The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

the melancholy spirit of the day has prevailed upon you,” said Betty, half wistfully. “You did not know I had stopped reading, and I do not believe you heard my favorite poem. I have tried to give you a pleasant afternoon and have failed.”

      “No, no,” said Alfred, looking at her with a blue flame in his eyes. “The afternoon has been perfect. I have forgotten my role, and have allowed you to see my real self, something I have tried to hide from all.”

      “And are you always sad when you are sincere?”

      “Not always. But I am often sad. Is it any wonder? Is not all nature sad? Listen! There is the song of the oriole. Breaking in on the stillness it is mournful. The breeze is sad, the brook is sad, this dying Indian summer day is sad. Life itself is sad.”

      “Oh, no. Life is beautiful.”

      “You are a child,” said he, with a thrill in his deep voice “I hope you may always be as you are today, in heart, at least.”

      “It grows late. See, the shadows are falling. We must go.”

      “You know I am going away tomorrow. I don’t want to go. Perhaps that is why I have been such poor company today. I have a presentiment of evil I am afraid I may never come back.”

      “I am sorry you must go.”

      “Do you really mean that?” asked Alfred, earnestly, bending toward her “You know it is a very dangerous undertaking. Would you care if I never returned?”

      She looked up and their eyes met. She had raised her head haughtily, as if questioning his right to speak to her in that manner, but as she saw the unspoken appeal in his eyes her own wavered and fell while a warm color crept into her cheek.

      “Yes, I would be sorry,” she said, gravely. Then, after a moment: “You must portage the canoe round the falls, and from there we can paddle back to the path.”

      The return trip made, they approached the house. As they turned the corner they saw Colonel Zane standing at the door talking to Wetzel.

      They saw that the Colonel looked pale and distressed, and the face of the hunter was dark and gloomy.

      “Lew, did you get my turkey?” said Betty, after a moment of hesitation. A nameless fear filled her breast.

      For answer Wetzel threw back the flaps of his coat and there at his belt hung a small tuft of black hair. Betty knew at once it was the scalp-lock of an Indian. Her face turned white and she placed a hand on the hunter’s arm.

      “What do you mean? That is an Indian’s scalp. Lew, you look so strange. Tell me, is it because we went off in the canoe and have been in danger?”

      “Betty, Isaac has been captured again,” said the Colonel.

      “Oh, no, no, no,” cried Betty in agonized tones, and wringing her hands. Then, excitedly, “Something can be done; you must pursue them. Oh, Lew, Mr. Clarke, cannot you rescue him? They have not had time to go far.”

      “Isaac went to the chestnut grove this morning. If he had stayed there he would not have been captured. But he went far into the Black Forest. The turkey call we heard across the creek was made by a Wyandot concealed in the cave. Lewis tells me that a number of Indians have camped there for days. He shot the one who was calling and followed the others until he found where they had taken Isaac’s trail.”

      Betty turned to the younger man with tearful eyes, and with beseeching voice implored them to save her brother.

      “I am ready to follow you,” said Clarke to Wetzel.

      The hunter shook his head, but did not answer.

      “It is that hateful White Crane,” passionately burst out Betty, as the Colonel’s wife led her weeping into the house.

      “Did you get more than one shot at them?” asked Clarke.

      The hunter nodded, and the slight, inscrutable smile flitted across his stern features. He never spoke of his deeds. For this reason many of the thrilling adventures which he must have had will forever remain unrevealed. That evening there was sadness at Colonel Zane’s supper table. They felt the absence of the Colonel’s usual spirits, his teasing of Betty, and his cheerful conversation. He had nothing to say. Betty sat at the table a little while, and then got up and left the room saying she could not eat. Jonathan, on hearing of his brother’s recapture, did not speak, but retired in gloomy silence. Silas was the only one of the family who was not utterly depressed. He said it could have been a great deal worse; that they must make the best of it, and that the sooner Isaac married his Indian Princess the better for his scalp and for the happiness of all concerned.

      “I remember Myeerah very well,” he said. “It was eight years ago, and she was only a child. Even then she was very proud and willful, and the loveliest girl I ever laid eyes on.”

      Alfred Clarke staid late at Colonel Zane’s that night. Before going away for so many weeks he wished to have a few more moments alone with Betty. But a favorable opportunity did not present itself during the evening, so when he had bade them all goodbye and goodnight, except Betty, who opened the door for him, he said softly to her:

      “It is bright moonlight outside. Come, please, and walk to the gate with me.”

      A full moon shone serenely down on hill and dale, flooding the valley with its pure white light and bathing the pastures in its glory; at the foot of the bluff the waves of the river gleamed like myriads of stars all twinkling and dancing on a bed of snowy clouds. Thus illumined the river wound down the valley, its brilliance growing fainter and fainter until at last, resembling the shimmering of a silver thread which joined the earth to heaven, it disappeared in the horizon.

      “I must say goodbye,” said Alfred, as they reached the gate.

      “Friends must part. I am sorry you must go, Mr. Clarke, and I trust you may return safe. It seems only yesterday that you saved my brother’s life, and I was so grateful and happy. Now he is gone.”

      “You should not think about it so much nor brood over it,” answered the young man. “Grieving will not bring him back nor do you any good. It is not nearly so bad as if he had been captured by some other tribe. Wetzel assures us that Isaac was taken alive. Please do not grieve.”

      “I have cried until I cannot cry any more. I am so unhappy. We were children together, and I have always loved him better than any one since my mother died. To have him back again and then to lose him! Oh! I cannot bear it.”

      She covered her face with her hands and a low sob escaped her.

      “Don’t, don’t grieve,” he said in an unsteady voice, as he took the little hands in his and pulled them away from her face.

      Betty trembled. Something in his voice, a tone she had never heard before startled her. She looked up at him half unconscious that he still held her hands in his. Never had she appeared so lovely.

      “You cannot understand my feelings.”

      “I loved my mother.”

      “But you have not lost her. That makes all the difference.”

      “I want to comfort you and I am powerless. I am unable to say what—I—”

      He stopped short. As he stood gazing down into her sweet face, burning, passionate words came to his lips; but he was dumb; he could not speak. All day long he had been living in a dream. Now he realized that but a moment remained for him to be near the girl he loved so well. He was leaving her, perhaps never to see her again, or to return to find her another’s. A fierce pain tore his heart.

      “You—you are holding my hands,” faltered Betty, in a doubtful, troubled voice. She looked up into his face and saw that it was pale with suppressed emotion.

      Alfred was mad indeed. He forgot everything. In that moment the world held nothing for him save that fair face. Her eyes, uplifted to his in the moonlight, beamed with a soft radiance. They were honest eyes, just now filled with innocent sadness and regret,