hoofs. Jonathan halted behind the nearest underbrush. This sudden move on the part of Wetzel was token that suspecting an ambush, He had made a detour somewhere, probably in the grove of birches. All the while his eyes searched the long barren reach ahead. No thicket, fallen tree, or splintered rocks, such as Indians utilized for an ambush, could be seen. Indians always sought the densely matted underbrush, a windfall, or rocky retreat, and there awaited a pursuer.

It was one of the borderman's tricks of woodcraft that he could recognize such places. Far beyond the sandy ridge Jonathan came to a sloping wooded hillside upon which were scattered big rocks some mossy and lichen covered and one a giant boulder with a crown of ferns and laurel gracing its flat surface.

It was such a place as the savages would select for ambush. He knew, however, that if an Indian had hidden himself there Wetzel would have discovered him when opposite the rock Jonathan saw a broken fern hanging over the edge.

the heavy trail of the horses ran close beside it. Then, with that thoroughness of search which made the border man what he was, Jonathan leapt upon the rock. There lying in the midst of fern lay an Indian with sullen, somber face, set in repose of death. In his side was a small bullet hole. Jonathan examined the savage's rifle.

It had been discharged. The rock, the broken fern, the dead Indian, the discharged rifle, told the story of that woodland tragedy. Wetzel had discovered the ambush. Leaving the trail, he had tricked the redskin into firing, then getting a glimpse of the Indian's red body

through the sights of his fatal weapon. The deed was done. With greater caution, Jonathan advanced once more. Not far beyond the rock he found Wetzel's trail. The afternoon was drawing to a close. He could not travel much further. Yet he kept on,

hoping to overtake his comrade before darkness set in. From time to time he whistled, but got no answering signal. When the tracks of the horses were nearly hidden by the gathering dusk, Jonathan decided to halt for the night. He whistled one more note,

louder and clearer, and awaited the result with strained ears. The deep silence of the wilderness prevailed, suddenly to be broken by a faint, far-away, melancholy call of the hermit thrush. It was the answering signal the borderman had hoped to hear. Not many moments elapsed before he heard another call, low and near at hand, to which he replied.

The bushes parted noiselessly on his left, and the tall form of Wetzel appeared silently out of the gloom. The two gripped hands in silence. Have you any meat? Wetzel asked, and as Jonathan handed him his knapsack, he continued, I was kind of looking for you. Did you get out all right with the lass? near a scratch. The giant Borderman grunted his satisfaction.

How'd Leggett and Brent get away? asked, Jonathan. Cut and run like scared bucks. Never got a hand on either of them. How many Redskins did they meet back here a spell? They were seven, but now they're only six and all snug in Leggett's place by this time. I reckon we're near his den, or not far off. Night soon closing down upon the bordermen found them wrapped in slumber,

as if no deadly foes were near at hand. The soft night wind sighed dismally along the bare trees. A few bright stars twinkled overhead. In the darkness of the forest, the bordermen were at home. End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of the last trail. This is a Leiprovox recording. All LeBerbox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, Please visit Libravox.org. The Last Trail by Zane Gray. Chapter 22 In Leggett's rude log cabin of fireburned lobe,

lighting the forms of the two border outlaws, showing in the background the dark forms of Indians sitting motionless on the floor. Their dusky eyes admitted a baleful glint, seemingly a reflection of their savage souls caught by the firelight. Legget wore a look of ferocity and saw, and fear, strangely blended.

Brant's face was hard and haggard, his lips set, his gray eyes smoldering. Safe, he hissed. Safe, you say. You'll see that it's the same now as on the other night. When those border tigers jumped us and we ran like cowards, I'd have fought it out here, but for you. That man Winsel is raven mad, I tell you, growled-legged.

I reckon I've stood. my ground enough to know I ain't no coward. But this fellow is crazy. He had the engine slashing each other like a pack of wolves around a buck. He's no more mad than you or I, declared Brandt. I know all about him. His moaning in the woods and wild yells are only tricks. He knows the Indian nature and he makes their very superstition and religion aid him in his fighting. I told you what he'd do. Didn't I beg you? to kill Zane when we had the chance. Wetzel would never have taken our trail alone.

Now, they've beat me out of the girl, and as sure as death will round us up here. You don't believe they'll rush us here, ask Leggett. They're too keen to take foolish chances, but something will be done we don't expect. Zane was a prisoner here. He had a good look at this place, and you can gamble.

He'll remember. Zane must have gone back to Fort Henry with the girl. mark what i say he'll come back well we can hold this place is against all the men eb zane may put out he didn't send a man snapped brant passionately remember this legged were not to fight against soldiers settlers or hunters but bordermen understand bordermen such as have been developed right here on this bloody frontier and nowhere else on earth they haven't fear in them both their fleet as deer in the the woods. They can't be seen or trailed. They can snuff a candle with a rifle ball in the dark. I've seen Zane do it, three times at a hundred yards. And Wetzel, he wouldn't waste powder on practicing. They can't be ambushed or shaken off a track. They take the scent like buzzards and have eyes like eagles. We can slip out of here under cover of night, suggested Leggett.

Well, what then? That's all they want. They'd be on us again by sunset. No. We've got to stand our ground and fight. We'll stay as long as we can. But they'll rut us out somehow, be sure of that. And if one of us pokes his nose out to the daylight, it'll be shot off. You're sore. You've lost your nerve, said Leggett harshly. Soar it me, because I got sweet on a girl. Brant shot a glance at Legget, which boated no good. His strong hands clenched in an accident. betraying the reckless rage in his heart. Then he carefully removed his hunting coat and examined his wound.

He retied the bandage, muttering gloomily. So weak as to be light-headed. If this cut opens again, it's all day for me. After that the inmates of the hut were quiet. A huge outlaw bowed his shaggy head for a while and then threw himself on a pile of hemlock boughs. Brant was not long in seeking rest. Soon both were fast asleep.

Two of the savages passed out with cat-like step, leaving the door open. The fire had burned low, leaving a bed of dead coals. Outside in the dark a waterfall splashed softly. The darkest hour came and passed, impaled slowly to gray. Birds began to twitter. Through the door of the cabin, the light of day streamed in.

The two Indian sentinels were building a fire on the stone hearth, One by one, the other savages got up, stretched and yawned and began the business of the day by cooking their breakfast. It was apparently everyone for himself. Leggator rose shook himself like a shaggy dog, was starting for the door when one of the sentinels stopped him. Brandt, who was now awake, saw the action and smiled. In a few moments, Indians and outlaws were eating breakfast, roasted strips of venison, with cornmeal baked brown. which served as bread. It was a somber, silent group.

Presently the shrill neigh of a horse startled them. Following with, the whip-like crack of a rifle stung and split the morning air. Hard on this came an Indians long wailing death cry. Ah! exclaimed Brandt. Legget remained immovable. One of the savages peered out through a little porthole at the rear of the hut. The others continued their meal. Was Lurl come in presently to tell us who's

was doing that shooting, said Leggett. He's a keen engine. He's not very keen now, replied Brent with bitter certainty. He's what the settlers call? A good Indian, which is to say, dead. Liggett scowled at his lieutenant. I'll go and see, he replied and seized his rifle. He opened the door when another rifle shot rang out.

A bullet whistled in the air, grazing the outlaw's shoulder and embedded itself in the heavy door frame. Liggett leapt back with a curse. Close shave, said Brent Cooley. That bullet came close, probably straight down from the top of the cliff. Jack Zane's there. Whetzel is lower down, watching the outlet. We're trapped.

Trapped, shot a legget with an angry leer. We can live here longer in the borderman can. We've meat on hand and a good spring in the back of the hut. How are we trapped? We won't live twenty-four. hours, declared Brandt. Why? Because we'll be rotted out. They'll find some way to do it, and we'll never have another chance to fight in the open,

as we had the other night when they came after the girl. From now on there'll be no sleep, no time to eat, the nameless fear of an unseen foe who can't be shaken off, marching by night, hiding and starving by day, until... I'd rather be back at Fort Henry, Colonel Zane's mercy. Leggett turned a ghastly face towards Brand. Looka here. You're taking a lot of glee in saying these things.

I believe you've lost your nerve, or the letting out of a little blood has made you wobbly. We've engines here, and ought to be a match for two men. Brent gazed at him with a derisive smile. We can go out and fight these fellas, continued, Leggett. We might try their own game. hiding and crawling through the woods. We, too, would have to go it alone.

If you still had your trusty, trained band of experienced Indians, I'd say that would be just the thing. But Ashbow and the Chippewar are dead. So are the others. This bunch of redskins here may do to steal a few horses. They don't amount to much against Zane and Wetzel. Besides, they'll cut and run presently, for they're scared and suspicious.

Look at the chief ask him. The savage Brent indicated was a big, Indian, just coming into manhood, his swarthy face still retained some of the frankness and simplicity of youth. "'Chief,' said Leggett in the Indian tongue, "'The great pale-faced hunter, Deathwind, lies hid in the woods. Last night the Shawnee heard the wind of death mourn through the trees,' replied the chief, gloomily.

"'Say, what did I say?' cried Brent. "'The superstitious fool!' He would begin his death chant almost without a fight. We can't count on the Redskins. Must be done." The outlaw threw himself upon the bed of boughs and Leggett sat down with his rifle across his knees. The Indians maintained the same stoical composure.

The moments dragged by into hours. "'Hugh'," suddenly exclaimed the Indian at the end of the hut. Liggit ran to him, and acting upon a motion of the Indian's hand looked out through the little a porthole. The sun was high. He saw four of the horses grazing by the brook, then gazed scrutinously from the steep waterfall along the green-stained cliff to the dark narrow cleft of the rocks. Here was the only outlet from the enclosure. He failed to discover anything unusual. The Indian grunted again and pointed upward. Smoke! There's smoke rising above the trees, Clyde Lregget. Brant, come here. What's that mean?

Brand hurried, looked out, his face paled, his lower jaw for tutored, quivered, and then was shut hard. He walked away, put his foot on a bench and began to lace his leggings. Well, demanded Leggett. Games up. Get ready to run and be shot at, cried Brandt with a hiss of passion. Almost as he spoke, the roof of the hut shook under a heavy blow. What's that? No one replied.

Legget glanced from Brant's cold, determined face to the uneasy sense. savages. They were restless in handling their weapons. The chief strode across the floor with stealthy steps. Thud! A repetition of the first blow caused the Indians to jump and drew a fierce imprecation from the outlaw leader. Rand-eyed him narrowly. It's coming to you, Leggett. They are shooting arrows of fire into the roof from the cliff. Zane is doing that. He can make a bow and draw one too. We're to be burned out. Now, damn you, take your medicine. I wanted you to kill him when you had the chance. If you had done so, we'd never have come to this.

Burned out. Do you get that? Burned out. Fire! exclaimed Leggett. He sat down as if the strength had left his legs. The Indians circled around the room like caged tigers. Ugh! The chief suddenly reached up and touched the birch-bark roof of the hut. His action brought the attention of all to a faint crackling of burning wood. It's caught all right, cried Brad. in a voice which cut the air like a blow from a knife.

I'll not be smoked like a ham. For all these tricky bordermen roared leggett. Drawing his knife, he hacked at the heavy buckskin hinges of the rude door. When it dropped free, he measured against the open space. Sheathing the blade, he grasped his rifle in his right hand and swung the door on his left arm. Heavy though it was, he carried it easily. The roughly hewn planks afforded a capital shield for all except to love. lower portion of his legs and feet. He went out of the hut with the screen of wood between himself

and the cliff, calling for the Indians to follow. They gathered behind him, breathing hard, clutching their weapons and seemingly almost crazed by excitement. Brandt, with no thought of joining this foolhardy attempt to escape from the enclosure, ran to the little porthole that he might see the outcome. Leggett and his five redskins were running toward the narrow outlet in the gorge. The awkward and futile efforts of the Indian Indians to remain behind the shield were almost pitiful. They crowded each other for favorable positions, but struggle as they might. One or two were always exposed to the cliff.

Suddenly one, pushed to the rear, stopped simultaneously with the crack of a rifle, threw up his arms, and fell. Another report, differing from the first rang out, a savage staggered from behind the speeding group with his hand at his side, then he dropped into the brook. Evidently, legged grasp at his golden opportunity. for he threw aside the heavy shield sprang forward closely followed by his red-skinned allies immediately they came near the cliff where the trail ran into the gorge a violent shaking of the dry ferns overhead made manifest the activity of some heavy body next instant a huge yellow figure not unlike a leaping catamont plunged down with a roar so terrible as to sound inhuman legate indian and newcomer rolled along the declivity towards the brook in an indistinguishable mass.

Two of the savages shook themselves free and bounded to their feet, nimbly as cats, but Leggett and the other redskin became entangled in a terrific combat. It was a wrestling whirl so fierce and rapid as to render blows ineffectual. The leaves scattered as in a whirlwind. Legget's fury must have been awful to judge from his hoarse screams. The Indians fear, maddening, as could be told by their shrieks, the two savages ran wildly about the combatants, one trying to level a rifle, the other to get in a blow with the tomahawk,

but the movements of the trio, locked in deadly embrace, were too swift. Above all the noise of the contest rose that strange, thrilling roar. What's all? muttered Brandt with a chill, creeping shudder as he gazed upon the strife with fascinated eyes. Bang! Again from the cliff came that heavy bellow. The savage with the rifle shrunk back as if stung,

and without a cry, fell limply in a heap. His companion, uttering a frightened cry, fled from the glen. The struggles seemed too deadly, too terrible, to last long. The Indian and the outlaw were at a disadvantage. They could not strike freely. The whirling conflict grew more fearful. During one second, the huge, brown, bearish figure of Leggett appeared on top,

then the dark-bodied half-naked savage spotted like a hyena, and finally the lithe powerful tiger shape of the borderman. Finally, Leggett wretched himself free at the same instant that the bloody-stained Indian rolled, writhing in convulsions away from Wetzel. The outlaw dashed with desperate speed up the trail, and disappeared in the gorge. The borderman sped toward the cliff, left on. onto a projecting ledge, grasped an overhanging branch, and pulled himself up. He was out of sight

almost as quickly as Leggett. After his rifle, Brad muttered, then realized that he had watched the encounter without any idea of aiding his comrade. He consoled himself with the knowledge that such an attempt would have been useless. From the moment the borderman sprang upon Leggett, until he scaled the cliff, his movements had been incredibly swift. It would have been hardly possible to cover him with a rifle, and the outlaw grimly understood that he needed to be careful of that charge in his weapon. By heaven, Wetzel's a wonder, cried Brandt in unwilling admiration. Now he'll go after Leggett and the Redskin, while Zane stays here to get me.

Well, he'll succeed, most likely, but I'll never quit. What's this? He felt something slippery and warm in his hand. It was blood running from the inside of his sleeve, a slight pain. made itself felt in his side. Upon examination he found to his dismay that his wound had reopened. With a desperate curse, he pulled a lindsay jacket off a peg, tore it into strips and bound up the injury as tightly as possible.

Then he grasped his rifle and watched the cliff and the gorge with flaring eyes. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe, his throat was parched, his eyes smarted. Then the order of wood smoke brought him to a realization that the cabin was burning. It was only now he understood that the room was full of blue clouds. He sank into the corner of Wulford Bay. Not many moments passed

before the outlaw understood that he could not withstand the increasing heat and stifling vapor of the room. Pieces of burning birch dropped from the roof. The crankling above grew into a steady roar. I've got to run for it, he gasped. Death awaited him outside the door.

But that was more acceptable. after well than death by fire. Yet to face the final moment, when he desired with all his soul to live, required almost superhuman courage. Sweating, panting, he glared around. God, is there no other way, he cried in agony. At this moment he saw an axe on the floor.

Seizing it, he attacked the wall of the cabin. Beyond this partition was a hut, which had been used for a stable. Half a dozen strokes of the axe opened a hole large enough for him to pass through. With his rifle and a piece of venison which hung near, he literally fell through the hole,

where he lay choking, almost fainting. After a time he crawled across the floor to a door. Outside was a dense laurel thicket into which he crawled. The crackling and roaring of the fire grew louder. He could see the column of yellow and black smoke. Once fairly underway, the flames rapidly consumed the pitch pine logs.

In an hour, legate's cabins were a heap of ashes. The afternoon wane. Brandt lay watchful, slowly recovering his strength. He felt secure under this cover and only prayed for night to come. As the shadows began to creep down the sides of the cliff,

he indulged in hope. If he could slip out in the dark, he had a good chance to elude the borderman. In the passionate desire to escape, he had forgotten his fatalistic words to leg it. He reasoned that he could not be trailed until daylight. that a long night's march would put him far in the lead, and there was just the possibility of Zane's having gone away with Wetzel.

When darkness had set in, he slipped out of the cupboard and began his journey for life. Within a few yards he reached to Brook. He had only to follow its course in order to find the outlet to the glen. Moreover, its rush and gurgle over the stones would drown any slight noise he might make. Slowly, patiently, he crawled. stopping every moment to listen. What a long time he was incoming to the mossy stones over which the brook dashed through the gorge, but he reached them at last, here, if anywhere, Zane would

wait for him, with teeth clenched desperately and an inward tightening of his chest, for at any moment he expected to see the red flame of a rifle. He slipped cautiously over the mossy stones. Finally, his hands touched the dewy grass and a breath of cool wind fanned his hot cheek. He had succeeded in reaching the open. Crawling some rods further on, he lay still a while and listened. The solemn wilderness calm was unbroken. Rising, he peered about. Behind loomed the black hill with its narrow cleft, just discernible.

Facing the North Star, he went silently out into the darkness. End of Chapter 22. Chapter 23 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 23.

At daylight, Jonathan Zane rolled from his snug bed of leaves under the side of a log, and with the flint, steel, and punk he always carried, began building a fire. His actions were far from being hurried. They were deliberate and seemed strange on the part of a man whose stern face suggested some dark business to be done.

When his little fire had been made, he warmed some slices of venison which had already been cooked and thus satisfied his hunger. Carefully extinguishing the fire and looking to the priming of his rifle, he was ready for the trail. He stood near the edge of the cliff

from which he could command a view of the glen, the black smouldering ruins of the burned cabins defaced a picturesque scene. Brant must have lit out last night, for I could have seen even a rabbit hiding in that laurel patch. He's gone, and it's what I wanted, thought the borderman. He made his way slowly around the edge of the enclosure and clambered down on the splintered cliff at the end of the gorge,

a wide, well-trodden trail extended into the forest below, Jonathan gave scarcely a glance to the beaten path before him, but bent keen eyes to the north and carefully scrutinized the mossy stones along the brook. Upon a little sandbar running out for the bank, he found the light imprint of a hand. It was a black night. He'd have to travel by the stars,

and north the only safe direction for him, muttered the borderman. On the bank above, he found oblong indentations in the grass, barely perceptible, but owing to the particular position of the blades of grass, easy for him to follow. He'd better have learned to walk light as an engine, before he took to outlaw, said the borderman, indestain. Then he returned to the gorge and entered the enclosure. At the foot of the low rise of ground where Wetzel had leaped upon his quarry was one of the dead Indians, another lay partly submerged in the brown water. Jonathan carried the weapons of the savages to a drive place under a projecting ledge in the cliff.

Passing on down the glen, he stopped a moment where the cabins had stood. Not a log remained. The horses, with the exception of two, were tethered in the copes of laurel. He recognized Colonel Zane's thoroughbred and Betty's pony. He cut them loose. Positive they would not stray from the glen and might easily be secured at another time. He set out upon the trail of Brandt with a long swinging stride. To him, the out of the out of the island.

outcome of the pursuit was but a question of time. The consciousness of superior year endurance, speed, and craft, spoke in his every movement. The consciousness of being in right, a factor so powerfully potent for victory, spoke in the intrepid front with which he faced the north. It was a gloomy November day. Grey steely clouds drifted overhead. The wind wailed through the bare trees, sending dead leaves scurrying and rustling over the brown earth. The bordermen at advanced with a step that covered glade and glen, forest and field, with astonishing swiftness. Long since he had seen that Brant was holding to the lowland. This did not strike him as singular until, for the third time he found a trail led a short distance up the side of a ridge, then descended,

seeking a level. With this discovery came the certainty that Brant's pace was lessening. He had set out with a hunter-strike, but it had begun to shorten. The outlaw had shook the hills and shifted from his northern course. Why? The man was weakening. He could not climb. He was favoring a wound. What seemed more serious for the outlaw was the fact that he had left a good trail and entered the low, wild land north of the Ohio. Even the Indians seldom penetrated this tangled belt of Laurel and Thorn. Owing to the dry season, the swamps were shallow, which was another factor against Brandt. No doubt he had hoped to hide his trail by waiting, and here it showed up like the track of a bison. Jonathan kept steadily on, knowing that further Brandt penetrated

into this wilderness, the worse off he would be. The outlaw dared not take to the river until below Fort Henry, which was distant, many a weary mile. The trail grew more ragged as the afternoon wore away. When Twilight rendered further tracking impossible, the bordermen's built a fire in a sheltered place, ate his supper, and went to sleep. In the dim, gray morning light he awoke, fancying he had been startled by a distant rifle shot. He roasted his strips of venison carefully and ate with a hungry hunter's appreciation, yet sparingly as benefited a borderman, who knew how to keep up his strength upon a long trail. Hardly had he tramed. traveled a mile, when Brant's footprints covered in others.

Nothing surprised the borderman, but he had expected this least of all. A hasty examination convinced him that Leggett and his Indian ally had fled this way with Wetzel in pursuit. The morning passed slowly. The borderman kept their trail like a hound. The afternoon wore on. Over sandy reaches thick with willows and through long matted dried-out cranberry marshes and copse of brickly thorn, the borderman hung to his purpose. His legs seemed never to lose their spring, but his chest began to heave, his head bent, and his face shone with sweat. At dusk, he tired.

Crawling into a dry thicket, he ate his scanty meal and fell asleep. When he awoke it was gray daylight. He was wet and chilled. Again he kindled the fire and sat over it while cooking breakfast. Suddenly he was brought to his feet by the sound of a rifle shot, then to others followed in rapid succession. Though they were faint and far away to the west, Jonathan recognized the first, which could have come only from Wetzel's weapon, and he felt reasonably certain of the third, which was Brantz.

There might have been, he reflected grimly, a good reason for Leggates not shooting. However, he knew that Wetzel had rounded up the fugitives, and again he set out. It was another dismal day, such as one would be fitting for a dark deed of border justice. A cold, drizzly rain blew from the northwest. Jonathan wrapped a piece of oil skin around his rifle breach and faced the downfall. Soon he was wet to the skin, he kept on, but his free stride had shortened.

Even upon his iron muscles, this soggy, sticky ground had begun to tell. The morning passed, but the storm did not. The air grew colder and darker. The short afternoon would afford him little time, especially as the rain and running rills of water were obliterating the trail. In the midst of a dense forest of great cottonwoods and sycamores, he came upon a little pond, hidden among the bushes, and shrouded in a windy, wet gloom.

Jonathan recognized the place. He'd been there in winter hunting bears when all the swamp land was locked by ice. The borderman searched along the banks for a time, then went back to the trail, patiently following it. Around the pond it led to the side of a great shelving rock. He saw an Indian leaning against this and was about to throw forward his rifle

when the strange fixed position of the savage told of the tragedy, a wound extended from his shoulder to his waist. Nearby on the ground lay ligate. He too was dead. His gigantic frame weltered in blood. His big feet were wide apart, his arm spread, and from the middle of his chest protruded the heft of a knife. The level space surrounding the body showed evidence of a desperate struggle.

A boy should have been rolled upon and crushed by heavy bodies, on the ground with blood as on the stones and leaves. The blade-legged still clutched was red, and the rest of the hand which held it showed a dark, discolored band, where it had fought the relentless grasp of Wetzel's steel grip. The dead man's buck-skin coat was cut into ribbons, on his broad face. A demonical expression had set in eternal rigidity. The animal terror of death was frozen in his wide, staring eyes.

The outlaw chief had died as he lived. desperately. Jonathan found Wetzel's trail leading directly toward the river, and soon understood that the borderman was on the track of Brandt. The borderman had surprised the worn, starved, sleepy fugitives in the gray misty dawn. The Indian, doubtless, was the sentinel, and had fallen asleep at his post, never to awaken. Leggett and Brandt must have discharged their weapons ineffectively. Zane could not understand why his comrade had misper, but he had misper, and he had been

Brant at a few rods distance, perhaps he had wounded the younger outlaw, but certainly he had escaped while Wetzel had closed in on-legged to meet the hardest battle of his career. While going over his version of the attack, Jonathan followed Brant's trail, as had Wetzel, to where it ended in the river. The old borderman had continued on downstream along the sandy shore. The outlaw remained in the water to Heidi's Trail. one point, Wetzel turned north. This move puzzled Jonathan, as did also the peculiar tracks. It was more perplexing because not far below, Zane discovered where the fugitive had left the water to go around a ledge of rock. The trail was approaching Fort Henry.

Jonathan kept on down the river until arriving at the head of the island which lay opposite the settlement. Still, no traces of Wetzel. Here Zane lost Brant's trail completely. He waited the first channel which was shallow and narrow and hurried across the island. Walking out upon a sandbar, he signaled with his well-known Indian cry. Almost immediately came an answering shout. While waiting, he glanced at the sand, and there, pointing straight toward the fort. He found Brant's straggling trail. End of Chapter 23

Chapter 24 of the last trail. This is A. Lieber Vox recording. are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The last trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 24. Colonel Zane paced to and fro on the porch. His genial smile had not returned. He was grave and somber. Information had just reached him that Jonathan had hailed from the island,

and that one of the settlers had started across the river in a boat. Betty came out accompanied by Mrs. Zane. "'What says I hear?' asked Betty, flashing an anxious glance toward the river. "'Has Jack really come in?' "'Yes,' replied the Colonel, pointing to a throng of men on the river bank. "'Now there'll be trouble,' said Mrs. Zane nervously. "'I wish with all my heart Brant had not thrown himself, as he called it, on your mercy.' "'So do I,' declared Colonel Zane.

What will be done, she asked. There, that's Jack. Silas has hold of his arm. He's lame, he's been hurt, replied her husband. A little procession of men and boys followed the bordermen from the river, and from the cabins appeared the settlers and their wives. But there was no excitement except among the children. The crowd filed into the colonel's yard behind Jonathan and Silas. Colonel Zane silently greeted his brother with an iron grip of the hand.

which was more expressive than words. 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. The colonel raised both hands, palms open,

and returned to his brother's king glance. Then he spoke. Lou hasn't come in. He chased Brat across the river. That's all I know. Brant's here, then? Hissed the borderman. The Colonel nodded gloomily.

Where? In the long room over the fort, I locked him in there. Why did he come here? Colonel Zane shrugged his shoulders. It's beyond me. He said he'd rather place himself in my hands than be run down by Wetzel or you.

He didn't crawl. I'll say that for him. He just said, I'm your prisoner. He's in pretty bad shape, barked over the temple, lame in one foot, condoct her in the arm, starved and worn out. Take me to him, said the Boardman, and he threw his rifle on a bench.

Very well, come along, replied the Colonel. He frowned at those following them. Here, you women clear out, but they did not obey him. It was a sober-faced group that marched in through the big style, gate, under the huge bulging front of the fort and up the rough stairway. Colonel Zane removed a heavy bar from before a door and thrust it open with his foot. The long guardroom brilliantly lighted by sunshine coming through the portals was empty,

saved for a ragged man lying on a bench. The noise aroused him, he sat up, and then slowly labored to his feet. It was the same flaring wild-eyed rant, only fiercer and more hands. He wore a bloody bandage round his head. When he saw the borderman, he backed with involuntary instinctive action against the wall, yet showed no fear. In the dark glance Jonathan shot at Brandt, shown a pitiless implacability. No scorn, nor hate, nor passion, but something which, had it not been so terrible, might have been justice. I think Wetzel was hurt in the fight with Leggett, said Jonathan deliberately, and asked if you,

you know. I believe he was, replied Brandt readily. I was asleep when he jumped us, and was awakened by the Indian gel. Wetzel must have taken a snapshot at me as I was getting up, which accounts probably for my being a lie. I fell, but did not lose consciousness. I heard Wetzel and legged fighting,

and at last struggled to my feet. Although dizzy and bewildered, I could see to shoot but missed. For a long time it seemed to me. I watched that terrible fight, and then ran finally reaching the river, where I recovered somewhat. Did you see Wetzel again? Once about a quarter of a mile behind me.

He was staggering along on my trail. At this juncture there was a commotion among the settlers crowding behind Colonel Zane and Jonathan, and Helen Shepard appeared, White with her big eyes strangely dilated. Oh, she cried breathlessly, clasping both hands around Jonathan's, arm. I'm not too late. You're not going to...

Alan, this is no place for you, said Colonel Zane sternling. This is business for men. You must not interfere. Ellen gazed at him at Brandt and then up at the borderman. She did not lose his arm. Outside, someone told me you intended to shoot him. Is it true? Colonel Zane evaded the searching gaze of those strained, brilliant eyes. Nor did he answer. As Helen stepped slowly back, a hush fell upon the crowd. The whispering, the nervous coughing and shuffling of feet ceased. In those around her, Helen saw the spirit of the border.

Colonel Zane and Silas wore the same look, cold, hard, almost brutal. The women were strangely grave. Nelly Down's sweet face seemed changed. There was pity, even suffering on it, but no relenting. Even Betty's face always so warm, pickuant, and wholesome, had taken on a shade of doubt, of gloom, of something almost sullen, which blighted its dark beauty. What hurt Helen most cruelly was the borderman's glittering eyes. She fought against a shuddering weakness which threatened to overcome her.

Whose prisoner is, Brandt? she asked Colonel Zane. He gave himself up to me, naturally, as I am in authority, here replied the colonel. But that signifies little. I can do no less than abide by Jonathan's decree, which, after all, is the decree of the border. And that is. Death to outlaws and renegades. But cannot you spare him, implored Helen? I know he is a bad man, but he might become a better one. It seems like murder to me to kill him in cold blood, wounded, suffering as he is,

when he claimed your mercy. Oh, it is dreadful. The usually kind-hearted colonel, soft as wax in the hands of a girl, was now colder and harder than Flint. It is useless, he replied curtly. I am sorry for you. We all understand your feelings that yours are not the principles of the border. If you had lived long here, you could appreciate what these outlaws and renegades have done to us. This man is a hardened criminal.

He's a thief, a murderer. "'He did not kill Mordaunt,' replied Helen quickly. "'I saw him draw first and attack Brandt.' "'No matter. Come, Helen ceased. No more of this. Colonel Zane cried with impatience. "'But I will not,' exclaimed Helen. With ringing voice and flashing eye, she turned to her girlfriends and besought them to intercede for the outlaw. But Nell only looked sorrowfully on while Betty met her appealing glance with a fire in her eyes that was no dim reflection of her brothers.

Then I must make my appeal to you, said Helen, facing the borderman. There could be no mistaking how she regarded him, respect, honor, and love, breathed from every line of her beautiful face. Why do you want him to go free? demanded Jonathan. You told me to kill him. Oh, I know, but I was not in my right mind. Listen to me, please. He must have been very different once, perhaps,

said sisters, for their sake give him another chance. I know he has a better nature. I feared him, hated him, scorned him, as if he were a snake, yet he saved me from the monster legate. For himself. Well, yes, I can't deny that, but he could have ruined me, wrecked me, yet he did not. At least he meant marriage by me.

He said if I would marry him, he would flee over the border and be in the same. honest man. Have you no other reason? Yes, Ellen's bosom swelled and a glory shone in her splendid eyes. The other reason is, my own happiness.

Blaine to all, if not through her words from the light and her eyes, that she could not love a man who was a party to what she considered injustice. The Borderman's wife face became flaming red. It was difficult to refuse this

glorious girl. Any sacrifice she demanded for the sake of the love so openly abowed. Sweetly and pittingly, she turned to Brandt. Well, not you help me. Last, if it were for me, you were asking my life, I'd swear it yours, for always. And I'd be a man, he replied with bitterness, but not to save my soul when I ask anything of him. The giant passions hate and jealousy flamed in his gray eyes. If I persuade them to release you, will you go away, leave this country and never come back? I'll promise that, lass, and honestly, he replied. She wheeled toward Jonathan, and now the rosy color chased the pallor from her cheeks.

Jack, do you remember when we parted at my home, when you left on this terrible trail, now ended, thank God? Do you remember what an ordeal that was for me? Must I go through it again? bewitchingly sweet she was then, with the girlish charm of coquetry, almost lost in a deeper, stranger power of the woman. The borderman drew his breath sharply,

then he wrapped his long arms closely around her. She, understanding that victory was hers, sank weeping upon his breast. For a moment he bowed his face over her, and, when he lifted it, the dark and terrible gloom had gone. Let him go. And it won.

Once, ordered Jonathan, give him a rifle some meat and a canoe, for he can't travel and turn him loose. Only be quick about it, because if Wetzel comes in, God himself couldn't save the outlaw. It was an indescribable glance that Brant cast upon the tearful face of the girl who had saved his life, but without a word he followed Colonel Zane from the room. The crowd slowly filed down the steps. Betty and Nell lingered behind their eyes beaming through happy tears. Jonathan long so cold, showed evidence of becoming as quick and passionate a lover as he had been an orderman. At least, Helen had to release herself from his embrace, and it was a blushing, tear-stained face she turned to her friends. When they reached the stockade gate, Colonel Zane

was hurrying toward the river with a bag in one hand and a rifle and a paddle in the other. Brant limped along after him, the two disappearing over the riverbank. Betty, Nell, and the lovers went to the edge of the bluff. They saw Colonel Zane choose a canoe from among a number on the beach. He launched it, deposited the bag in the bottom, handed the rifle and a paddle to Brant, and wheeled about. The outlaw stepped aboard and pushing off slowly drifted down and out toward midstream. When about 50 yards from shore, he gave a quick glance around and ceased paddling. His face gleamed white and his eyes glinted like bits of steel in the sun. Suddenly he grasped the rifle in a filling it with the swiftness of thought,

fired at Jonathan. The borderman saw the act, even from the beginning, and must have read the outlaw's motive, for as the weapon flashed, he dropped flat on the bank, the bullet sang harmlessly over him, embedding itself in the stockade fence with a distinct thud. The girls were so numb with horror that they could not even scream. Colonel Zane swore lustily,

Where's my gun? Get me a gun. Oh, what did I tell you? look cried jonathan as he rose to his feet upon the sand-bar opposite stood a tall dark familiar figure by all its holy wetzel exclaimed colonel zane they saw the giant bordermen raise a long black rifle which wavered and fell and rose again a little puff of white smoke leaped out accompanied by a clear stinging report brant dropped the paddle he had hurriedly bun yon plying after his Traders act. His white face was turned towards the shore as it sank forward to rest at last upon the gunw of the canoe. When his body slowly settled as if seeking repose, his hand trailed outside in the water, drooping inert and lifeless. The little craft drifted downstream. You see, Helen, it had to be, said Colonel Zane gently. What a dastard. A long shot, Jack. Faded the

must have glanced down the sights of Wetzel's rifle. End of chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the last trail. This is a Libravox recording. All Levervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by Mike Vendetti, Mike Vendetti.com. The Last Trail by Zane Gray, Chapter 25.

A year-old round. Once again, Indian Summer veiled the gold. fields and forests in a soft, smoky haze. Once more, from the opal blue sky of autumn nights, shone the great white stars, and nature seemed wrapped in a melancholy hush. November the 3rd was the anniversary of a memorable event on the frontier,

the marriage of the younger bordermen. Colonel Zane gave it the name of Independence Day and arranged a holiday of feast and dance where all the settlement might meet in terms. joyful thankfulness for the first year of freedom on the border. With the wiping out of Leggett's fierce band, the yoke of the renegades and outlaws was thrown off forever. Simon Gertie migrated to Canada and lived with a few Indians who remained true to him.

His Confederates slowly sank into oblivion. The Shawnee tribe sullenly retreated westward, far into the interior of Ohio. The Delawares buried the war hatchet and smoked the pipe of peace. they had ever before refused. For them, the dark, mysterious, fatal wind had ceased to moan among the trails or sighed through treetops over lonely Indian campfires.

The beautiful Ohio Valley had been rested from the savages and from those parasites who for years had hung around the necks of the red men. This day was the happiest of Colonel Zane's life, the task he had set himself, in which he had hardly ever hoped to see completed was ended. The West had been won. What Boone achieved in Kentucky, he had accomplished in Ohio and West Virginia.

The feast was spread on the colonel's lawn. Every man, woman, and child in the settlement was there. Isaac Zane, with his Indian wife and child, had come from the far-off Huron town. Pioneers from Yellow Creek and eastward to Fort Pitt attended. The spirit of the occasion manifested itself and such joyousness as had never before been experienced in Fort Henry. The great feast was equal to the event.

Choice cuts of beef and venison, savory vines, wonderful loaves of bread, and great plump pies, sweet cider and old wine, delighted the merry party. Friends, neighbors, dear ones, said Colonel Zane, my heart is almost too full for speech. This occasion, commemorating the day of our freedom on the border, is the beginning of the reward for stern labor, hardship,

silenced hearths of long, relentless years. I did not think I'd live to see it. The seed we have sown has taken root. In years to come, perhaps, the great people will grow up on these farms we call our homes, and as we hope those coming afterward will remember us. We should stop a moment to think of the heroes who have gone before. Many there are whose names will never be written on the role of fame, whose graves will be unmarked in history.

But we who worked, fought, bled beside them, who saw them die for those they left behind, will render them all justice, honor and love. To them we give the victory. They were true. Then let us who begin to enjoy the victory. freedom, happiness, and prosperity they won with their lives. Likewise, be true in memory of them, indeed to ourselves, and in grace to God. By no means the least of the pleasant features of this

pleasant day was the fact that three couples blushingly presented themselves before the colonel, and confided to him their sudden conclusions in regard to the bellicitous of the moment. The happy colonel raced around until he discovered Jim Downs, the minister and there amid the merry throng he gave the brides away being the first to kiss them it was late in the afternoon when the villagers dispersed to their homes and left the colonel to his own circle with his strong dark face beaming he mounted the old porch step "'Where are my Zane babies?' he asked. "'Ah, here you are. "'Did anybody ever see anything to beat that? "'Four wonderful babies?

"'Mother, here's your Daniel. "'If you'd only named him Ebb. "'Sylis? "'Come for Silas Jr. "'Bad boy that he is. "'Isaac, take your Indian princess. "'Ah, little Maria, "'with the dusky face.

"'Wo be it to him who looks into those eyes "'when you come to age. "'Jack?' Here's little Jonathan, the last of the Borderman. He too has beautiful eyes like his mother's. Ah, well, I don't believe I have left the wish. Unless? Unless, suggested Betty with a sweet smile.

It might be, he said and looked at her. Betty's warm cheek was close to his as she whispered. Dear Heb, the rest only the Colonel heard. Well, by all this glorious, he exclaimed, and attempted to seize her. But with burning face, Betty fled. Jack Deere, how the leaves are falling, exclaimed Helen. See them floating and whirling.

Reminds me the day I lay a prisoner in the forest glade praying, waiting for you. The borderman was silent. They passed down the sandy lane under the colored maple trees to a new cottage on the hillside. I am perfectly happy today, continued Helen. Everybody seems to be.

content, except you. For the first time in weeks I see that shade on your face, that look in your eyes. Jack, you do not regret the new life. My love? No, a thousand times no, he answered, smiling down into her eyes. They were changing, shadowing with thought, bright as in other days, and with an added beauty, the willful spirit had been softened by love. Ah, I know you missed the old friend, The yellow thicket on a slope open to let out a tall, dark man who came down with lithe and springy stride. Jack, it's Wetzel, said Helen softly.

No words for spoken as the comrades gripped hands. Let me see the boy, asked Wetzel, turning to Helen. Little Jonathan blinked up at the grave borderman, with great round eyes and pulled with friendly chubby fingers at the fringe to puck-skin coat. "'When you're a man, the forest trails will be cornfields,' muttered Wetzel. The bordermen strolled together up the brown hillside and wandered along the river bluff. The air was cool.

In the west the ruddy light darkened behind bold hills, a blue mist streaming in the valley shaded into gray as twilight fell. End of Chapter 25. End of the last trail by Zane Gray.