The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

they saw a bright light in the distance which marked their destination. In five minutes the horses dashed into a wide clearing. An immense log fire burned in front of a two-story structure. Streams of light poured from the small windows; the squeaking of fiddles, the shuffling of many feet, and gay laughter came through the open door.

      The steaming horses were unhitched, covered carefully with robes and led into sheltered places, while the merry party disappeared into the house.

      The occasion was the celebration of the birthday of old Dan Watkins’ daughter. Dan was one of the oldest settlers along the river; in fact, he had located his farm several years after Col. Zane had founded the settlement. He was noted for his open-handed dealing and kindness of heart. He had loaned many a head of cattle which had never been returned, and many a sack of flour had left his mill unpaid for in grain. He was a good shot, he would lay a tree on the ground as quickly as any man who ever swung an axe, and he could drink more whiskey than any man in the valley.

      Dan stood at the door with a smile of welcome upon his rugged features and a handshake and a pleasant word for everyone. His daughter Susan greeted the men with a little curtsy and kissed the girls upon the cheek. Susan was not pretty, though she was strong and healthy; her laughing blue eyes assured a sunny disposition, and she numbered her suitors by the score.

      The young people lost no time. Soon the floor was covered with their whirling forms.

      In one corner of the room sat a little dried-up old woman with white hair and bright dark eyes. This was Grandma Watkins. She was very old, so old that no one knew her age, but she was still vigorous enough to do her day’s work with more pleasure than many a younger woman. Just now she was talking to Wetzel, who leaned upon his inseparable rifle and listened to her chatter. The hunter liked the old lady and would often stop at her cabin while on his way to the settlement and leave at her door a fat turkey or a haunch of venison.

      “Lew Wetzel, I am ashamed of you.” Grandmother Watkins was saying. “Put that gun in the corner and get out there and dance. Enjoy yourself. You are only a boy yet.”

      “I’d better look on, mother,” answered the hunter.

      “Pshaw! You can hop and skip around like any of then and laugh too if you want. I hope that pretty sister of Eb Zane has caught your fancy.”

      “She is not for the like of me,” he said gently “I haven’t the gifts.”

      “Don’t talk about gifts. Not to an old woman who has lived three times and more your age,” she said impatiently. “It is not gifts a woman wants out here in the West. If she does ’twill do her no good. She needs a strong arm to build cabins, a quick eye with a rifle, and a fearless heart. What border-women want are houses and children. They must bring up men, men to drive the redskins back, men to till the soil, or else what is the good of our suffering here.”

      “You are right,” said Wetzel thoughtfully. “But I’d hate to see a flower like Betty Zane in a rude hunter’s cabin.”

      “I have known the Zanes for forty year’ and I never saw one yet that was afraid of work. And you might win her if you would give up running mad after Indians. I’ll allow no woman would put up with that. You have killed many Indians. You ought to be satisfied.”

      “Fightin’ redskins is somethin’ I can’t help,” said the hunter, slowly shaking his head. “If I got married the fever would come on and I’d leave home. No, I’m no good for a woman. Fightin’ is all I’m good for.”

      “Why not fight for her, then? Don’t let one of these boys walk off with her. Look at her. She likes fun and admiration. I believe you do care for her. Why not try to win her?”

      “Who is that tall man with her?” continued the old lady as Wetzel did not answer. “There, they have gone into the other room. Who is he?”

      “His name is Miller.”

      “Lewis, I don’t like him. I have been watching him all evening. I’m a contrary old woman, I know, but I have seen a good many men in my time, and his face is not honest. He is in love with her. Does she care for him?”

      “No, Betty doesn’t care for Miller. She’s just full of life and fun.”

      “You may be mistaken. All the Zanes are fire and brimstone and this girl is a Zane clear through. Go and fetch her to me, Lewis. I’ll tell you if there’s a chance for you.”

      “Dear mother, perhaps there’s a wife in Heaven for me. There’s none on earth,” said the hunter, a sad smile flitting over his calm face.

      Ralfe Miller, whose actions had occasioned the remarks of the old lady, would have been conspicuous in any assembly of men. There was something in his dark face that compelled interest and yet left the observer in doubt. His square chin, deep-set eyes and firm mouth denoted a strong and indomitable will. He looked a man whom it would be dangerous to cross.

      Little was known of Miller’s history. He hailed from Ft. Pitt, where he had a reputation as a good soldier, but a man of morose and quarrelsome disposition. It was whispered that he drank, and that he had been friendly with the renegades McKee, Elliott, and Girty. He had passed the fall and winter at Ft. Henry, serving on garrison duty. Since he had made the acquaintance of Betty he had shown her all the attention possible.

      On this night a close observer would have seen that Miller was laboring under some strong feeling. A half-subdued fire gleamed from his dark eyes. A peculiar nervous twitching of his nostrils betrayed a poorly suppressed excitement.

      All evening he followed Betty like a shadow. Her kindness may have encouraged him. She danced often with him and showed a certain preference for his society. Alice and Lydia were puzzled by Betty’s manner. As they were intimate friends they believed they knew something of her likes and dislikes. Had not Betty told them she did not care for Mr. Miller? What was the meaning of the arch glances she bestowed upon him, if she did not care for him? To be sure, it was nothing wonderful for Betty to smile,—she was always prodigal of her smiles—but she had never been known to encourage any man. The truth was that Betty had put her new resolution into effect; to be as merry and charming as any fancy-free maiden could possibly be, and the farthest removed from a young lady pining for an absent and indifferent sweetheart. To her sorrow Betty played her part too well.

      Except to Wetzel, whose keen eyes little escaped, there was no significance in Miller’s hilarity one moment and sudden thoughtfulness the next. And if there had been, it would have excited no comment. Most of the young men had sampled some of old Dan’s best rye and their flushed faces and unusual spirits did not result altogether from the exercise of the dance.

      After one of the reels Miller led Betty, with whom he had been dancing, into one of the side rooms. Round the dimly lighted room were benches upon which were seated some of the dancers. Betty was uneasy in mind and now wished that she had remained at home. They had exchanged several commonplace remarks when the music struck up and Betty rose quickly to her feet.

      “See, the others have gone. Let us return,” she said.

      “Wait,” said Miller hurriedly. “Do not go just yet. I wish to speak to you. I have asked you many times if you will marry me. Now I ask you again.”

      “Mr. Miller, I thanked you and begged you not to cause us both pain by again referring to that subject,” answered Betty with dignity. “If you will persist in bringing it up we cannot be friends any longer.”

      “Wait, please wait. I have told you that I will not take ‘No’ for an answer. I love you with all my heart and soul and I cannot give you up.”

      His voice was low and hoarse and thrilled with a strong man’s passion. Betty looked up into his face and tears of compassion filled her eyes. Her heart softened to this man, and her conscience gave her a little twinge of remorse. Could she not have averted all this? No doubt she had been much to blame, and this thought made her voice very low and sweet as she answered him.

      “I like you as a friend, Mr. Miller, but we can never be more than friends. I am very sorry for you, and angry with myself that I did