The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

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 flaunted my love in my face, scorned 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 Legget.”

      Scarcely had the words dropped from his vile lips when Mordaunt moved with tigerish agility. He seized a knife from the belt of one of the Indians.

      “Die!” he screamed.

      Brandt grasped his tomahawk. At the same instant the man who had acted as Mordaunt’s guide grasped the Englishman from behind.

      Brandt struck ineffectually at the struggling man.

      “Fair play!” roared Case, leaping at Mordaunt’s second assailant. His long knife sheathed its glittering 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 their rifles; but Legget’s 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 in this pale-faced, slender man. His border skill with the hatchet seemed offset by Mordaunt’s terrible rage. Brandt whirled and swung the weapon as he leaped around his antagonist. With his left arm the Englishman sought only to protect his head, while 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 then deep silence.

      CHAPTER XVIII

      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 willow-glade 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 leafy branches above her. Directly opposite, about an 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 near by silent, immovable. No other of Legget’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, interwoven with bits of white bone, and plaited around waving eagle plumes. 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. Brandt’s eyes, and Legget’s, 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 the termination 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 Brandt 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.

      “Ugh!” exclaimed one of the savages, pointing across the open space. A slight swaying of the bushes 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 Case, followed closely. Farther 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 Helen that 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. Legget 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 use for the carrying of valuables. It was evidently heavy, and the musical clink which accompanied his motion proclaimed the contents to be gold.

      Brandt 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 a shirt blotched with red.

      “You ain’t much hurt, I reckon?” inquired Legget solicitously.

      “No; but I’m bleeding bad,” replied Brandt coolly. He then called an Indian and went among the willows skirting the stream.

      “So I’m to be in this border crew?” asked Case, looking up at Legget.

      “Sure,” replied the big outlaw. “You’re a handy fellar, Case, an’ after I break you into border ways you will fit in here tip-top. Now you’d better stick by me. When Eb Zane, his brother Jack, an’ Wetzel find out this here day’s work, hell will be a cool place compared with their whereabouts. You’ll be safe with me, an’ this is the only place on the border, I reckon, where you can say your life is your own.”

      “I’m yer mate, cap’n. I’ve sailed with soldiers, pirates, sailors, an’ I guess I can navigate this borderland. Do we mess here? You didn’t come far.”

      “Wal, I ain’t pertikuler, but I don’t like eatin’ with buzzards,” said Legget, with a grin. “Thet’s why we moved a bit.”

      “What’s buzzards?”

      “Ho! ho! Mebbe you’ll hev ’em closer’n you’d like, some day, if you’d only know it. Buzzards are fine birds, most particular birds, as won’t eat nothin’ but flesh, an’ white man or Injun is pie fer ’em.”

      “Cap’n, I’ve seed birds as wouldn’t wait till a man was dead,” said Case.

      “Haw! haw! you can’t come no sailor yarns on this fellar. Wal, now, we’ve got ther Englishman’s gold. One or t’other of us might jest as well hev it all.”

      “Right yer are, cap’n. Dice, cards, anyways, so long as I knows the game.”

      “Here, Jenks, hand over yer clickers, an’ bring us a flat stone,” said Legget, 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 coat ain’t worth keepin’,” 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 Brandt’s blows had fallen. “Hullo, what’s this?” muttered the sailor, feeling in the pocket of the jacket. “Blast my timbers, hooray!”

      He held up a small, silver-mounted whiskey flask, unscrewed the lid, and lifted the vessel to his mouth.

      “I’m kinder thirsty myself,” suggested Legget.

      “Cap’n, a nip an’ no more,” Case replied, holding the flask to Legget’s lips.

      The outlaw called Jenks now returned with a flat stone which he placed between the two men. The Indians gathered