"That'll help some. On the way back you found where the white girl had been taken from. Murdered father, burned cabin, the usual deviltry."
"Exactly."
"Poor Mabel! Do you think this white thief had anything to do with carrying her away?"
"No. Wetzel says that's Bing Legget's work. The Shawnees were members of his gang."
"Well, Jack, what'll I do?"
"Keep quiet an' wait," was the borderman's answer.
Colonel Zane, old pioneer and frontiersman though he was, shuddered as he went to his room. His brother's dark look, and his deadly calmness, were significant.
CHAPTER IV
To those few who saw Jonathan Zane in the village, it seemed as if he was in his usual quiet and dreamy state. The people were accustomed to his silence, and long since learned that what little time he spent in the settlement was not given to sociability. In the morning he sometimes lay with Colonel Zane's dog, Chief, by the side of a spring under an elm tree, and in the afternoon strolled aimlessly along the river bluff, or on the hillside. At night he sat on his brother's porch smoking a long Indian pipe. Since that day, now a week past, when he had returned with the stolen horses, his movements and habits were precisely what would have been expected of an unsuspicious borderman.
In reality, however, Jonathan was not what he seemed. He knew all that was going on in the settlement. Hardly a bird could have entered the clearing unobserved.