Zane Grey by The Spirit of the Border Read Free Book Online Page A

at once led the way westward
through the forest. The savages followed in single file, with Joe
and Jim in the middle of the line. The last Indian tried to mount
Lance; but the thoroughbred would have none of him, and after
several efforts the savage was compelled to desist. Mose trotted
reluctantly along behind the horse.
    Although the chief preserved a dignified mien, his braves were
disposed to be gay. They were in high glee over their feat of
capturing the palefaces, and kept up an incessant jabbering. One
Indian, who walked directly behind Joe, continually prodded him with
the stock of a rifle; and whenever Joe turned, the brawny redskin
grinned as he grunted, "Ugh!" Joe observed that this huge savage had
a broad face of rather a lighter shade of red than his companions.
Perhaps he intended those rifle-prods in friendliness, for although
they certainly amused him, he would allow no one else to touch Joe;
but it would have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship in
a gentle manner. This Indian carried Joe's pack, much to his own
delight, especially as his companions evinced an envious curiosity.
The big fellow would not, however, allow them to touch it.
    "He's a cheerful brute," remarked Joe to Jim.
    "Ugh!" grunted the big Indian, jamming Joe with his rifle-stock.
    Joe took heed to the warning and spoke no more. He gave all his
attention to the course over which he was being taken. Here was his
first opportunity to learn something of Indians and their woodcraft.
It occurred to him that his captors would not have been so gay and
careless had they not believed themselves safe from pursuit, and he
concluded they were leisurely conducting him to one of the Indian
towns. He watched the supple figure before him, wondering at the
quick step, light as the fall of a leaf, and tried to walk as
softly. He found, however, that where the Indian readily avoided the
sticks and brush, he was unable to move without snapping twigs. Now
and then he would look up and study the lay of the land ahead; and
as he came nearer to certain rocks and trees he scrutinized them
closely, in order to remember their shape and general appearance. He
believed he was blazing out in his mind this woodland trail, so that
should fortune favor him and he contrive to escape, he would be able
to find his way back to the river. Also, he was enjoying the wild
scenery.
    This forest would have appeared beautiful, even to one indifferent
to such charms, and Joe was far from that. Every moment he felt
steal stronger over him a subtle influence which he could not
define. Half unconsciously he tried to analyze it, but it baffled
him. He could no more explain what fascinated him than he could
understand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over the
glades and hollows. He had pictured a real forest so differently
from this. Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fenced
by bright-green sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted with
pale-blue blossoms, over which the giant cottonwoods leaned their
heads, jealously guarding the delicate flowers from the sun. Beech
trees, growing close in clanny groups, spread their straight limbs
gracefully; the white birches gleamed like silver wherever a stray
sunbeam stole through the foliage, and the oaks, monarchs of the
forest, rose over all, dark, rugged, and kingly.
    Joe soon understood why the party traveled through such open forest.
The chief, seeming hardly to deviate from his direct course, kept
clear of broken ground, matted thickets and tangled windfalls. Joe
got a glimpse of dark ravines and heard the music of tumbling
waters; he saw gray cliffs grown over with vines, and full of holes
and crevices; steep ridges, covered with dense patches of briar and
hazel, rising in the way. Yet the Shawnee always found an easy path.
    The sun went down behind the foliage in the west, and shadows
appeared low in the glens; then the trees faded into an indistinct
mass; a purple shade settled down over the forest, and night