The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane GreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
for him.
The men of the expedition returned to Fort Henry in due time, but Alfred had been unable to accompany them. He had sustained a painful injury and had been compelled to go to Fort Pitt for medical assistance. While there he had received word that his mother was lying very ill at his old home in Southern Virginia and if he wished to see her alive he must not delay in reaching her bedside. He left Fort Pitt at once and went to his home, where he remained until his mother’s death. She had been the only tie that bound him to the old home, and now that she was gone he determined to leave the scene of his boyhood forever.
Alfred was the rightful heir to all of the property, but an unjust and selfish stepfather stood between him and any contentment he might have found there. He decided he would be a soldier of fortune. He loved the daring life of a ranger, and preferred to take his chances with the hardy settlers on the border rather than live the idle life of a gentleman farmer. He declared his intention to his step-father, who ill-concealed his satisfaction at the turn affairs had taken. Then Alfred packed his belongings, secured his mother’s jewels, and with one sad, backward glance rode away from the stately old mansion.
It was Sunday morning and Clarke had been two days in Fort Henry. From his little room in the block-house he surveyed the well-remembered scene. The rolling hills, the broad river, the green forests seemed like old friends.
“Here I am again,” he mused. “What a fool a man can be. I have left a fine old plantation, slaves, horses, a country noted for its pretty women—for what? Here there can be nothing for me but Indians, hard work, privation, and trouble. Yet I could not get here quickly enough. Pshaw! What use to speak of the possibilities of a new country. I cannot deceive myself. It is she. I would walk a thousand miles and starve myself for months just for one glimpse of her sweet face. Knowing this what care I for all the rest. How strange she should ride down to the old sycamore tree yesterday the moment I was there and thinking of her. Evidently she had just returned from her visit. I wonder if she ever cared. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. Shall I accept that incident as a happy augury? Well, I am here to find out and find out I will. Aha! there goes the church bell.”
Laughing a little at his eagerness he brushed his coat, put on his cap and went down stairs. The settlers with their families were going into the meeting house. As Alfred started up the steps he met Lydia Boggs.
“Why, Mr. Clarke, I heard you had returned,” she said, smiling pleasantly and extending her hand. “Welcome to the fort. I am very glad to see you.”
While they were chatting her father and Col. Zane came up and both greeted the young man warmly.
“Well, well, back on the frontier,” said the Colonel, in his hearty way. “Glad to see you at the fort again. I tell you, Clarke, I have taken a fancy to that black horse you left me last fall. I did not know what to think when Jonathan brought back my horse. To tell you the truth I always looked for you to come back. What have you been doing all winter?”
“I have been at home. My mother was ill all winter and she died in April.”
“My lad, that’s bad news. I am sorry,” said Col. Zane putting his hand kindly on the young man’s shoulder. “I was wondering what gave you that older and graver look. It’s hard, lad, but it’s the way of life.”
“I have come back to get my old place with you, Col. Zane, if you will give it to me.”
“I will, and can promise you more in the future. I am going to open a road through to Maysville, Kentucky, and start several new settlements along the river. I will need young men, and am more than glad you have returned.”
“Thank you, Col. Zane. That is more than I could have hoped for.”
Alfred caught sight of a trim figure in a gray linsey gown coming down the road. There were several young people approaching, but he saw only Betty. By some evil chance Betty walked with Ralfe Miller, and for some mysterious reason, which women always keep to themselves, she smiled and looked up into his face at a time of all times she should not have done so. Alfred’s heart turned to lead.
When the young people reached the steps the eyes of the rivals met for one brief second, but that was long enough for them to understand each other. They did not speak. Lydia hesitated and looked toward Betty.
“Betty, here is—” began Col. Zane, but Betty passed them with flaming cheeks and with not so much as a glance at Alfred. It was an awkward moment for him.
“Let us go in,” he said composedly, and they filed into the church.
As long as he lived Alfred Clarke never forgot that hour. His pride kept him chained in his seat. Outwardly he maintained his composure, but inwardly his brain seemed throbbing, whirling, bursting. What an idiot he had been! He understood now why his letter had never been answered. Betty loved Miller, a man who hated him, a man who would leave no stone unturned to destroy even a little liking which she might have felt for him. Once again Miller had crossed his path and worsted him. With a sudden sickening sense of despair he realized that all his fond hopes had been but dreams, a fool’s dreams. The dream of that moment when he would give her his mother’s jewels, the dream of that charming face uplifted to his, the dream of the little cottage to which he would hurry after his day’s work and find her waiting at the gate,—these dreams must be dispelled forever. He could barely wait until the end of the service. He wanted to be alone; to fight it out with himself; to crush out of his heart that fair image. At length the hour ended and he got out before the congregation and hurried to his room.
Betty had company all that afternoon and it was late in the day when Col. Zane ascended the stairs and entered her room to find her alone.
“Betty, I wish to know why you ignored Mr. Clarke this morning?” said Col. Zane, looking down on his sister. There was a gleam in his eye and an expression about his mouth seldom seen in the Colonel’s features.
“I do not know that it concerns any one but myself,” answered Betty quickly, as her head went higher and her eyes flashed with a gleam not unlike that in her brother’s.
“I beg your pardon. I do not agree with you,” replied Col. Zane. “It does concern others. You cannot do things like that in this little place where every one knows all about you and expect it to pass unnoticed. Martin’s wife saw you cut Clarke and you know what a gossip she is. Already every one is talking about you and Clarke.”
“To that I am indifferent.”
“But I care. I won’t have people talking about you,” replied the Colonel, who began to lose patience. Usually he had the best temper imaginable. “Last fall you allowed Clarke to pay you a good deal of attention and apparently you were on good terms when he went away. Now that he has returned you won’t even speak to him. You let this fellow Miller run after you. In my estimation Miller is not to be compared to Clarke, and judging from the warm greetings I saw Clarke receive this morning, there are a number of folk who agree with me. Not that I am praising Clarke. I simply say this because to Bessie, to Jack, to everyone, your act is incomprehensible. People are calling you a flirt and saying that they would prefer some country manners.”
“I have not allowed Mr. Miller to run after me, as you are pleased to term it,” retorted Betty with indignation. “I do not like him. I never see him any more unless you or Bessie or someone else is present. You know that. I cannot prevent him from walking to church with me.”
“No, I suppose not, but are you entirely innocent of those sweet glances which you gave him this morning?”
“I did not,” cried Betty with an angry blush. “I won’t be called a flirt by you or by anyone else. The moment I am civil to some man all these old maids and old women say I am flirting. It is outrageous.”
“Now, Betty, don’t get excited. We are getting from the question. Why are you not civil to Clarke?” asked Col. Zane. She did not answer and after a moment he continued. “If there is anything about Clarke that I do not know and that I should know I want you to tell me. Personally I like the fellow. I am not saying that to make you think you ought to like him because I do. You might not care for him at all, but that would