hough she was strong
and healthy; her laughing blue eyes assured a sunny disposition, and
she numbered her suitors by the score.

The young people lost no time. Soon the floor was covered with their
whirling forms.

In one corner of the room sat a little dried-up old woman with white
hair and bright dark eyes. This was Grandma Watkins. She was very
old, so old that no one knew her age, but she was still vigorous
enough to do her day's work with more pleasure than many a younger
woman. Just now she was talking to Wetzel, who leaned upon his
inseparable rifle and listened to her chatter. The hunter liked the
old lady and would often stop at her cabin while on his way to the
settlement and leave at her door a fat turkey or a haunch of
venison.

"Lew Wetzel, I am ashamed of you." Grandmother Watkins was saying.
"Put that gun in the corner and get out there and dance. Enjoy
yourself. You are only a boy yet."

"I'd better look on, mother," answered the hunter.

"Pshaw! You can hop and skip around like any of then and laugh too
if you want. I hope that pretty sister of Eb Zane has caught your
fancy."

"She is not for the like of me," he said gently "I haven't the
gifts."

"Don't talk about gifts. Not to an old woman who has lived three
times and more your age," she said impatiently. "It is not gifts a
woman wants out here in the West. If she does 'twill do her no good.
She needs a strong arm to build cabins, a quick eye with a rifle,
and a fearless heart. What border-women want are houses and
children. They must bring up men, men to drive the redskins back,
men to till the soil, or else what is the good of our suffering
here."

"You are right," said Wetzel thoughtfully. "But I'd hate to see a
flower like Betty Zane in a rude hunter's cabin."

"I have known the Zanes for forty year' and I never saw one yet that
was afraid of work. And you might win her if you would give up
running mad after Indians. I'll allow no woman would put up with
that. You have killed many Indians. You ought to be satisfied."

"Fightin' redskins is somethin' I can't help," said the hunter,
slowly shaking his head. "If I got married the fever would come on
and I'd leave home. No, I'm no good for a woman. Fightin' is all I'm
good for."

"Why not fight for her, then? Don't let one of these boys walk off
with her. Look at her. She likes fun and admiration. I believe you
do care for her. Why not try to win her?"

"Who is that tall man with