Spirit of the Border. Zane Grey

friends. There were tears in Joe’s eyes when, with a last affectionate caress, he turned away from his pet.

      “Come, Jim, I’ll take you to Mr. Wells.”

      They started across the little square, while Mose went back under the wagon; but at a word from Joe he bounded after them, trotting contentedly at their heels. Halfway to the cabins a big, rawboned teamster, singing in a drunken voice, came staggering toward them. Evidently he had just left the group of people who had gathered near the Indians.

      “I didn’t expect to see drunkenness out here,” said Jim, in a low tone.

      “There’s lots of it. I saw that fellow yesterday when he couldn’t walk. Wentz told me he was a bad customer.”

      The teamster, his red face bathed in perspiration, and his sleeves rolled up, showing brown, knotty arms, lurched toward them. As they met he aimed a kick at the dog; but Mose leaped nimbly aside, avoiding the heavy boot. He did not growl nor show his teeth, but the great white head sank forward a little, and the lithe body crouched for a spring.

      “Don’t touch that dog; he’ll tear your leg off!” Joe cried sharply.

      “Say, pard, cum an’ hev a drink,” replied the teamster, with a friendly leer.

      “I don’t drink,” answered Joe, curtly, and moved on.

      The teamster growled something of which only the word “parson” was intelligible to the brothers. Joe stopped and looked back. His gray eyes seemed to contract; they did not flash, but shaded and lost their warmth. Jim saw the change, and knowing what it signified, took Joe’s arm as he gently urged him away. The teamster’s shrill voice could be heard until they entered the fur trader’s cabin.

      An old man with long, white hair flowing from beneath his wide-brimmed hat sat near the door holding one of Mrs. Wentz’s children on his knee. His face was deep-lined and serious, but kindness shone from his mild blue eyes.

      “Mr. Wells, this is my brother James. He is a preacher, and has come in place of the man you expected from Williamsburg.”

      The old minister arose and extended his hand, gazing earnestly at the newcomer meanwhile. Evidently he approved of what he saw in his quick scrutiny of the other’s face, for his lips were wreathed with a smile of welcome.

      “Mr. Downs, I am glad to meet you, and to know you will go with me. I thank God I shall take into the wilderness one who is young enough to carry on the work when my days are done.”

      “I will make it my duty to help you in whatsoever way lies in my power,” answered Jim, earnestly.

      “We have a great work before us. I have heard many scoffers who claim that it is worse than folly to try to teach these fierce savages Christianity; but I know it can be done, and my heart is in the work. I have no fear; yet I would not conceal from you, young man, that the danger of going among these hostile Indians must be great.”

      “I will not hesitate because of that. My sympathy is with the redman. I have had an opportunity of studying Indian nature and believe the race inherently noble. He has been driven to make war, and I want to help him into other paths.”

      Joe left the two ministers talking earnestly and turned toward Mrs. Wentz. The fur trader’s wife was glowing with pleasure. She held in her hand several rude trinkets and was explaining to her listener, a young woman, that the toys were for the children, having been brought all the way from Williamsburg.

      “Kate, where’s Nell?” Joe asked of the girl.

      “She went on an errand for Mrs. Wentz.”

      Kate Wells was the opposite of her sister. Her motions were slow, easy and consistent with her large, full form. Her brown eyes and hair contrasted sharply with Nell’s. The greatest difference in the sisters lay in that Nell’s face was sparkling and full of the fire of her eager young life, while Kate’s was calm, like the unruffled surface of a deep lake.

      “That’s Jim, my brother. We’re going with you,” said Joe.

      “Are you? I’m glad,” answered the girl, looking at the handsome, earnest face of the young minister.

      “Your brother’s like you for all the world,” whispered Mrs. Wentz.

      “He does look like you,” said Kate, with her slow smile.

      “Which means you think, or hope, that that is all,” retorted Joe, laughingly. “Well, Kate, there the resemblance ends, thank God for Jim!”

      He spoke in a sad, bitter tone which caused both women to look at him wonderingly. Joe had to them ever been full of surprises; never until then had they seen evidences of sadness in his face. A moment’s silence ensued. Mrs. Wentz gazed lovingly at the children who were playing with the trinkets, while Kate mused over the young man’s remark and began studying his half-averted face. She felt warmly drawn to him by the strange expression in the glance he had given his brother. The tenderness in his eyes did not harmonize with much of this wild and reckless boy’s behavior. To Kate he had always seemed so bold, so cold, so different from other men, and yet here was proof that Master Joe loved his brother.

      The murmured conversation of the two ministers was interrupted by a low cry from outside the cabin. A loud, coarse laugh followed, and then a husky voice:

      “Hol’ on, my purty lass.”

      Joe took two long strides, and was on the doorstep. He saw Nell struggling violently in the grasp of the half-drunken teamster.

      “I’ll jes’ hev to kiss this lassie fer luck,” he said in a tone of good humor.

      At the same instant Joe saw three loungers laughing, and a fourth, the grizzled frontiersman, starting forward with a yell.

      “Let me go!” cried Nell.

      Just when the teamster had pulled her close to him and was bending his red, moist face to hers, two brown, sinewy hands grasped his neck with an angry clutch. Deprived thus of breath, his mouth opened, his tongue protruded; his eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and his arms beat the air. Then he was lifted and flung with a crash against the cabin wall. Falling, he lay in a heap on the grass, while the blood flowed from a cut on his temple.

      “What’s this?” cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up, and arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman.

      “It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn’t hev did better myself, and I was comin’ for that purpose,” said the frontiersman. “Leffler was tryin’ to kiss the lass. He’s been drunk fer two days. That little girl’s sweetheart kin handle himself some, now you take my word on it.”

      “I’ll agree Leff’s bad when he’s drinkin’,” answered the fur trader, and to Joe he added, “he’s liable to look you up when he comes around.”

      “Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I’ll kill him,” Joe cried in a sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster, and again an odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance was cutting, as if with the flash of cold gray steel. “Nell, I’m sorry I wasn’t round sooner,” he said, apologetically, as if it was owing to his neglect the affair had happened.

      As they entered the cabin Nell stole a glance at him. This was the third time he had injured a man because of her. She had on several occasions seen that cold, steely glare in his eyes, and it had always frightened her. It was gone, however, before they were inside the building. He said something which she did not hear distinctly, and his calm voice allayed her excitement. She had been angry with him; but now she realized that her resentment had disappeared. He had spoken so kindly after the outburst. Had he not shown that he considered himself her protector and lover? A strange emotion, sweet and subtle as the taste of wine, thrilled her, while a sense of fear because of his strength was mingled with her pride in it. Any other girl would have been glad to have such a champion; she would, too, hereafter, for he was a man of whom to be proud.

      “Look here, Nell, you haven’t spoken to me,”