The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

I went to a party one night after I had been here only a few weeks and they played a game in which every man in the place kissed me.”

      “Gracious! Please tell me when any such games are likely to be proposed and I’ll stay home,” said Betty.

      “I have learned to get along very well by simply making the best of it,” continued Lydia. “And to tell the truth, I have learned to respect these rugged fellows. They are uncouth; they have no manners, but their hearts are honest and true, and that is of much greater importance in frontiersmen than the little attentions and courtesies upon which women are apt to lay too much stress.”

      “I think you speak sensibly and I shall try and be more reasonable hereafter. But, to return to the man who spoiled my ride. He, at least, is no frontiersman, notwithstanding his gun and his buckskin suit. He is an educated man. His manner and accent showed that. Then he looked at me so differently. I know it was that soldier from Fort Pitt.”

      “Mr. Clarke? Why, of course!” exclaimed Lydia, clapping her hands in glee. “How stupid of me!”

      “You seem to be amused,” said Betty, frowning.

      “Oh, Betty, it is such a good joke.”

      “Is it? I fail to see it.”

      “But I can. I am very much amused. You see, I heard Mr. Clarke say, after papa told him there were lots of pretty girls here, that he usually succeeded in finding those things out and without any assistance. And the very first day he has met you and made you angry. It is delightful.”

      “Lyde, I never knew you could be so horrid.”

      “It is evident that Mr. Clarke is not only discerning, but not backward in expressing his thoughts. Betty, I see a romance.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” retorted Betty, with an angry blush. “Of course, he had a right to stop me, and perhaps he did me a good turn by keeping me inside the clearing, though I cannot imagine why he hid behind the bushes. But he might have been polite. He made me angry. He was so cool and—and—”

      “I see,” interrupted Lydia, teasingly. “He failed to recognize your importance.”

      “Nonsense, Lydia. I hope you do not think I am a silly little fool. It is only that I have not been accustomed to that kind of treatment, and I will not have it.”

      Lydia was rather pleased that someone had appeared on the scene who did not at once bow down before Betty, and therefore she took the young man’s side of the argument.

      “Do not be hard on poor Mr. Clarke. Maybe he mistook you for an Indian girl. He is handsome. I am sure you saw that.”

      “Oh, I don’t remember how he looked,” said Betty. She did remember, but would not admit it.

      The conversation drifted into other channels after this, and soon twilight came stealing down on them. As Betty rose to go there came a hurried tap on the door.

      “I wonder who would knock like that,” said Lydia, rising “Betty, wait a moment while I open the door.”

      On doing this she discovered Clarke standing on the step with his cap in his hand.

      “Why, Mr. Clarke! Will you come in?” exclaimed Lydia. “Thank you, only for a moment,” said Alfred. “I cannot stay. I came to find Betty. Is she here?”

      He had not observed Betty, who had stepped back into the shadow of the darkening room. At his question Lydia became so embarrassed she did not know what to say or do, and stood looking helplessly at him.

      But Betty was equal to the occasion. At the mention of her first name in such a familiar manner by this stranger, who had already grievously offended her once before that day, Betty stood perfectly still a moment, speechless with surprise, then she stepped quickly out of the shadow.

      Clarke turned as he heard her step and looked straight into a pair of dark, scornful eyes and a face pale with anger.

      “If it be necessary that you use my name, and I do not see how that can be possible, will you please have courtesy enough to say Miss Zane?” she cried haughtily.

      Lydia recovered her composure sufficiently to falter out:

      “Betty, allow me to introduce—”

      “Do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I have met this person once before today, and I do not care for an introduction.”

      When Alfred found himself gazing into the face that had haunted him all the afternoon, he forgot for the moment all about his errand. He was finally brought to a realization of the true state of affairs by Lydia’s words.

      “Mr. Clarke, you are all wet. What has happened?” she exclaimed, noticing the water dripping from his garments.

      Suddenly a light broke in on Alfred. So the girl he had accosted on the road and “Betty” were one and the same person. His face flushed. He felt that his rudeness on that occasion may have merited censure, but that it had not justified the humiliation she had put upon him.

      These two persons, so strangely brought together, and on whom Fate had made her inscrutable designs, looked steadily into each other’s eyes. What mysterious force thrilled through Alfred Clarke and made Betty Zane tremble?

      “Miss Boggs, I am twice unfortunate,” said Alfred, tuning to Lydia, and there was an earnest ring in his deep voice “This time I am indeed blameless. I have just left Colonel Zane’s house, where there has been an accident, and I was dispatched to find ‘Betty,’ being entirely ignorant as to who she might be. Colonel Zane did not stop to explain. Miss Zane is needed at the house, that is all.”

      And without so much as a glance at Betty he bowed low to Lydia and then strode out of the open door.

      “What did he say?” asked Betty, in a small trembling voice, all her anger and resentment vanished.

      “There has been an accident. He did not say what or to whom. You must hurry home. Oh, Betty, I hope no one has been hurt! And you were very unkind to Mr. Clarke. I am sure he is a gentleman, and you might have waited a moment to learn what he meant.”

      Betty did not answer, but flew out of the door and down the path to the gate of the fort. She was almost breathless when she reached Colonel Zane’s house, and hesitated on the step before entering. Summoning her courage she pushed open the door. The first thing that struck her after the bright light was the pungent odor of strong liniment. She saw several women neighbors whispering together. Major McColloch and Jonathan Zane were standing by a couch over which Mrs. Zane was bending. Colonel Zane sat at the foot of the couch. Betty saw this in the first rapid glance, and then, as the Colonel’s wife moved aside, she saw a prostrate figure, a white face and dark eyes that smiled at her.

      “Betty,” came in a low voice from those pale lips.

      Her heart leaped and then seemed to cease beating. Many long years had passed since she had heard that voice, but it had never been forgotten. It was the best beloved voice of her childhood, and with it came the sweet memories of her brother and playmate. With a cry of joy she fell on her knees beside him and threw her arms around his neck.

      “Oh, Isaac, brother, brother!” she cried, as she kissed him again and again. “Can it really be you? Oh, it is too good to be true! Thank God! I have prayed and prayed that you would be restored to us.”

      Then she began to cry and laugh at the same time in that strange way in which a woman relieves a heart too full of joy. “Yes, Betty. It is all that is left of me,” he said, running his hand caressingly over the dark head that lay on his breast.

      “Betty, you must not excite him,” said Colonel Zane.

      “So you have not forgotten me?” whispered Isaac.

      “No, indeed, Isaac. I have never forgotten,” answered Betty, softly. “Only last night I spoke of you and wondered if you were living. And now you are here. Oh, I am so happy!” The quivering lips and the dark eyes bright with tears spoke eloquently of her