alive and, sometimes, unharmed to her relatives; more than one maiden
lived to be captured, rescued, and returned to her lover, while almost
numberless were the bones of brutal redmen lying in the deep and
gloomy woods, or bleaching on the plains, silent, ghastly reminders of
the stern justice meted out by these two heroes.

"Such are my two bordermen, Miss Sheppard. The fort there, and all
these cabins, would be only black ashes, save for them, and as for us,
our wives and children--God only knows."

"Haven't they wives and children, too?" asked Helen.

"No," answered Colonel Zane, with his genial smile. "Such joys are not
for bordermen."

"Why not? Fine men like them deserve happiness," declared Helen.

"It is necessary we have such," said the colonel simply, "and they
cannot be bordermen unless free as the air blows. Wetzel and Jonathan
have never had sweethearts. I believe Wetzel loved a lass once; but he
was an Indian-killer whose hands were red with blood. He silenced his
heart, and kept to his chosen, lonely life. Jonathan does not seem to
realize that women exist to charm, to please, to be loved and married.
Once we twitted him about his brothers doing their duty by the border,
whereupon he flashed out: 'My life is the border's: my sweetheart is
the North Star!'"

Helen dreamily watched the dancing, dimpling waves that broke on the
stones of the river shore. All unconscious of the powerful impression
the colonel's recital had made upon her, she was feeling the greatness