going to be, and cut some of you white-livered border
mates. Here, you old masthead, drink this to my health, damn you!"
The ruffian had seized a tumbler of liquor from the table, and held it
toward Sheppard while he brandished his long knife.
White as snow, Sheppard backed against the wall; but did not take the
drink.
The sailor had the floor; no one save him spoke a word. The action had
been so rapid that there had hardly been time. Colonel Zane and Silas
were as quiet and tense as the borderman.
"Drink!" hoarsely cried the sailor, advancing his knife toward
Sheppard's body.
When the sharp point all but pressed against the old man, a bright
object twinkled through the air. It struck Case's wrist, knocked the
knife from his fingers, and, bounding against the wall, fell upon the
floor. It was a tomahawk.
The borderman sprang over the table like a huge catamount, and with
movement equally quick, knocked Case with a crash against the wall;
closed on him before he could move a hand, and flung him like a sack
of meal over the bluff.
The tension relieved, some of the crowd laughed, others looked over
the embankment to see how Case had fared, and others remarked that for
some reason he had gotten off better than they expected.
The borderman remained silent. He leaned against a post, with broad
breast gently heaving, but his eyes sparkled as they watched Brandt,
Williams, Mordaunt and Metzar. The Englishman alone spoke.
"Handily done," he said, cool and suave. "Sir, yours is an iron hand.
I apologize for this unpleasant affair. My man is quarrelsome when
under the influence of liquor."
"Metzar, a word with you," cried Colonel Zane curtly.
"Come inside, kunnel," said the innkeeper, plainly ill at ease.
"No; listen here. I'll speak to the point. You've got to stop running
this kind of a place. No words, now, you've got to stop. Understand?
You know as well as I, perhaps better, the character of your so-called
inn. You'll get but one more chance."
"Wal, kunnel, this is a free country," growled Metzar. "I can't help
these fellars comin' here lookin' fer blood. I runs an honest place.
The men want to drink an' gamble. What's law here? What can you do?"
"You know me, Metzar," Colonel Zane said grimly. "I don't waste words.
'To hell with law!' so you say. I can say that, too. Remember, the
next drunken boy I see, or shady deal, or gambling spree, out you go
for good."
Metzar lowered his shaggy head and left the porch. Brandt and his
friends, with serious faces, withdrew into the bar-room.
The borderman walked around the corner of the inn, and up the lane.
The colonel, with Silas and Sheppard, followed in more leisurely
fashion. At a shout from some one they turned to see a dusty, bloody
figure, with ragged clothes, stagger up from the bluff.
"There's that blamed sailor now," said Sheppard. "He's a tough nut.
My! What a knock on the head Jonathan gave him. Strikes me, too, that
tomahawk came almost at the right time to save me a whole skin."
"I was furious, but not at all alarmed," rejoined Colonel Zane.
"I wondered what made you so quiet."
"I was waiting. Jonathan never acts until the right moment, and
then—well, you saw him. The little villain deserved killing. I could
have shot him with pleasure. Do you know, Sheppard, Jonathan's
aversion to shedding blood is a singular thing. He'd never kill the
worst kind of a white man until driven to it."
"That's commendable. How about Wetzel?"
"Well, Lew is different," replied Colonel Zane with a shudder. "If I
told him to take an ax and clean out Metzar's place—God! what a wreck
he'd make of it. Maybe I'll have to tell him, and if I do, you'll see
something you can never forget."
Chapter IX
*
On Sunday morning under the bright, warm sun, the little hamlet of
Fort Henry lay peacefully quiet, as if no storms had ever rolled and
thundered overhead, no roistering ever disturbed its stillness, and no
Indian's yell ever horribly broke the quiet.
"'Tis a fine morning," said
mates. Here, you old masthead, drink this to my health, damn you!"
The ruffian had seized a tumbler of liquor from the table, and held it
toward Sheppard while he brandished his long knife.
White as snow, Sheppard backed against the wall; but did not take the
drink.
The sailor had the floor; no one save him spoke a word. The action had
been so rapid that there had hardly been time. Colonel Zane and Silas
were as quiet and tense as the borderman.
"Drink!" hoarsely cried the sailor, advancing his knife toward
Sheppard's body.
When the sharp point all but pressed against the old man, a bright
object twinkled through the air. It struck Case's wrist, knocked the
knife from his fingers, and, bounding against the wall, fell upon the
floor. It was a tomahawk.
The borderman sprang over the table like a huge catamount, and with
movement equally quick, knocked Case with a crash against the wall;
closed on him before he could move a hand, and flung him like a sack
of meal over the bluff.
The tension relieved, some of the crowd laughed, others looked over
the embankment to see how Case had fared, and others remarked that for
some reason he had gotten off better than they expected.
The borderman remained silent. He leaned against a post, with broad
breast gently heaving, but his eyes sparkled as they watched Brandt,
Williams, Mordaunt and Metzar. The Englishman alone spoke.
"Handily done," he said, cool and suave. "Sir, yours is an iron hand.
I apologize for this unpleasant affair. My man is quarrelsome when
under the influence of liquor."
"Metzar, a word with you," cried Colonel Zane curtly.
"Come inside, kunnel," said the innkeeper, plainly ill at ease.
"No; listen here. I'll speak to the point. You've got to stop running
this kind of a place. No words, now, you've got to stop. Understand?
You know as well as I, perhaps better, the character of your so-called
inn. You'll get but one more chance."
"Wal, kunnel, this is a free country," growled Metzar. "I can't help
these fellars comin' here lookin' fer blood. I runs an honest place.
The men want to drink an' gamble. What's law here? What can you do?"
"You know me, Metzar," Colonel Zane said grimly. "I don't waste words.
'To hell with law!' so you say. I can say that, too. Remember, the
next drunken boy I see, or shady deal, or gambling spree, out you go
for good."
Metzar lowered his shaggy head and left the porch. Brandt and his
friends, with serious faces, withdrew into the bar-room.
The borderman walked around the corner of the inn, and up the lane.
The colonel, with Silas and Sheppard, followed in more leisurely
fashion. At a shout from some one they turned to see a dusty, bloody
figure, with ragged clothes, stagger up from the bluff.
"There's that blamed sailor now," said Sheppard. "He's a tough nut.
My! What a knock on the head Jonathan gave him. Strikes me, too, that
tomahawk came almost at the right time to save me a whole skin."
"I was furious, but not at all alarmed," rejoined Colonel Zane.
"I wondered what made you so quiet."
"I was waiting. Jonathan never acts until the right moment, and
then—well, you saw him. The little villain deserved killing. I could
have shot him with pleasure. Do you know, Sheppard, Jonathan's
aversion to shedding blood is a singular thing. He'd never kill the
worst kind of a white man until driven to it."
"That's commendable. How about Wetzel?"
"Well, Lew is different," replied Colonel Zane with a shudder. "If I
told him to take an ax and clean out Metzar's place—God! what a wreck
he'd make of it. Maybe I'll have to tell him, and if I do, you'll see
something you can never forget."
Chapter IX
*
On Sunday morning under the bright, warm sun, the little hamlet of
Fort Henry lay peacefully quiet, as if no storms had ever rolled and
thundered overhead, no roistering ever disturbed its stillness, and no
Indian's yell ever horribly broke the quiet.
"'Tis a fine morning," said
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