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THE RANCHE ON THE OXHIDE

       *       *       *       *       *

    OFFICERS OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL

    Honorary President, THE HON. WOODROW WILSON
    Honorary Vice-President, HON. WILLIAM H. TAFT
    Honorary Vice-President, COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT
    President, COLIN H. LIVINGSTON, Washington, D. C.
    Vice-President, B. L. DULANEY, Bristol, Tenn.
    Vice-President, MILTON A. McRAE, Detroit, Mich.
    Vice-President, DAVID STARR JORDAN, Stanford University, Cal.
    Vice-President, F. L. SEELY, Asheville, N. C.
    Vice-President, A. STAMFORD WHITE, Chicago, Ill.
    Chief Scout, ERNEST THOMPSON SETON, Greenwich, Connecticut
    National Scout Commissioner, DANIEL CARTER BEARD, Flushing N. Y.


    NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS

    BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

    THE FIFTH AVENUE BUILDING, 200 FIFTH AVENUE
    TELEPHONE GRAMERCY 545
    NEW YORK CITY



    FINANCE COMMITTEE
    John Sherman Hoyt, Chairman
    August Belmont
    George D. Pratt
    Mortimer L. Schiff
    H. Rogers Winthrop

    GEORGE D. PRATT
    Treasurer

    JAMES E. WEST
    Chief Scout Executive

    ADDITIONAL MEMBERS OF THE EXECUTIVE BOARD
    Ernest P. Bicknell
    Robert Garrett
    Lee F. Hanmer
    John Sherman Hoyt
    Charles C. Jackson
    Prof. Jeremiah W. Jenks
    William D. Murray
    Dr. Charles P. Neill
    George D. Porter
    Frank Presbrey
    Edgar M. Robinson
    Mortimer L. Schiff
    Lorillard Spencer
    Seth Sprague Terry


    July 31st, 1913.

TO THE PUBLIC:--

In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral
worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of America, the
leaders of the Boy Scout Movement quickly learned that to effectively
carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his
out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure
moments. It is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of
daring enterprises and adventurous good times. What now is needful is
not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. There should
constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet always
the books that will be best for the boy. As a matter of fact, however,
the boy's taste is being constantly vitiated and exploited by the great
mass of cheap juvenile literature.

To help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave
peril, the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America has been
organised. EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY is the result of their labors. All the
books chosen have been approved by them. The Commission is composed of
the following members: George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of
the District of Columbia, Washington, D. C.; Harrison W. Graver,
Librarian, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, Pa.; Claude G. Leland,
Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York City:
Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn,
New York; together with the Editorial Board of our Movement William D.
Murray, George D. Pratt and Frank Presbrey, with Franklin K. Mathiews,
Chief Scout Librarian, as Secretary.

    "DO A GOOD TURN DAILY."

In selecting the books, the Commission has chosen only such as are of
interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction or
stirring stories of adventurous experiences. In later lists, books of a
more serious sort will be included. It is hoped that as many as
twenty-five may be added to the Library each year.

Thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate this
new department of our work. Without their co-operation in making
available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever
published for boys, the promotion of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY would have been
impossible.

We wish, too, to express our heartiest gratitude to the Library
Commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast experience
and immense resources at the service of our Movement.

The Commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included in
the Library. Librarians, teachers, parents, and all others interested in
welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by forwarding to
National Headquarters lists of such books as in their judgment would be
suitable for EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY.

                                     Signed
                                       [Illustration: James E West]
                                                   Chief Scout Executive.


       *       *       *       *       *


THE RANCHE ON THE OXHIDE

[Illustration: "The most indescribable antics were gone through."

_Page 290._ _Frontispiece._]


Every Boy's Library--Boy Scout Edition

THE RANCHE ON THE OXHIDE

A Story of Boys' and Girls' Life on the Frontier

by

HENRY INMAN

Late Captain United States Army
Brevet Lieutenant Colonel

Author of
The Old Santa Fe Trail

Illustrated by Charles Bradford Hudson







[Illustration]

New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
(Macmillan's Standard Library)

Copyright, 1898,
By The Macmillan Company.

Set up and electrotyped. Published July, 1898. Reprinted
December, 1905; December, 1908; October, 1909; June, 1911.
New edition September, 1906; August, September, 1911; March,
June, 1912; July, 1913.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.




    To My Grandson
    GEORGE INMAN SEITZ




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I

  TAKING UP A "CLAIM" IN KANSAS--THE TRAIL FROM
    LEAVENWORTH--ANIMALS SEEN EN ROUTE--PRAIRIE
    CHICKENS--BUILDING THE CABIN--THE COSY
    SITTING-ROOM--ANIMALS FOUND IN THE TIMBER AND ON THE
    PRAIRIE--WHY THE CREEK WAS NAMED "OXHIDE"                 Page 1


CHAPTER II

  THE HOUSE IS FINISHED--BUILDING CORRALS--THE HOUNDS--THEIR
    FIGHT WITH A LYNX--ITS HIDE GIVEN TO GERTRUDE--THE
    IMMENSE HERD OF BUFFALO--CAPTURE FOUR CALVES--GET THEIR
    PONIES IN A STRANGE MANNER--BREAKING THEM                Page 13


CHAPTER III

  THE BOYS GO FISHING FOR THE FIRST TIME--AN IDEA SUDDENLY
    STRIKES ROB--ROB'S QUEST AND LUCK--THE ISLAND OF
    WILLOWS--ROB'S BIG CAT--JOE'S TUSSLE WITH A PANTHER
    CUB--KILLS HIM--IS WOUNDED--SKINS THE ANIMAL, AND GETS
    HOME AT LAST--GIVES THE BEAUTIFUL ROBE TO HIS MOTHER     Page 29


CHAPTER IV

  BOY AND GIRL LIFE AT ERROLSTRATH RANCHE--THEIR PETS--THE
    GIRLS ENCOUNTER A BIG PRAIRIE WOLF--JOE TO THE
    RESCUE--DEATH OF THE FEROCIOUS BEAST                     Page 48


CHAPTER V

  THE FRIENDLY PAWNEES CAMP ON THE OXHIDE--OLD "YELLOW
    CALF," THE CHIEF--JOE IS NAMED "THE WHITE PANTHER"--JOE
    GOES HUNTING WITH THE BAND--HE LEARNS THE
    LANGUAGE--HUNTING WITH THE BOYS OF THE TRIBE             Page 62


CHAPTER VI

  THE STORY OF THE MASSACRE ON SPILLMAN CREEK--SCOUTS GO TO
    THE RESCUE--JOE AND ROB TALK OVER THE HORRID WORK OF THE
    SAVAGES--THE DOG SOLDIERS--CHARLEY BENT--PLACE OF
    RENDEZVOUS--PARTY STARTS OUT--JOE'S OPINION IS ASKED     Page 71


CHAPTER VII

  ARRIVAL OF CAVALRY ON THE ELKHORN--A DEER HUNT--WHAT THE
    SCOUTS SAW--THE STORY OF THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS--THE DEAD
    AND WOUNDED--MEN HIDDEN IN THE BRUSH--AN INDIAN
    LEGEND--ARRIVAL OF THE INFANTRY--THE DEER HUNT IN THE
    MORNING--DEATH OF THE DEER                               Page 98


CHAPTER VIII

  MR. TUCKER PASSES THE NIGHT AT ERROLSTRATH--HE TELLS SOME
    STORIES OF HUNTING BIG GAME IN THE ROCKY
    MOUNTAINS--SAGACITY OF THE FEMALE BIGHORN--THE AMERICAN
    COUGAR--THE BEAR AND THE PANTHER--THE RABBIT HUNT--HOW
    THE BOYS TRAINED THEIR HOUNDS                           Page 118


CHAPTER IX

  INDIAN RAIDS--KATE IS MISSING--"BUFFALO BILL'S"
    OPINION--"BUFFALO BILL" FINDS HER LITTLE BASKET--THE
    SOLDIERS RETURN TO THE FORT WITHOUT FINDING HER--GRIEF
    OF THE FAMILY                                           Page 137


CHAPTER X

  HOW KATE WAS CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS--THE BAND RIDE
    RAPIDLY SOUTHWARD--AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE--HER
    DETERMINATION TO ESCAPE--TEACHES THE SQUAWS--IS TREATED
    KINDLY                                                  Page 147


CHAPTER XI

  THANKSGIVING DAY AT ERROLSTRATH--KATE'S RETURN--CUSTER'S
    BATTLE WITH "BLACK KETTLE"--KATE TELLS HER STORY--THE
    ORIGIN OF INDIAN CORN--A WOLF HUNT WITH GENERAL
    CUSTER--A WOLF STORY BY THE COLONEL                     Page 156


CHAPTER XII

  A WOLF HUNT--TWO SNAKE STORIES--TERRIBLE STRUGGLE WITH A
    MOUNTAIN WOLF--A MAIL RIDER EATEN--THE OLD TRAPPER'S
    EXPERIENCE WITH FOUR OF THE FIERCE BEASTS               Page 193


CHAPTER XIII

  JOE, ROB, AND THE OLD TRAPPER--GENERAL CUSTER ARRIVES AT
    THE RENDEZVOUS--THE WOLF DENS--FIRST TUSSLE BETWEEN THE
    HOUNDS AND A WOLF--CINCH'S GREAT BATTLE                 Page 211


CHAPTER XIV

  A WILD TURKEY HUNT--THE TRIP TO MUD CREEK--THE TURKEY
    ROOST--THE SHOOTING BEGINS--COUNTING THE NUMBER
    KILLED--JOE SELLS TURKEYS                               Page 222


CHAPTER XV

  HOW THE ROBIN CAME TO KANSAS--MOCKING-BIRDS--EATEN BY
    SNAKES--JOE LOSES HIS TAME ELK--THE LAST OF THE
    WOLVES--FINDING THE QUAIL'S NEST--JOE BUILDS A CAGE FOR
    THEM--RAISING CHICKENS                                  Page 229


CHAPTER XVI

  THE PAWNEES RETURN--ANTELOPE HUNT WITH THE INDIANS--JOE
    MISSES--WHITE WOLF--TALK OF A WILD HORSE HUNT--THE
    SAND-HILL CRANES--THEIR WEIRD COTILLION                 Page 246


CHAPTER XVII

  WILD HORSES--JOE SLEEPS IN WHITE WOLF'S TENT--CAMP ON THE
    WALNUT--WOLVES AND LYNXES--KILL AN ELK--THE
    CHASE--CAPTURE OF THE BLACK STALLION--WHITE WOLF'S
    SKILL--BREAKING THE HORSES                              Page 256


CHAPTER XVIII

  THE LAST HERD OF BUFFALO--THE STAMPEDE--THE SOLDIERS IN
    FULL CHASE--JOE GETS TWO COWS--HAULING IN THE
    MEAT--RATTLESNAKES                                      Page 272


CHAPTER XIX

  THE INDIAN HORSE-RACE--KATE'S PONY WINS--THE TRADE WITH
    THE PAWNEES--THE DANCES AT NIGHT--THE INDIANS SAY GOOD
    BY TO THE FAMILY--NOBLE ACTION OF WHITE WOLF            Page 281


CHAPTER XX

CONCLUSION

  RETROSPECTIVE--THE OLD TRAPPER PASSES AWAY--MR. AND MRS.
    THOMPSON ARE DEAD--GENERAL CUSTER AND COLONEL KEOGH ARE
    KILLED--ERROLSTRATH BELONGS TO JOE AND ROB              Page 295




THE RANCHE ON THE OXHIDE




CHAPTER I

  TAKING UP A "CLAIM" IN KANSAS--THE TRAIL FROM
    LEAVENWORTH--ANIMALS SEEN EN ROUTE--PRAIRIE
    CHICKENS--BUILDING THE CABIN--THE COSY
    SITTING-ROOM--ANIMALS FOUND IN THE TIMBER AND ON THE
    PRAIRIE--WHY THE CREEK WAS NAMED "OXHIDE"


IN 1865-66, immigrants began to rush into the new state of Kansas which
had just been admitted into the Union. A large majority of the early
settlers were old soldiers who had served faithfully during the war for
the preservation of their country. To these veterans the Government, by
Act of Congress, made certain concessions, whereby they could take up
"claims" of a hundred and sixty acres of the public land under easier
regulations than other citizens who had not helped their country in the
hour of her extreme danger.

Many of them, however, were forced to go out on the extreme frontier, as
the eastern portion of the state was already well settled. On the remote
border several tribes of Indians, notably the Cheyennes, Kiowas,
Comanches, and Arapahoes, still held almost undisputed possession, and
they were violently opposed to the white man's encroachment upon their
ancestral hunting-grounds, from which he drove away the big game upon
which they depended for the subsistence of themselves and their
families. Consequently, these savages became very hostile as they
witnessed, day after day, the arrival of hundreds of white settlers who
squatted on the best land, felled the trees on the margin of the streams
to build their log-cabins, and ploughed up the ground to plant crops.

Late in the fall of 1866, Robert Thompson, a veteran of one of the
Vermont regiments, having read in his village newspaper such glowing
accounts of the advantages offered by Kansas to the immigrant, decided
to leave his ancestral homestead among the barren hills of the Green
Mountain State, and take up a claim in the far West. The family,
consisting of father, mother, Joseph, Robert, Gertrude, and Kate, after
a journey by railroad and steamboat without incident worth recording,
arrived at Leavenworth on the Missouri River, the general rendezvous in
those early days for all who intended to cross the great plains, through
which a railroad was then an idle dream. In that rough, but busy town,
Mr. Thompson purchased two six-mule teams, two white-covered wagons
called "prairie schooners," together with sufficient provisions to last
a month, by which time he thought he should find a suitable location on
the vast plains whither he was going.

A few cooking-utensils of the simplest character, together with a
double-barrelled shot-gun and a Spencer rifle, constituted the entire
outfit necessary for their lonely trip of perhaps three hundred miles,
before they could hope to find unoccupied land on which to settle.

One Monday morning, bright and early, the teams pulled out of the town,
Mr. Thompson driving in the lead, and Joe, who was the elder of the
boys, in the other. Gertrude rode with her father and mother, and Kate
and Rob with their brother Joe. Their course ran over the broad trail
to the Rocky Mountains, on which were then hauled by government
caravans, all the supplies for the military posts in the Indian country.

Their route for the first two weeks passed through deep forests
extending for a long distance from the bank of the great river. The
whole family were charmed with the new and strange scenes they passed as
they rode slowly on day after day, scenes so different in their details
from those to which they had been used in the staid old region they had
left so far behind them. The boys and girls, particularly, were in a
constant state of excitement. They marvelled at the immense trees as
they passed through groups of great elms and giant cottonwoods. The
gnarled trunks were vine-covered clear to their topmost branches by the
magnificent Virginia creeper, or woodbine, as it is called, the most
beautiful of the American ivies, and which grows in its greatest
luxuriance west of the Missouri River. On the ends of the huge limbs of
the lofty trees as they branched over the trail, the red squirrels sat,
peeping saucily at the travellers as they drove under them, and the
blue jay, the noisiest of birds, screeched as he darted like lightning
through the dark foliage. The blue jay is the shark of the air; he
kills, without any discrimination, all the young fledglings he can find
in their nests while their parents are absent. Although his plumage is
magnificent in its cerulean hue as the sun glints upon it, and he has a
very sweet note when sitting quietly on the limbs of the oak, which he
loves, yet his awful screaming as he flies--and he is ever on the
wing--is far from pleasant to ears not trained to listen to his harsh
voice.

Occasionally a gaunt, hungry wolf--they are always hungry--would skulk
out of the timber and then run across the trail, with his tail wrapped
closely between his legs. He would just show a mouth full of great white
teeth for a moment, as he sneaked cowardly off, the rattle of the wagons
having, perhaps, disturbed his slumbers on some ledge of rock near the
road.

Prairie chickens, or pinnated grouse, were seen in large flocks as soon
as the open country was reached. They were far from wild in those days;
you could approach near enough always to get a good shot at them, for
civilization was to them almost as strange an experience as it was to
those beasts and birds on Robinson Crusoe's island. Joe was already
quite proficient with the shot-gun, and he often handed the lines to
Rob, and stopping the team, got out and walked ahead of the wagons to
stalk a flock of the beautiful game, which had been frightened away from
their feeding-ground by the rattle of the teams. For a long time grouse
was a part of every meal until the party became really tired of them.
Mrs. Thompson was a famous cook, and they were served up in a variety of
ways, but the favorite style of all the family was to have them broiled
before the camp-fire on peeled willow twigs. Rob always regarded it as
part of his duty to procure these twigs, as he was the handiest with a
jack-knife or hatchet.

The weeks passed pleasantly for the children, but the old folks were
becoming very anxious to settle somewhere, for the winter, as they
thought, would soon be coming on. They did not know then that that
season in Kansas is usually short, and that the three or four months
preceding it is the most delightful time of the whole year. So after
travelling nearly two months on the broad trail to the mountains,
examining a piece of land here and another there, they camped early one
afternoon on the bank of Oxhide Creek, in what is now Ellsworth County,
and so delighted were they all with the charming spot, that they made up
their minds to seek no further.

Their "claim," as the possession of the public land is called, included
a beautiful bend of the little stream which flowed through the one
hundred and sixty acres to which they were entitled by being the first
to settle on it. They discovered in the very centre of a group of elms
and cottonwoods a large spring of deliciously cool water, and the trees
which hid it from view were more than a century old. The magnificent
pool for untold ages had evidently been a favorite resort of the
antelope and buffalo, if one could so judge from the quantity of the
bones of those animals that were constantly ploughed up near by when the
ground was cultivated. No doubt that the big prairie wolf and the
cowardly little coyote hidden in the long grass and underbrush
surrounding the spring got many a kid and calf whose incautious mothers
had strayed from the protection of the herd to quench their thirst.

The beautiful creek flowed at the base of a range of low, rocky hills,
while two miles northward ran a magnificent stretch of level prairie,
beyond which ran the Smoky Hill River.

To their ranche, as all homes in the far West are called, the Thompsons
gave the name of Errolstrath. It had no special significance; it was so
called merely because "Strath" in Scotch means a valley through which a
stream meanders. It comported perfectly with the situation of the place,
and "Errol" was added as a prefix for euphony's sake. In this
picturesque little valley Mr. Thompson, with the assistance of his boys,
began at once the construction of a rude but comfortable cabin,
fashioned partly out of logs and partly of stone. The house outside gave
no hint of the excellence of its interior, or the cosy rooms which a
refined taste and culture had felt to be as necessary on the remote
frontier as in the thickly settled East. The largest division of the
house was an apartment which served as the family sitting-room. In one
corner of this, they built diagonally across it, after the Mexican
style, an old-fashioned fireplace, patterned like one in the ancestral
homestead in Vermont. Up its cavernous throat you could see the sky,
and in the summer, when the full moon was at the zenith, a flood of
bright light would pour down on the broad hearth. In the winter evenings
the family gathered around the great blazing logs, whose yellow flames
roared like a tornado as they shot up the chimney. The mother sewed, the
girls were engaged with their studies, and the boys either listened to
their father as he told of some experience in his own youthful days,
played chess, or were busied with some other intellectual amusement.

This large room was also furnished with a small but well-selected
library. It was a source of much pleasure to the family, as the country
was not settled up very rapidly, and the members were thrown entirely
upon their own resources for amusements. The following spring and summer
many newcomers arrived and took up the choicest lands in the vicinity,
until there were several families within varying distances of
Errolstrath. Some were only three miles away, others twelve, but in that
region then, all were considered neighbors, no matter how far away.

The children had lots of fun, for the rare sport differed entirely from
that which their former home in the old East had furnished. The dense
timber which grew by the water of the Oxhide like a fringe, was the home
of the lynx, erroneously called the wild cat, squirrels, badgers, and
<DW53>s. The wolf and the little coyote had their dens in the great ledges
of rock that were piled up on the hilly sides of the valley. The great
prairie was often black with vast herds of buffalo, or bison, which
roamed over its velvety area at certain seasons. The timid antelope,
too, graceful as a flower, and gifted with a wonderful curiosity, could
be seen for many years after the Thompsons had settled on the creek.
They moved in great flocks, frequently numbering a thousand or more, but
now, like their immense shaggy congener, the buffalo, through the
wantonness of man, they have been almost annihilated.

Joe Thompson, the eldest child, about fourteen, was a rare boy, strongly
built, and possessed of a mind that was equal to his well-developed
body. He was a born leader, and became one of the most prominent men on
the frontier when the troublous times came with the savages, some years
after the family had settled on Oxhide Creek. Robert, the second son,
was a bright, active, muscular fellow, two years younger than Joe, but
he lacked that self-reliance, energy, and coolness in the presence of
danger which so strikingly characterized Joe. Gertrude and Kate were
respectively ten and seven years old, and were carefully instructed by
their estimable mother in all that should be known by a woman whose life
was destined, perhaps, to the isolation and hardships of the frontier.
They were both taught to cook a dinner, ride horseback, handle a pistol
if necessary, or entertain gracefully in the parlor. To employ a
metaphor, theirs was a versatility which "could pick up a needle or rive
an oak!" In some of her characteristics Gertrude resembled her brother
Joe; she was braver and cooler under trying circumstances than Kate, who
was more like Rob. Both were rare specimens of noble girlhood, and their
life on the ranche, as will be seen, was full of adventure and thrilling
experiences.

It may seem strange that a stream should be called Oxhide, but, like the
nomenclature of the Indians, the name of every locality out on the
great plains is based upon some incident connected with the scene or the
individual. As this is a true story, it will not be amiss to tell here
why the odd-sounding name was given to the creek on which the Thompsons
had settled. Some years before the country was sought after by
emigrants, the only travellers through it were the old-time trappers,
who caught the various fur-bearing animals on the margins of its waters,
and the miner destined for far-off Pike's Peak or California. A party
camping there one day, on their way to the Pacific coast, discovered a
yoke of oxen, or rather their desiccated hides and skeletons, fastened
by their chains to a tree, where they had literally starved to death. It
was supposed that they had belonged to some travellers like themselves,
on their way to the mines, who had been surprised and murdered by the
Indians. The savages must have run off the moment they had finished
their bloody work, without ever looking for or finding the poor animals.
Thus it was that the stream was given the name of Oxhide, which it bears
to this day.




CHAPTER II

  THE HOUSE IS FINISHED--BUILDING CORRALS--THE HOUNDS--THEIR
    FIGHT WITH A LYNX--ITS HIDE GIVEN TO GERTRUDE--THE
    IMMENSE HERD OF BUFFALO--CAPTURE FOUR CALVES--GET THEIR
    PONIES IN A STRANGE MANNER--BREAKING THEM


IT was quite late in the season, towards the end of October, when the
stone and log cabin was completed and ready for occupancy. The family
had meanwhile lived in their big tent which they had brought with them
from the Missouri River. They had carried in their wagons bedding and
blankets, a table and several chairs, enough to suffice until the
arrival of their other goods, which had been stored at Leavenworth while
they were hunting for a location. At the end of two months after their
settlement on the Oxhide, a freight caravan arrived with their things,
much of it the old-fashioned furniture from the homestead in Vermont.
This caravan was en route to Fort Union, New Mexico, the trail to which
military post ran along the bank of the Smoky Hill River, not more than
two miles from the ranche.

Joe and Rob were constantly busy helping their father to make matters
snug for the winter, building a corral for the cows, a stone stable for
the horses, and a chicken house for the fowls, of which they had more
than a hundred, Plymouth rocks and white leghorns, the best layers in
the world. Up to that time they had not had as much time for sport as
they wished for. They had been kept too busy, until long after the cold
weather set in, when all the streams were frozen over and the woods were
bare and brown.

A near neighbor who had taken a fancy to the bright lads when they first
arrived in the country, had given them two fine greyhounds, which they
named Bluey and Brutus; the former on account of his color, and the
other because they had recently been interested in Shakespeare's play of
"Julius Caesar," which their father had read to them. With these
magnificent animals they had lots of fun during the long months of the
winter, hunting jack-rabbits, digging coyotes out of their holes in the
ledge above the banks of the creek, or fighting lynxes and <DW53>s in the
timber.

One bright day they were out among the hills with their hounds, which
had run far in advance of their young masters, when suddenly the boys'
ears were startled by a terrible commotion in a wooded ravine about a
hundred yards ahead of them. The dogs were barking furiously, sometimes
howling in pain, and they could see the dust flying in great clouds. In
a few moments all was still; the turmoil had ceased, a truce evidently
having been patched up between the belligerents. The boys hurried on and
presently came to a sheltered spot where the timber had been apparently
blown down by a small tornado many years before; and there as they came
up to it, in a triangle formed by the trunks of three fallen trees, a
space about ten feet square, they saw the hounds holding a great lynx at
bay! The cat was standing in the apex of the triangle, crowding her body
as closely as she could against the timber so that the dogs were unable
to attack her without getting a scratch from her sharp claws. Her hair
was all bristling up with battle, and the dogs had evidently tried
several times to drive her out of her almost impregnable position, but
each attempt had ended in themselves being driven back discomfited. As
soon as the hounds saw the boys, however, their courage rose, and Bluey,
the oldest dog, at an encouraging "Sic 'em!" from Joe, made a sudden
dash, caught the ferocious beast by the middle of the back and commenced
to shake her with the awful rapidity for which he was noted, and in a
few seconds she was dropped dead at Joe's feet.

Bluey first became famous as a shaker several months before his
encounter with the lynx. One morning Rob got up very early for some
reason, and went into the chicken house, and as soon as he entered it he
saw a skunk half hidden under one of the beams of the floor. He did not
dare to call Bluey, who was sleeping on a pile of hay a few feet away,
for fear the animal would take the alarm and run off. So he quietly went
to where the dog was, and lifting him bodily in his arms carried him to
the chicken house and held his nose down to the ground so that he could
see or smell the skunk. In an instant that skunk was caught up by the
neck and the life shaken out of him before he could have possibly
realized what was the matter with him.

"By jolly!" said Rob, a favorite ejaculation with him when he was
excited, as he saw the cat lying perfectly still where Bluey had dropped
him. "I say, Joe, what a set of teeth and a strong neck old Bluey must
have to shake anything as he does! Why, if he could take up a man in his
jaws, the fellow would stand no more chance of his life than that lynx!"

"The hound," replied Joe, "has a strong jaw and a powerful neck; but he
lacks the intelligence of some other breeds. His brain is not nearly as
large as that of a Newfoundland, a setter, pointer, or even a poodle.
Hounds like Bluey and Brutus run by sight alone; they have no nose, and
the moment they cannot see their game they are lost. You have often
noticed that, Rob, when a rabbit gets away from them in the long grass
or in the corn stalks. They will jump up and down, completely bewildered
until they catch sight of the animal again. Now, with the other breed of
hounds, they hunt by scent; the moment they get wind of anything they
run with their noses close to the ground and commence to howl. The
greyhound, on the contrary, makes no noise at all."

Joe skinned the lynx, assisted by Rob, and after throwing the carcass in
the ravine where the battle had been fought, slowly walked back to the
ranche, followed by the dogs, that kept close to their heels, tired and
sore from the struggle just ended.

"Let us give the hide to Gert after we tan it, to put at the side of her
bed; you know she is fond of such things," said Rob.

"All right," replied Joe. "We'll do it, and if we have good luck in
getting other animals, we'll just fill her room with skins. Won't that
be jolly?"

Mr. Thompson had but two teams of horses on the ranche, and they could
not often be spared from work, for the mere amusement of the boys. It
was a constant source of regret to them that they did not have ponies of
their own. On their way home the oft-repeated subject came up again.
Both Joe and Rob felt keenly that they were obliged to go where they
were sent, or desired to go themselves, on foot. How to obtain the
coveted little creatures was a source of continual worry to them.

"I do wish that we had ponies," began Rob for the hundredth time, "so
that we could go anywhere in a hurry; don't you, Joe?"

"Father would buy them for us if he felt that he could afford it; and he
means to as soon as he can see his way clear. I heard him tell mother
so, several times when she wished that we had 'em," replied Joe.
"Maybe," continued he, "some band of friendly Indians will come along
after a while; it's nearly time for the Pawnees to start out on their
annual buffalo hunt. When they come up here, we may be able to trade 'em
out of a real nice pair. They are always eager for a 'swap'; so old man
Tucker told me the other day, and he is an old Indian trader and
fighter. He has lived on the plains and in the mountains for more than
forty years; so he knows what he is talking about."

"Golly! couldn't we have lots of fun," he continued, "with old Bluey and
Brutus, after jack-rabbits and wolves, if we only had something to
ride?"

"Couldn't we, though!" answered Rob. "I tell you, Joe, it's awful hard
work to climb over these hills on foot; we can't begin to keep up with
the dogs; can't get anywhere in sight of 'em. You know that, and I just
bet that we lose lots of game; don't you?"

"Oh! I know it," said Joe; "for the hounds become discouraged when they
find themselves so far away from us. Often, when I'm out alone with
them, Brutus will come back to hunt me instead of hunting rabbits.
Sometimes I can't get him to go on after Bluey; he, the old rascal is
more cunning; he gets many a rabbit we never see, and eats it. That is
what makes him so much fatter than Brutus, though he does twice as much
running. Did you ever think of that, Rob?"

That night when the tired boys went to bed, they little dreamed that
they were to have something to ride sooner than their fondest hopes had
flattered them, and from an entirely different source than the Indians.

Before the sun's broad disc rose above the Harker Hills next morning,
although its rays had already crimsoned the rocky crests of the buttes
which bounded the little valley of the Oxhide on the west, Rob had
risen without disturbing his brother. He was always an early riser; he
loved the calm, beautiful hours that usher in the day, and was the first
one of all the family out of bed on the ranche.

He took the tin wash basin from its hook outside of the kitchen door,
and started for the spring, only a few yards away, to wash himself. Just
as he arrived there, chancing to look towards the hills, he saw that the
whole country, upland and bottom alike, was black with buffaloes. In his
excitement, he threw down the basin, and ran back to the house as fast
as his legs could carry him. He rushed into his father's room, and
unceremoniously seizing him by the shoulder, waking him from a sound
slumber, shook him, and shouted as loud as he was able:--

"Father, get up! Father, get up! the whole country is alive with
buffaloes, and the nearest one is not a quarter of a mile away. Quick!
father."

Mr. Thompson roused himself, and instantly got out of bed and dressed
himself quicker than he had ever done since he had lived on the ranche.
He threw on only clothes enough to cover him, for he had already caught
some of his boy's enthusiasm.

He told Rob to go to the closet, bring him a dozen bullets and his
powder-flask, while he commenced to wipe out the barrels of his two
old-fashioned rifles and the Spencer carbine, that always hung on a set
of elk antlers fastened to the wall of his bed-chamber.

As Rob had declared, the whole region was literally dark with a mighty
multitude of the great shaggy monsters, grazing quietly toward the east.
There were thousands in sight, and for just such a chance Mr. Thompson
had been anxiously waiting to get a supply of meat for the family.

Of course, every member of the household got up as soon as Rob had ended
his noisy announcement. Hurriedly dressing, they rushed out under a
group of trees that grew near the door, and watched Mr. Thompson
crawling cautiously round the rocks as he drew nearer and nearer to the
yet unconscious herd.

In a few moments he was lost to sight, and almost immediately they saw
the herd raise their heads simultaneously. The family then knew that Mr.
Thompson had been discovered by the wary animals, for the alarmed
buffaloes began their characteristic quick, short gallop, and the boys
were fearful that their father had not gotten within range and that
there would be no meat for breakfast. But at the instant they were
expecting to be disappointed, the loud crack of a rifle echoed through
the valley once, twice, then a short silence; three, four times.

As the sound of the discharges died away, they saw their father climb to
the summit of the divide, in full view of all, and wave his hat. Then
they knew he had been successful, and eagerly watched him as he came
slowly down the declivity toward them.

When he had come within hailing distance he cried out that he had killed
four fat cows; one for each shot. Then the boys and girls took off their
hats, and, vigorously waving them, gave three hearty cheers.

Just beyond the cabin and corral, which latter was surrounded by a stone
wall nearly five feet high, was a single hill whose summit was round,
and to which had been given the name of Haystack Mound, because at a
distance it exactly resembled a haystack. When the buffaloes had
started to run eastwardly, this mound cut off some of the animals of the
herd, about three hundred in all, the majority going south of it, the
smaller number north, which brought them near the house. Seeing the
family standing there, they suddenly turned and rushed right over the
corral; the gate was open, and a few dashed through it, but the most of
them leaped over the wall. The buffalo is not easily stopped by any
ordinary obstacle when stampeded; he will go down a precipice, or up a
steep hill; madly rushing on to his destruction, in order to get away
from the common enemy, man.

Rob saw the buffaloes first as they were turned from their course by the
mound, and when they began to rush over the wall of the corral and
through its gate, he shouted to Joe:--

"Come, Joe, let's try to shut some of them in; maybe there are calves
among them. If there are, we can keep 'em in, for the little ones can
never mount that wall on the other side."

Instantly acting on the suggestion, both boys ran as fast as they could
to the corral, and succeeded in closing the entrance just as the last of
the herd was leaping over the far wall.

As Rob had surmised, four calves remained inside, too young to follow
their mothers over the wall. Both he and Joe were nearly wild with
excitement at their luck in having been able to shut the gate in time to
corral the baby buffaloes. They were about to rush to the house to tell
the rest of the family of their wonderful capture, when Joe chanced to
look into the door of the rude shed that was used to shelter the stock
in stormy weather, and saw jammed against the farther wall two animals
that were too small to be full-grown buffaloes, and too large for
calves. It was so dark in the corner where they were that he could not
make out at first what kind of animals they had caught. He called Rob,
who crawled nearer to where the beasts stood huddled against each other,
trembling with fear at their strange quarters.

In another moment, as soon as Rob's eyes became used to the dim light,
he came bounding out with the speed of a Comanche Indian on the
war-path, and catching Joe by the shoulders was just able to gasp:--

"By jolly, Joe, they're real ponies!"

They were so astonished for a few seconds that they stood paralyzed
before they ventured in the shed to take a good look at the little
animals. They boldly went in, and the moment the ponies saw the boys
they made a break for the outside and vainly attempted to dash over the
wall. Their frantic efforts, however, were of no avail; they could not
make it: they were regular prisoners, and Rob and Joe were almost out of
their senses with delight.

After their excitement had somewhat subsided they went to the house and
brought out all the rest of the family to see the cunning little
animals. They lost all their interest in the buffalo calves now that
their brightest dreams of owning ponies of their own were realized.

The diminutive beasts which the boys had so successfully corralled were
sorry-looking animals enough. They were so dirty, thin, angular, and
their coats so rough, so filled with sand-burrs and bull-nettles, that
it was hard to determine what color they were. All the family made a
guess at it. Kate said she thought they were mouse-color, while Gertrude
believed they were gray. Joe thought they were brown, and Rob white. Mr.
Thompson, however, who knew more about horses than his boys, told them
they were bays, but it would take a few days of currying and brushing up
to determine which of the family had guessed correctly. There was
evidently lots of life in them, for they cavorted around the big corral,
prancing like thoroughbreds.

That afternoon, when they had taken care of the buffaloes which Mr.
Thompson shot, and had stretched their robes on the corral wall to cure,
the ponies were roped by Mr. Thompson, who could handle a lariat with
some degree of skill, and halters were put on them. They were nearly of
a size, and both of the same color, so they could hardly be
distinguished from each other, but on a closer examination it was
discovered that one of them had a white spot on his breast. This was the
only apparent difference between them, so the boys drew lots to see
which should have the one with the white breast. Their father selected
two straws, one shorter than the other, and holding them partly
concealed so that only their ends showed, told Rob to draw first. He got
the longer straw, and so became the owner of the pony with the spot of
white on his breast.

In less than two weeks, through kindness and good care, they were
changed into clean, sleek, beautiful bays, just as Mr. Thompson had said
they would be. In a month the boys could ride them anywhere, and the
acme of their happiness was reached.

The animals had strayed from some band of wild horses and had drifted
along with the herd of buffaloes, as was not infrequently the case in
the early days on the great plains.




CHAPTER III

  THE BOYS GO FISHING FOR THE FIRST TIME--AN IDEA SUDDENLY
    STRIKES ROB--ROB'S QUEST AND LUCK--THE ISLAND OF
    WILLOWS--ROB'S BIG CAT--JOE'S TUSSLE WITH A PANTHER
    CUB--KILLS HIM--IS WOUNDED--SKINS THE ANIMAL, AND GETS
    HOME AT LAST--GIVES THE BEAUTIFUL ROBE TO HIS MOTHER


THE winter, contrary to their expectations, was not a severe one. The
family had been used to the long, dreary, cold months of a New England
winter, and were agreeably surprised when April arrived with its sunny
skies, delicious breezes, and wild flowers covering the prairies.

One morning, when his father was just starting for the little village of
Ellsworth, six miles distant, for a load of lumber, Rob asked him to buy
some hooks and lines.

"Father," said he, "Oxhide Creek is just full of bull-pouts, perch, cat
and buffalo fish. Joe and I want to go fishing to-day, if you return in
time."

Mr. Thompson told the boys that he would not forget them, and as he
drove off, they took their spades to dig in the garden as their father
had directed them to do while he was away.

Both Joe and Rob worked very industriously, anxious to make the time
slip away until their father's return, when, if he was satisfied with
what they had done, they knew he would let them go fishing.

Just before twelve o'clock Mr. Thompson came back. The boys had worked
for more than three hours, but it seemed only one to them, so quickly
does time glide along when we are engaged in some healthful labor.

When Mr. Thompson saw how faithfully his boys had worked, he told them,
as he handed to each a line and some hooks, they might have the
afternoon to themselves and go fishing if they wished to, but must wait
until they had taken the lumber off the wagon and eaten their dinner.

The boys were all excitement at the idea of going fishing. When they sat
down to dinner they hurried through it, asked to be excused, and went
out and unloaded the lumber before their father had done eating.

When they returned to the house and told their father they had unloaded
the boards and run the wagon under the shed, he said they might go, but
were to be sure to return in time to do the chores.

They took a spade from the tool-shed and an old tomato can their mother
had given them, and started for the creek, where in the soft, black soil
of its banks they dug for white grubs for bait. They were not very
successful, however. They turned over almost as much soil as they had
dug in the garden that morning, but found only three or four worms; not
enough to take out on their excursion. They were disgusted for a few
moments, fearing that they would have to give up their fishing, so stood
staring at each other, their faces filled with disappointment.

At last an idea struck Rob. He said:--

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Joe. I read in one of father's books the
other day about the Indians out in Oregon catching trout with crayfish.
It said that the savages commence to fish far up at the head of the
stream, lifting, as they walk down, the flat stones under which the
little animals hide themselves. They look like small lobsters, only
they are gray instead of green. Then they break them open and use the
white meat for bait. The book said they catch more trout in an hour than
a white man will in a week with all his flies, bugs, and fancy rigging."

"Let's try 'em for luck," answered Joe. "I don't know whether there are
any crayfish in the Oxhide, but we can go and find out; and if there
are, I guess cat and perch will bite at 'em as well as trout."

"All right," said Rob, the look of disappointment instantly vanishing
from his face as he listened to his brother's suggestion. "But I tell
you, Joe," continued he, "we've got to have poles. You go up to that
bunch of willows yonder," pointing with the old can he held in his hand,
to the bunch of willows growing as thick as rushes on a little island in
the creek, about an eighth of a mile from where he stood; "and here,
Joe, take my line and hooks, too. Fix yours and mine all ready for us,
while I go and hunt for the crayfish. I know where they are; I saw a
whole lot crawling in the water near the house the other day."

The two brothers then separated,--Joe, jack-knife in hand, going toward
the willows, and Rob to the creek with the tomato can.

As soon as Rob arrived at the bank of the stream, he took off his boots
and stockings, rolled his trousers above his knees, tied the can around
his neck with a string, and waded in. The creek was not at all deep, and
the water as clear as crystal. He could see shoals of perch dart ahead
of him, and many bull-pouts rush under the shadow of the bank as he
waded toward the island of willows. In the bed of the creek were
hundreds of flat rocks; some that he could easily lift, others so large
that he could not budge them.

The first stone he turned over had three of the coveted crayfish hidden
under its slimy bottom, and excited at his luck, he quickly caught them.
So many were there as he lifted stone after stone, that he soon filled
the tomato can, and by that time he had arrived at the willows. Joe was
anxiously waiting for him with two handsome rods, at least ten feet
long, the lines already attached and the hooks nicely fastened to their
ends.

"Golly! Rob, you must have had awful good luck," said Joe, as he looked
at the can full of struggling crayfish.

"Pshaw!" answered Rob. "Why, Joe, I could have got a bushel of 'em; the
Oxhide was just swimming with 'em."

"Let's go to that little lake that was so nice where we went swimming
last autumn," suggested Joe. "I know there are lots of cats in there;
big ones, too."

"All right, Joe," said Rob, as he commenced to put on his stockings.
When he had got his boots on, the two boys walked briskly toward the
so-called lake, which was a mere widening of the creek, forming quite a
large sheet of water, where they arrived in about seven minutes. It was
a very delightful spot. The whole surface of the water was shaded by the
gigantic limbs of great elms a hundred years old, growing on its margin,
and all around the edge was a heavy mat of buffalo grass, soft as a
carpet.

It required only a dozen seconds or so for the boys to unwind their
lines, bait the hooks, seat themselves on the cushioned sod, and cast
the shining white meat in the water.

There they anxiously waited for results, as the catfish is not game like
the trout, but is slow and deliberate in all its movements. The trout
rushes at anything that touches the surface of the water, but the
catfish carefully investigates whatever comes within reach of its great
jaws, before it opens its ugly mouth to take it in.

In a few minutes, Rob felt a tremendous tugging at his line, and in
another instant he skilfully landed a large channel cat on the grass at
his feet.

"Look, Joe, look! see what a big one I've caught," said Rob, as he
dexterously extracted the hook from the creature's great mouth, and then
held the fish at arm's length so that his brother could have a good look
at it.

Rob's catch weighed at least four pounds, and no wonder he was delighted
at such success, as it showed considerable skill to land a fish of that
size.

Joe had not yet had a nibble, and a shade of disappointment began to
creep over his face when suddenly, just as he was about to go over to
examine his brother's catch more closely, he was nearly jerked off his
feet by a tremendous pull at his own line. He recovered himself
immediately, and by dint of a hard struggle, hauled in a cat that was
almost as big again as that which Rob had caught.

It was Joe's turn to yell now; he held up the big fish as high as he
could,--its tail touched the ground even then,--and sung out:--

"I say, Rob, just look at this, will you? Yours is only a minnow
alongside of mine. When you go fishing, why don't you catch something
like this?"

Unfortunately, at the instant he was so wild with excitement, he stood
on the very edge of the bank, and so absorbed was he in the
contemplation of the great fish, that his foot slipped and both he and
the cat were thrown into the water at the same moment. The cat made a
terrible lunge forward when it found itself once more in its native
element, and before you could say "Jack Robinson," was out of sight.

If ever disgust was to be seen on a boy's face, that face was Joe
Thompson's; he only glanced at the water, did not say a word; his
feelings were too sad for utterance.

Rob looked over at his brother and sarcastically said, as he held up his
cat and stroked it:--

"I say, Joe, who's got the biggest fish now?"

In an instant he saw that he had touched Joe in a tender spot; he was a
very sensitive boy, so Rob quickly added: "Well, never mind, Joe. You
remember what mother often says to us, 'There is as good a fish in the
sea as was ever caught,' and I'll bet there's just as big cats in here
as the one you lost. Try again, Joe, but stand away from the edge of the
water with the next one you haul out."

Joe, thus encouraged and comforted, sat down again in his old place,
threw his line to try once more, and in the excitement soon forgot his
misfortune.

In less than three hours the boys caught more than a dozen apiece, none
so large, however, as that which escaped from Joe. It was now nearly six
o'clock, the sun was low in the heavens, and as they had as many fish as
they could conveniently carry, they decided to go home. Arriving there
in a short time, they at once went to work at their chores. Their
customary evening's task was to drive the cows into the corral, feed the
horses and their own ponies, and bring water from the spring for their
mother, so that it should be handy when she rose in the morning.

While Joe and Rob were at their work, their father cleaned some of the
fish, which their mother then cooked for supper, and they certainly
tasted to the young anglers better than ever did fish before. While at
the table they related every little incident that had befallen them on
this their first angling expedition in the new country.

After that very successful excursion the brothers sometimes spent whole
mornings or portions of the afternoons at some place on the creek or
river, when the work on the ranche was not pushing, and so expert did
they become with hook and line, that the family was never at a loss for
a supply of fish during the proper seasons.

Joe was a close observer of nature, and he very quickly learned the
habits of all the animals, birds, and fish that were common to the
region where he lived. Being the eldest son, too, he was intrusted with
a small but excellent rifle and a shot-gun which his father bought one
morning in the village, on the fifteenth anniversary of his birthday. He
would get up very early in the morning and with his pony and the hounds
have many a lively chase after the little cottontail rabbit or the
larger "jack," improperly so called, for it is really the hare. The
rabbit burrows in the ground, while the jack-rabbit does not, but makes
his nest on the top, in a bunch of grass, or in the holes in the rocky
ledges of the bluffs that fringe nearly every stream on the great
plains. Out on the open prairies the grouse congregated in large flocks
at certain seasons, and in every covert in the woods the quail could be
found. Joe had really handled a gun long before he left Vermont, but the
superior chance for practice out on the ranche soon made him a
magnificent shot; consequently the table at the ranche was never without
game if the family desired it.

Beside the smaller game I have mentioned, there were immense herds of
buffalo and antelope, and in some places in the deep woods was the only
long-tailed specimen of the genus felis on the continent,--the cougar,
or panther. All the wildcats, so called, are lynxes, with short tails.
With one of the first mentioned Joe once had a severe tussle, which
nearly proved disastrous to him. It happened in this way.

One afternoon in November shortly after the cabin was finished and the
family had moved in, he was out on the range with his father's horse,
the Spencer carbine, and about twenty rounds of ammunition. Even at that
early stage of his life at Errolstrath he was always careful never to
ride far away from home, without taking a gun with him; for he was
always sure to see something in the shape of game worth killing for the
table; and as its main support in that particular very soon depended on
his prowess as a hunter, he was always on the lookout.

Joe had ridden a long way from the cabin. He had really forgotten how
far away he was and was becoming very thirsty, for the day had been
warm, so he commenced to hunt for water.

He was riding along the bank of the Smoky Hill in the thickest of the
timber which grows on its banks, and by certain signs he had studied
since he had lived on the ranche, knew that he was near some springs,
though he had never been in that vicinity before.

He got off his horse, slipped the loop of the bridle-rein over his left
arm, slung the carbine across his right shoulder, and cautiously walked
on. There was, of course, no trail or path at the base of the bluffs
along which he was travelling, so he stopped at the mouth of every
ravine he came to, hoping to find a pool of water, or to discover some
hidden spring whose source was high up among the great rocks that
towered above his head.

Presently he arrived at a depression in the earth in the bottom of a
gully, evidently made by the claws of some animal, for beside those
marks were the imprint of foot-tracks. Joe intuitively guessed they were
those of a panther, as he had been told by the old trapper, Tucker, that
that animal knows by instinct when the water is near the surface, and
scratches with his claws until he reaches it. Joe knew, too, that the
panther was not a very large one; his footprints were too small; so he
did not feel at all alarmed at their sight. On the contrary, boy-like,
he was delighted at the idea of a possible tussle with one of the
dreadful creatures, and he thought that if he could succeed in killing
it he would add another feather to his cap by taking its hide home.

Joe felt himself equal to a possible struggle. He knew that he was fully
armed, and at once examined his carbine, took out the knife which he
always carried in his belt for skinning, and finding everything in
perfect order, he was really anxious to find the animal that had been
digging for water only a little while before his arrival at the spot.

A few rods further on, in the same ravine, he saw a little pool of
water, evidently clear and cool, and after looking cautiously all around
him, dipped the rim of his hat into the pool before him and indulged in
a long drink of the delicious fluid. Then after having satisfied his
thirst, he stood still for a few moments undecided as to what course he
should pursue.

[Illustration: "With one vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the
animal's heart."]

He concluded that if he was to remain and fight the panther if the
animal made his appearance, it would be best to tie his horse to a
sapling a short distance from the pool. After doing this he placed a
fresh cartridge in his carbine and walked slowly on, following the
beast's tracks, which had grown plainly visible a few paces from the
edge of the water, and which soon led him into a rocky canyon.

Joe came in sight of the panther much sooner than he expected. As he was
turning the sharp projecting corner of a mass of rocks which formed the
walls of a ravine, there was the panther sitting on a shelf of
sandstone, not forty feet away from him. He was busy licking his paws
cat-fashion, his ears cocked as if listening, and his small green eyes
turned toward the intruder, but evidently not much concerned at the
sight of his greatest enemy, man.

Joe was rather taken aback at first, but as the brute was only a little
over half-grown, and appeared so indifferent to his presence, he
uncocked his carbine, which he had a moment before hastily cocked, and
both boy and panther stood quietly gazing at each other for ten seconds
before either made any demonstration.

Presently the panther rose and turned sideways toward Joe, and edging up
toward the top of the ledge, gave vent to a low growl, and showed a
beautiful set of long, sharp teeth, evidently intending to let Joe know
that he wasn't afraid of him. This movement on the part of the panther
somewhat excited Joe, and cocking his carbine again, he deliberately
took aim at the place where the heart of the beast should be, as the
animal had now turned its left side toward the young hunter. Quick as a
flash Joe pulled the trigger, but the ball glancing upward, only grazed
the end of the beast's shoulder-blade and shattered it, the panther at
the same instant tumbling over on its side. This made Joe yell with
delight, for he thought he had killed it at the first shot.

The panther lay on the ground only for about ten seconds when the aspect
of affairs for Joe was suddenly changed. The brute staggered to its
feet, and, maddened with rage and pain, made for the boy. Although the
beast was evidently very lame from the effect of the shot, Joe saw to
his amazement that he was far from dead, and for a moment his usual
presence of mind forsook him, and he made a bolt for his horse, feeling
that the dreadful animal was close to him.

In his fright he dropped his carbine, but in another moment was on his
horse, who, on being so unceremoniously mounted, and seeing the
panther, gave a wild snort and a desperate kick which sent Joe heels
over head to the ground, and then dashed down the trail for home!

Joe was now all alone, on foot, and with nothing but his knife to defend
himself from the attack of the panther, who was almost upon him as he
got up from the ground after having been so hurriedly tossed from his
saddle. Although the panther was lame and bleeding profusely, he waddled
along as best he could toward Joe, his mouth wide open and his great
jaws covered with froth in his rage. Joe was somewhat bruised by his
fall, and seeing very quickly that he could not escape a tussle with the
beast, made up his mind that he would fight him to the best of his
ability. There was no other chance, for the panther was now upon him,
trying to get at him so that he could claw and bite at his leisure. But
Joe, who had now gained his normal coolness, turned deliberately, and
facing the savage brute, whose hot breath he could feel, with one
vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the animal's heart and
fortunately killed him instantly.

In the close struggle the panther was so near Joe, that in his death
throes, having fallen right on top of the boy, his sharp claws tore the
sleeve of his coat off and scratched a goodly piece of flesh from his
arms, as with one convulsive shudder the ferocious animal had rolled
over dead.

There was never a more delighted boy than Joe, despite his really
painful wounds, and rising with some difficulty to his feet, he went
back for his carbine, and returned with it to the dead panther. He
picked up his knife which had fallen on the ground when the fatal thrust
was given, deftly skinned him, suspended the beautiful hide to a limb of
a cottonwood tree to keep the wolves from it, and then turned away and
followed his trail towards the ranche. Of course, in a little while he
began to grow stiff in his arms from the severity of his wounds, and not
knowing exactly how far he was from the cabin, he was disturbed, not so
much for himself as at the thought that when the riderless horse arrived
there it would alarm his parents.

Joe was correct in his conjectures. As the horse dashed up to the stable
without his rider, both his father and mother were terribly frightened.
They plucked up courage, however, and immediately saddling another
horse, led back on his own trail the one Joe had ridden, and soon came
up to where Joe was resting at the side of a large spring, and suffering
considerably with the pain caused by his wounds.

They all arrived at the cabin by sundown, with the skin of the panther,
Joe's father having gone back to the tree where the boy had hung it.
That was a red-letter day in Joe's young life. He had to tell again and
again how he happened to come on the panther and his awful fight with
the enraged creature.

Joe soon recovered under the devoted nursing of his mother; his arm
healed nicely, but a good-sized scar was left where the panther had dug
its sharp claws into the flesh. The hide was smoke-tanned, and for many
years afterward adorned the floor at the foot of his mother's bed.




CHAPTER IV

  BOY AND GIRL LIFE AT ERROLSTRATH RANCHE--THEIR PETS--THE
    GIRLS ENCOUNTER A BIG PRAIRIE WOLF--JOE TO THE
    RESCUE--DEATH OF THE FEROCIOUS BEAST


AS the months rolled on, the family, particularly the children, grew
more and more delighted with their new home in the wilderness. The boys
and girls had an abundance of leisure; for though their father exacted
the most prompt obedience, he was not a hard task-master. He allowed his
children every indulgence compatible with reason, and only certain
portions of the day were devoted to work. They all studied under their
father's personal supervision, for no schools had yet been established
in the settlement.

For the boys, there were the cows to be driven to and from their
pasture, morning and night, and it was their duty to milk them, too.
Then the horses were to be fed, and in season they worked in the large
garden, on which their father prided himself. The girls helped their
mother in every household duty, and relieved her of many cares as she
grew older. So the children of Errolstrath Ranche had a good time--a
much better time than generally falls to the lot of those families in
only moderate circumstances, as were the Thompsons.

Before they had resided on the ranche a year, the boys and girls had
become possessed of a variety of pets. Gertrude had a <DW53>; Kate, an
antelope; Rob, a prairie dog; and Joe, an elk.

The antelope was caught when young by Joe, and the hounds, Bluey and
Brutus, under the following circumstances: Although one of the most
timid and swift of all the ruminants on the great plains, it is also one
of the most inquisitive. Whenever it sees something with which it is not
familiar, its curiosity overpowers its usual fear, and it will approach
very near to the object that has excited its attention. Now Joe had
learned from old Tucker, the trapper, just how the Indians act, when out
hunting the antelope, to draw the herd within range of their arrows. He
said that sometimes one or two of the savages would stand on their heads
and shake their legs in the air; then again, they would hold up a
blanket, no matter what color, and wave it slowly, when the herd, or at
least a number from it, would gradually walk toward the Indians who were
lying flat on the ground, and thus become easy victims to their swift,
unerring arrows.

It was this knowledge of the antelope's prominent characteristic that
enabled Joe to secure one for his favorite sister. He was out very early
one morning when he noticed a large herd with many kids among it, about
half a mile distant. He was well aware that his dogs, swift as they
were, would be no match for the beautiful creatures in a trial of speed,
so he resolved to resort to the Indian method. Ordering his hounds to
lie close, he tied his white handkerchief round his head, and taking off
his overalls, he began to move his body slowly backward and forward, at
the same time vigorously waving the overalls in the air. In a few
moments, just as he expected they would, he had the satisfaction of
seeing first one, then another, look up and gaze steadily at the
strange object. Presently, about half a dozen of the does with their
little ones by their sides, commenced to move cautiously towards him.
When they had approached sufficiently near, he started the hounds after
them, and after a short, lively chase they caught a fine kid, which, of
course, could not keep up with its mother. They captured it without
injury, for they had been trained not to mouth their game. As there were
a dozen cows on the ranch, there was an abundance of milk, with which
Kate used to feed her little pet from a bottle. The pretty creature
throve rapidly, and soon became as affectionate as a kitten, following
its mistress everywhere like a dog.

The big gray wolf, that ghoul of the great plains, understands full well
the inordinate curiosity of the antelope, and knowing that it is
impossible for him to catch one of the fleet animals by the employment
of his legs alone, he effects by cunning what he could never accomplish
by the best efforts of his endurance. The wicked old fellow, when he
discovers a bunch of antelopes in the distance, rolls himself into a
ball, like a badger, and tumbles about on the grass until some of the
deluded animals come near enough for him to spring on them.

Gertrude's <DW53> was caught by both the boys, assisted by Bluey and
Brutus. They dug him out of his nest under the roots of a huge elm tree
near the cabin, one day in the early springtime, when the warm sun had
just begun to thaw him after his winter's hibernation. He was "'cute"
and mischievous as he could be, stealing anything on which he could get
his tiny paws. Whenever Gertrude called him,--his name was Tom,--he
would run to her as fast as he could, jump on her back, and sit on her
shoulders for an hour at a time, when she was sewing or doing something
which did not require her to move about. He lived on any scraps from the
table, always rolling his food in his paws before he ate it.

The prairie dog, the property of Rob, was accidentally captured by
Gertrude one morning when she and Kate were out gathering wild flowers.
She actually stumbled on him as she stooped to pick a sensitive rose.
The little creature had somehow become entangled in the convolutions of
the vine, and thus became an easy prey. It fought like a tiger at
first, and tried to bite with its sharp teeth everything that came near
it. It was soon tamed, however, and became a regular nuisance at times,
for it would run under your feet in spite of the many pinches it got by
being stepped upon. It tripped up the boys and girls a dozen times a
day, as it was allowed the freedom of the house and the dooryard.
Gertrude gave it to Rob, who had often expressed a desire to own one,
and had failed a hundred times, perhaps, to capture one by drowning it
out of its hole.

The elk was given to Joe by old Tucker, and in a short time grew to be
as big as a young mule. Joe broke him to harness, and used to drive him
hitched to a little cart which his father, with the boy's help,
improvised out of an odd pair of wheels and a dry-goods box. He was kept
in the corral with the cows and horses, and became very tame, but
sometimes attempted to use his sharp front hoofs too freely. He was
forbidden the precincts of the dooryard and the house, for he came near
cutting Kate in two once, all in play, but too rough a kind of affection
for a repetition of it to be allowed.

The wild raspberries grew in great profusion near every ledge of rock in
the vicinity of the ranche. About a mile and a half from the house,
however, there was a specially favored spot for them, where the vines
were more dense and the berries of large size and delicious flavor. In
the second week of June, the second year of their residence on the
creek, Rob, who had been up the valley herding the cows, reported that
evening, upon his return, that the berries were ripe and that there were
bushels of them.

The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Gertrude and Kate left
the house with a tin bucket each, intending to go up to the ledge and
gather raspberries. They were dressed lightly,--Kate in a white muslin
skirt, and her sister in a lawn. As the nearest way to the place where
the berries were to be found lay by a trail on the other side of the
Oxhide the girls crossed it near the cabin, and as there was neither log
bridge nor stepping-stones, they took off their shoes and stockings and
waded it. After reaching the other side and putting on their shoes and
stockings, they wandered slowly through a little flower-bedecked
prairie, beyond the margin of timber which fringed the creek, to make a
short cut to where the raspberries grew, for the Oxhide made a sweeping
curve to the northeast, nearly in the shape of half a circle.

Both loving flowers, they gathered great bunches of the sensitive roses,
anemones, and white daisies, growing everywhere in such profusion. This
occupation consumed a great deal of time, for they naturally loitered,
charmed by so much floral beauty around them. It was fortunate they did,
as the sequel will show, and they did not arrive at the ledge of rocks
until nearly ten o'clock--more than two hours after they had left home.
It was intensely hot, and after gathering their buckets full of the
delicious fruit, they sat down on a shelf of the ledge which projected
over the creek. They dabbled their bare feet in the stream as it flowed
in murmuring rhythm over the rounded white pebbles, while they ate their
lunch of cake brought from the ranche, and the red berries so sweet in
the wildness of their flavor.

Having satisfied their hunger, Kate said to her sister: "Gert, we ought
to fill up our buckets again. If we go home empty-handed, mother will
think we have been making pigs of ourselves."

"There's time enough for that yet," replied Gertrude. "This cool water
feels so delightful to my feet that I believe I could sit here and
dabble in it until dark. Don't you think it's delicious, Kate?"

"Yes," answered Kate, "but I want to get home before dinner, because Joe
said that he would go with me down to the village this evening. I am
going to ride his pony, and he will ride Rob's."

"Well," said Gertrude, "if we must, we must. Mother loves raspberries
so; they are her favorite fruit, you know; and if we did not take her a
bucketful back with us, I should never forgive myself, though perhaps
she would not say a word."

"Let us commence right now," imploringly said Kate. "I want to get back
as soon as I can."

Both girls rose languidly to do as they proposed, but there did not seem
to be much energy in their motions. Just as Gertrude had taken her pail
from its place in the rocks, their ears were greeted by a low growl,
which seemed to come directly from underneath the shelf on which they
had been sitting. They looked at each other, and their faces blanched as
another snarl and a howl, nearer than before, came to their ears, and
both recognized the familiar sound they had so often heard when lying in
bed at night, as that of a wolf. Those predatory brutes frequently made
their nightly rounds in the vicinity of the corral, trying to get at the
young calves, and they might be heard in the timber, watching for a
chance to secure some of the fowls shut up in their house of stone near
the barn.

Gertrude, who was really very brave under ordinary circumstances,
immediately stood still, and looking all around her, she suddenly met
the gaze of a large, gaunt she-wolf at whose side were standing six
little ones! Generally the wolf, like nearly all other wild animals,
will run instantly at the sight of a human being; but the maternal
instinct is so wonderful that, when they have young, they will die in
defending their offspring from any supposed danger. This instinct was
shown in this instance. The fierce animal had crept out of her den at
the sound of voices, and believing that her cubs were in jeopardy, she
made a frantic dash toward the now thoroughly frightened girls, who
hastily scrambled to the summit of the ledge.

Fortunately for them, the wolf is a poor climber, but with a savage
bound toward the base of the flat rock on which the girls had a moment
before been sitting, she arrived at it the same instant they had
succeeded in reaching an elevation of about twelve feet above the level
of the water.

Just as Kate, who was not as collected as her sister, was being dragged
up by Gertrude, the wolf made a desperate leap and snapped at her with
his terrible teeth, but failed. It succeeded, however, in catching her
skirt in its ponderous jaws, and tore it completely from her waist, and
she, almost feeling the hot breath of the infuriated brute, uttered a
loud scream and fell fainting in her sister's arms.

Less than three hundred yards above the ledge of rocks, in a beautiful
piece of prairie, Joe was herding the cattle, and Kate's cry, so full of
fear, fell piercingly on his ears. He was aware that his sisters were to
go berrying that morning, and he also knew that the sound could only
come from one of them. He was lying on the grass under the shade of a
big elm with the bridle-rein of his pony in his hand. Grasping his
rifle, which was at his side, in an instant he had mounted his animal,
and digging his heels into its flanks, fairly flew down the creek to
where his sisters were held at bay by the wolf. He arrived there in less
than three minutes after he heard the scream of alarm, and saw the wolf
still persisting in its vain efforts to reach the girls on the summit of
the ledge. Gertrude was almost paralyzed with fear, and Kate lay at her
feet in the swoon into which the action of the wolf had thrown her.

The enraged beast was too much occupied with the girls to notice that
its would-be victims had assistance so near at hand, and Joe, as
Gertrude saw her brother's approach, put his finger to his lips,
indicating that she must remain perfectly silent. He dismounted in a
second, and putting the loop of the reins over his left arm, dropped on
one knee, and taking careful aim, sent a ball crashing right through the
brain of the wolf, which instantly fell dead in its tracks.

Joe then rushed down to the creek and filled his hat with water. He then
climbed hurriedly up to the rocky steep again and threw the water into
Kate's face as she still lay prone on the ledge at her sister's feet.
Kate soon revived, and after staring around her for a few seconds in a
dazed way, she smiled and said:--

"Oh, Joe, you have saved us!" and rising to her feet, forgetful of her
wet face, she kissed him half a dozen times.

While his sisters were adjusting their dresses and recovering from their
terrible fright, Joe killed the young wolves with the butt of his rifle,
and then taking his knife from his belt commenced to skin the old one.
It did not require much time to perform the operation, for he had long
since become an adept at such work. He then threw the beautiful hide
over the withers of his pony, and walked home with his sisters.

Arriving at the cabin, the girls had much to tell about their wonderful
experience and lucky escape from the jaws of the wolf, which would
certainly have torn them to pieces if it had not been for Joe's timely
arrival.

The hide, which was an immense one, was first tacked to the side of the
stable, and when dried, Joe smoke-tanned it until it was as soft as a
piece of silk. He gave it to Kate as a memento of her awful experience
with its former owner. She used it as a rug at the side of her bed, and
often said that for a long time whenever she stepped on it, the scene in
which it played such an important part was brought vividly to her mind.




CHAPTER V

  THE FRIENDLY PAWNEES CAMP ON THE OXHIDE--OLD "YELLOW
    CALF," THE CHIEF--JOE IS NAMED "THE WHITE PANTHER"--JOE
    GOES HUNTING WITH THE BAND--HE LEARNS THE
    LANGUAGE--HUNTING WITH THE BOYS OF THE TRIBE


THE Pawnees and Kaws, tribes of Indians long at peace with the whites,
and whose reservations were in the eastern part of the state, frequently
made incursions into the buffalo region two hundred miles from their
home in the valley of the Neosho, on their annual hunt for their
winter's supply of meat. The valley of the Oxhide was one of their
favorite camping-grounds, and from thence they radiated in bands to the
plains, where the vast herds of the great shaggy animals grazed in the
autumn months, on their curious elliptical march from the Yellowstone to
the southern border of Texas.

Every autumn these Indians camped in the timber only about a mile from
Errolstrath ranche, and it was very natural that the boys, especially
Joe, should often visit their temporary village, as it was decidedly a
new sensation for them. The tepees, or lodges, built in a conical shape
out of long poles covered with well-tanned buffalo hides, were a
never-ending curiosity to Joe. The chief of the band, Yellow Calf, an
old man nearly eighty years of age, took a great fancy to Joe from the
moment he first saw him. As soon as he became acquainted with his
character he called him "White Panther," after the strange nomenclature
of the North American savage. The Indians noticed immediately that Joe
was different from the majority of white children they had met, and his
quickness of motion was the reason they named him as they did. His
readiness in acquiring their language, which he almost mastered in a few
months, astonished them. Then Joe was always kind and gentle to the
band, often bringing food from his mother's table when she could give it
to him, especially bread or biscuit, of which old Yellow Calf was
inordinately fond. At the suggestion of the chief, the closest warriors
of his council took great delight in showing their new boy friend the
use of the bow and arrow. They taught him how to prepare the skins of
animals he shot; how to make the robe of the buffalo as soft as a
doeskin, and they taught him how to trap beaver, otter, and muskrat, in
which valuable fur-bearing animals all the streams abounded. Yellow Calf
would sit for hours talking with Joe, learning from him all about the
strange inventions of the white man, and their uses. He in turn taught
the boy the mysteries of the beautiful sign language, so wonderful in
its symbolism; and the manner of trailing, so that in a few months he
was as well versed in the methods of following an enemy on the warpath
as the savages themselves.

The Indians frequently took Joe with them far up the Arkansas valley on
their grand hunts after the buffalo. His parents readily gave their
consent to his going with his red friends, though he was sometimes
absent from home for more than a week. For three seasons the same band
of Pawnees had their village on the creek, remaining there during the
months of September and October of each year. All that time Joe
continued his intimacy with them, and became more perfect in his
knowledge of their savage methods. He could follow the blindest trail
by day or night, and the signs of the various hostile tribes were as
familiar to him as the alphabet.

He had been carefully trained to all this knowledge by the Pawnees, who
were the hereditary enemies of the Cheyennes who still claimed
sovereignty over the great plains. Once, in fact, when he had been out
for a fortnight with his Indian friends on a buffalo hunt, the party was
suddenly met by a band of Cheyennes, and, of course, a battle ensued to
which Joe was a witness. After the fight that night, when the band
camped on the Walnut, he saw the dances of the victorious Pawnees and
learned a great deal about savage warfare.

Shortly after the advent of the Pawnees on the Oxhide, and when Joe had
established his friendly relations with them, although he could shoot
fairly well previously, he now began to take a special delight in
hunting. Every moment he could get to himself, he was off in the timber
or out on the prairie with his rifle or shot-gun. He never carried
these, however, unless he hunted alone, as on many occasions he was
accompanied by one or two of the Pawnee boys about his own age whom the
band had brought with them; young bucks, not yet old enough to have
reached the dignity of warriors. They had to do the work generally
assigned to the women, for no squaws were with the band. It is beneath a
warrior to do anything but hunt, eat, smoke, and go to war; for idleness
is the predominant characteristic of the men of every savage race, and
the Pawnees were no exception.

While they were encamped on the Oxhide the warriors scarcely ever left
the delightful place except, of course, when summoned by their chief to
the hunt. They sat all day in the shadow of their lodges, puffing lazily
at their pipes and relating over and over again the stories of their
feats in personal encounters with their enemies, the Cheyennes.

The North American Indians are very assiduous in teaching their boys all
that becomes a great warrior,--how to ride the wildest horses, and how
to hunt and trap every variety of animal used in the domestic economy of
their families. The very moment a son is large enough to handle them,
bows and arrows are constantly in his hands.

As the Indians had only a few poor rifles, whenever Joe went out with
his dusky young companions on a hunt, he, too, took nothing but his bow
and arrows which the Pawnees had given him, for he did not want his boy
friends to feel his superiority when armed with the white man's weapons.
The number of squirrels, rabbits, and game birds he killed in a single
day would have astonished a city-bred boy.

The Pawnee warriors, flattered by Joe's preference for their society to
that of his white neighbors, made him the very finest bows and arrows of
which their skill was capable. They looked forward to the day when he
should develop into a great warrior, and hoped, too, that the time would
come when, becoming tired of civilization, he would let them adopt him
into the tribe. One morning, to the surprise of Joe, the old chief
despatched a runner back to the reservation with orders to his squaws to
make a complete suit of buckskin for his young white friend. In about
two weeks when the messenger returned to the camp with the savage dress,
Joe, of course, was delighted with his quaint and really beautiful
costume. It was made out of the finest doeskin, elegantly embroidered
with beads; the seams of the coat-sleeves and trousers were fringed in
the most approved savage fashion, while the moccasins were exquisitely
wrought with the quills of the porcupine, gayly . There were also
given the boy all the adjuncts of a warrior,--a tomahawk, medicine-bag,
tobacco-pouch, powder-horn, bullet-sack, flint and steel, and, last of
all, a magnificent calumet manufactured of the red stone from the sacred
quarry in far-off Minnesota.

Joe had never mentioned to any of the family, not even to Rob, what was
in store for him from the Pawnees. To make the surprise greater to the
household, when he was ready to put on the new suit, he got one of the
warriors to decorate his face in royal savage style, and thus
metamorphosed, he walked into the cabin one noon, just as the family
were about to sit down to dinner. None of them recognized him, and when
he began to talk in the Pawnee language, not a word of which any of them
could understand, his father motioned him to take a seat at the table
and eat, as he had often done to the real Pawnees on their many visits
to the ranche.

At last Joe could contain himself no longer, and he cried out in his
exultation over the farce he had enacted: "Father, mother, Rob, and you
girls, don't you know me?"

"No!" they all answered simultaneously, but immediately recognizing his
voice, now that he spoke English, his mother said that she had never
suspected for a moment that the horrid-looking, paint-bedaubed creature
before her could be her own child.

Then all had a good laugh over the manner in which Joe had deceived
them, but his father insisted that he must go and wash the paint from
his face before he thought of sitting down to eat with Christian people;
he could allow it in the case of a real savage, because they did not
know any better.

Joe was very hungry, for he had been out hunting grouse on the hills all
the morning, and was tired, too, so he hastily obeyed his father's
injunction. He ran to the spring, and by vigorously rubbing at the
various colors, he at last succeeded in getting his face clean. In a few
moments he returned to the dining-room looking like himself again, but
very stately, by reason of his brand-new suit; and the family could not
help staring at and admiring him. Then, when he had taken his place at
the table, he was obliged to tell how he had happened to acquire such a
fantastic dress, and explain the use of each curious article belonging
to it.

Gertrude and Kate both hoped that he would not wear the handsome clothes
every day, and his mother suggested that he must never go to the village
in such a savage dress. His father said nothing, but evidently regarded
his boy with pride.

In reply to the various comments, Joe told the family that he intended
to wear the Indian costume only on extraordinary occasions. If ever the
Cheyennes, Kiowas, Comanches, or Arapahoes broke out, he would certainly
wear it, for when those savages saw him, they would think he was a great
warrior, and be careful how they bothered him. The family little
thought, as he uttered his playful remarks, how soon that uniform would
be worn on a mission fraught with danger to themselves and the whole
settlement.




CHAPTER VI

  THE STORY OF THE MASSACRE ON SPILLMAN CREEK--SCOUTS GO TO
    THE RESCUE--JOE AND ROB TALK OVER THE HORRID WORK OF THE
    SAVAGES--THE DOG SOLDIERS--CHARLEY BENT--PLACE OF
    RENDEZVOUS--PARTY STARTS OUT--JOE'S OPINION IS ASKED


THE family had lived on their comfortable ranche on the Oxhide for
nearly three years. During the whole of this period the valley had been
most happily exempt from any raid by the hostile Indians farther west,
who for all that time had made incursions into the sparse settlements
not a hundred miles away, devastating the country from Nebraska on the
north to the border of Texas on the south.

General Sheridan had been ordered by the Government to the command of
the Military Department of the Missouri, with headquarters at Fort
Leavenworth. The already famous General Custer with his celebrated
regiment, the Seventh United States Cavalry, was stationed at Fort
Harker, recently established on the Smoky Hill, about four miles from
Errolstrath ranche, so the settlers on the Oxhide, and through the
valley, felt comparatively safe from any possible raid by the savages
into that region.

One beautiful Sunday afternoon in the middle of the May following the
autumn in which Joe had received his present of a full Indian dress from
the friendly Pawnees, the family were sitting on the veranda of the
cabin. Dinner was long since over, and Mr. Thompson was reading aloud
from their weekly religious journal, when a horseman suddenly appeared,
coming toward the ranche on the trail which led from the mouth of the
Oxhide where it empties into the Smoky Hill. He was hatless and
coatless, his long hair was streaming in the wind, and his heels were
rapping his horse's flanks vigorously, and its breast and shoulders were
covered with foam from the desperate gait at which it was urged.

The reading was instantly suspended, and every eye strained toward the
unusual object coming toward the house at such a breakneck speed.

"I wonder who that is, and why he rides so fast," inquired Mr. Thompson,
addressing himself to no one in the group in particular.

"Something unusual must have occurred," suggested Mrs. Thompson; "some
one of the neighbors taken ill suddenly, maybe."

"It's no one we know," spoke up Joe. "I never saw that man before," the
individual under discussion having come near enough now for his features
to be distinguished, "nor the horse he's on, and I know every man and
horse in the whole settlement. There's some trouble not far away, I
think, or he would not run his animal that way."

In less than three minutes more, the stranger horseman rode up to the
front of the house and jumped off his horse. Hurriedly tying him to the
hitching-post, he ran up the steps of the veranda, and in the most
excited manner, his eyes wearing a wild look and his breath coming with
great difficulty, told Mr. Thompson, who had walked forward to meet him,
that the Indians had completely destroyed the little settlement of
Spillman Creek that morning about daylight. He alone, as far as he
knew, had escaped the massacre. He said that luckily he happened to be
down in the timber, getting some wood for his morning fire, and the
savages did not see him. He had his pony with him, and when he saw the
Indians all dressed in their war-bonnets and hideously painted, he rode
to the river and across country as fast as his animal could carry him.

"How many families are there in the settlement?" inquired Mr. Thompson.

"About ten," answered the stranger; "forty individuals, perhaps, and all
of them, I feel satisfied, have been murdered and their cabins burnt,
because I saw the smoke and flames from the trail on the south side of
the Saline as I rode hurriedly on."

"Had you no family?" asked Mrs. Thompson, excitedly, in her sympathy for
the unfortunate people who had been so cruelly massacred.

"No, ma'am," answered the stranger. "I was living all alone on my claim,
which I had taken up only a week ago, on the edge of the timber. My
family are still back in Illinois, thank God! or they, too, with myself,
would have been butchered with the rest, for I would never have left
them."

"Do you think the savages will continue on their raid, and come further
down the Saline valley?" inquired Mr. Thompson, who now for the first
time since he had been on his ranche, felt a little alarmed for his
family.

"I don't know," was the reply, "but I'm afraid they will. The Elkhorn is
fairly settled, but the cabins are widely scattered; the Indians know
that, and before the neighbors could rally for mutual defence, the
savages might be able to murder them in detail. I have come down here to
warn the settlers on this creek, and if I can, to get a party to go to
the rescue of those on the Elkhorn. I stopped at Fort Harker on my way
and reported to the commanding officer the state of affairs, but he said
that he had only part of a company of infantry at the post, all the
cavalry being out under General Custer, looking after the Indians 'way
up the Smoky Hill. He suggested that I should come here to inform you
people of the danger, and that, if I could muster up a crowd of men, he
would furnish all the arms and ammunition necessary for them. He also
said that General Sheridan was coming to Fort Harker in a few days to
establish his headquarters there, and that a general Indian war was
imminent."

"Have you any idea how many of the savages there were in the band that
raided Spillman Creek settlement?" inquired Mr. Thompson.

"I think there must have been about fifty. I counted their pony tracks
in the soft mud at the ford of the Saline where they crossed it; they
were very plain, and I was enabled to come close to their probable
number. If you could muster twenty or thirty men, well armed, who are
brave, and good shots with the rifle, I believe that if they start for
the Elkhorn to-day, they could circumvent the savages before they reach
the creek, or at least drive them out of the neighborhood. I am ready to
go back with them and act as guide, for I know every foot of the
country, having spent a whole year out there before I settled upon a
location. Who are the best men in this settlement, and where shall I go
to warn them?"

"Well," replied Mr. Thompson, "I am willing to go for one. I guess there
will be no difficulty in gathering as large a force as is
necessary--good shots, too; for no one will hesitate a moment when it
comes to defending his family from an Indian raid. It will take a couple
of hours to ride around the neighborhood to the several ranches to
notify the men. My boys, here, can go to the nearest, while you and I
ride to the most remote and get as large a crowd as possible. Boys,"
continued he, turning to his sons, who stood with eyes wide open and
mouth agape as they listened with astonishment to the terrible story of
the stranger, "get your ponies at once; saddle them as quickly as ever
you did in your lives, and ride to the nearest ranches on the creek; up
one side and down the other. Tell all the folks the dreadful news, and
tell them to have the men meet here at Errolstrath as quickly as they
can, and to bring their rifles with them. All are well armed," said he,
turning to the stranger, "and they will respond in a hurry."

"Now," said Mr. Thompson, as the boys jumped off of the veranda to carry
out their father's order, "I will go with you to old Tucker's ranche. He
is a man of most excellent judgment, and a trapper; has fought Indians
all his eventful life on the plains and in the mountains, so we can
safely rely on his advice in regard to what is best to be done." Looking
at his wife he said, "Won't you get this man a bite to eat while I'm
catching another animal for him? Yours is tired out," continued he,
addressing the stranger again; "you must have a fresh horse. I've got
lots of them."

While Mr. Thompson went to the stable, and the stranger to the spring to
wash the dust off himself, Mrs. Thompson, assisted by Gertrude and Kate,
made ready a cold lunch for the half-famished man, who told them, when
he returned to the dining-room, that he had not eaten a morsel since the
evening before.

By the time he had finished his meal, Mr. Thompson returned to the front
of the house with two animals, and taking the stranger's horse to the
stable, after the saddle had been put on the fresh one, he returned to
the house. He gave his wife some advice about the boys and their
mission, then he and the stranger mounted their animals and loped off at
a good gait for the ranche of old Mr. Tucker, three miles away.

The boys had started some while before their father, as it only required
a few minutes to catch and saddle their ponies that were picketed in
front of the house, on a patch of buffalo grass not twenty yards away.
In less than half an hour they were at the nearest ranche, and had
delivered their message. They then rode on and made the rounds of the
circuit assigned them, relating the bad news as they travelled from
cabin to cabin as quickly as their hardy little Indian ponies could
carry them.

While on their mission the boys talked over the story of the massacre,
Joe explaining many things in connection with the savage method of
making a raid on a white settlement. Those were things which Rob did not
fully understand, but with which Joe was familiar, having been told all
about them by the friendly Pawnees. He told Rob that he was crazy to go
on the little expedition, but did not dare ask permission.

"Father might be willing, maybe," suggested Rob, "though I'm sure that
mother and the girls would object."

"I'll bet that I can find the trail of the Cheyennes, for I know better
than any one who is going along, that they were Cheyennes who made the
attack," said Joe. "That man who came down with the news don't know much
about Indians; I could tell that by the way he talked; he's a
'tender-foot.' He admitted to papa he'd only been in the country a very
short time."

"By jolly! I'll bet he was scared when he saw those Indians," said Rob;
"he wasn't used to such sights!"

"How he must have ridden his horse," said Joe. "I never saw an animal so
frothy in my life before; did you, Rob? You could have scraped a
wash-tub of lather off him!"

"If the Cheyennes have left any kind of a trail after them, I can tell
just how many there were of them," continued Joe, "but they are ahead of
all other Indians in covering up their tracks; old Yellow Calf has told
me so a dozen times. I expect that it was Charley Bent's band of Dog
soldiers that made the raid."

"What are Dog soldiers?" inquired Rob.

"Why, the young bucks of a tribe who will not obey the orders of their
chief; renegades who will not be controlled by any custom. Those Indians
who have not done anything yet to make them warriors, and who go off on
their own hook to murder and steal, and to fire the cabins of the poor
settlers, thinking that if they can get a few scalps of women and
children they will be recognized by the rest of the tribe as braves.
Sometimes there are 'Squaw-men' among them, that is, white men who have
married Indian women; generally bad men who have committed some crime
where they used to live and dare not go back to where they came from."

"Who is Charley Bent?" asked Rob. "That is not an Indian name, surely!"

"I know it isn't," answered Joe. "He's a half breed; half white and half
Cheyenne. His mother was a Cheyenne squaw, and his father was Colonel
Bent, one of the most celebrated frontiersmen of his time. Charley was
well educated in St. Louis, but when he returned to his father's home,
at Bent's Fort, way up the Arkansas River, in what is now Colorado, he
threw off the white man's dress and manner of living, joined the
Indians, and became, in his devilishness, the worst savage to be found
in the whole Indian country. The United States Government has offered a
thousand dollars for him, dead or alive. Somebody will catch him yet;
the army scouts are after him red hot, so the Pawnees told me."

"I wish the Pawnees, lots of 'em, were back on the creek, Joe," said
Rob, continuing the lively conversation they had been keeping up ever
since they started from the ranche; "wouldn't they like such a chance to
go after their old enemies?"

"I expect they will be here sooner than usual, this coming autumn; one
of the boys told me so when the band left; but it will be four months
yet before we may look for them."

"Are you going to ask to go with the party to the Elkhorn, Joe?" asked
Rob of his brother.

"No, I think not. I intend to be still unless some of the crowd drop a
hint they'd like to have me along; then I'll speak out."

By four o'clock the boys returned to the ranche, having warned twelve
families of the impending danger. All the men expressed their readiness
to go with Mr. Thompson and the others to circumvent the savages on
their raid. When Joe and Rob had turned their ponies out to graze and
went back to the house again, they found a dozen men there already,
waiting for the return of their father and the stranger. The anxious
group sat on the veranda, discussing the state of affairs, suggesting to
each other what course should be pursued concerning those settlers who
would have to remain in the valley with their wives and children. Uncle
Dick Smith, as he was familiarly called, an old man with white hair and
long white beard, who had had some experience with the savages in his
earlier days in Wisconsin, suggested that while the scouting party were
absent, Job Wilkersin's stone corral would be the best place for the
settlers to rendezvous in case the Indians came down into the valley of
the Oxhide. After some discussion, however, it was agreed to let the
question remain open until Mr. Thompson and the other men should arrive.

A short time before sundown a group of horsemen could be seen coming
down the trail from the north. They were those for whom the crowd at
Errolstrath were anxiously looking. When they rode up to the house,
headed by Mr. Thompson, they dismounted, fastened their horses to trees,
and after a hurried meal which the girls had been getting ready during
their father's absence, they all adjourned to the lawn outside of the
veranda, and the subject was renewed as to what those should do who were
compelled to remain behind on the Oxhide. Mr. Wilkersin was among them,
and as he stated his house was the largest in the neighborhood, and his
big stone corral a grand place for defence in case the savages continued
on their raid, it was agreed to rendezvous there. Twenty determined men
in the corral could keep off a hundred Indians, and besides there was
food enough at his house for every one who should go there. He further
said that he would be glad to assist his friends thus much in trying
times like these.

Rob, who was familiar with the location of every cabin in the
settlement, was immediately despatched on a fresh horse to call on the
people and communicate the result of the conference. He was to tell them
where to go in the event of the Indians coming into Oxhide valley after
the scouting party had left for the Elkhorn.

There were about thirty men who were obliged to remain at home; too old
to undertake the fatigue of the long night's ride contemplated. They
were all excellent shots, many of them having been pioneers in the
settlement of the states east of the Mississippi when they constituted
the far West.

When all the men who could be mustered for the expedition had arrived at
Errolstrath, there were about fifty. Old man Tucker was unanimously
chosen for their leader, with the title, by courtesy, of captain. He was
a man nearly sixty-five years old, but had been early recognized by the
settlers of the valley as one to whom they could look whenever the
affairs of the neighborhood demanded the exercise of good judgment or
sound advice. He was well educated, having graduated at Yale, but after
graduation a quarrel with his father resulted in his drifting out on the
frontier, where his life had been that of a trapper and hunter. He was
as active as any of the young men, so his age in this case did not
militate against him. He was the best rifle-shot in the valley, and if,
like Davy Crockett, he failed to hit a squirrel in the eye, "it didn't
count!"

The stranger from Spillman Creek was named Alderdyce, as he had informed
Mr. Thompson while on the trip with him, and, as many of those who now
met him for the first time desired to hear his story, he related the
details of the horrid massacre again. At its sickening recital a
majority became impatient of delay, and wanted to start on the trail of
the savages at once, although the whole valley was flooded with the
golden glow of sunset.

Joe stood modestly in the crowd, eagerly drinking in the awful story
told by Mr. Alderdyce, and he noticed how anxious the scouting party was
to get away. He knew that this would be the height of absurdity until
night had closed in, and in all probability would defeat the very object
of the expedition, so he ventured to suggest that it would be better to
wait until after dark.

Old Mr. Tucker knew as well as the boy's father that Joe's judgment in
matters relating to savage methods when on the war-path was far in
advance of his sixteen years. His ideas and opinions commanded a
consideration his age did not otherwise warrant, so the keen observation
he had developed since his intimacy with the Pawnees, and the astuteness
he had imbibed from them, caused Mr. Tucker to ask the boy's reasons for
his suggestion.

Joe replied hesitatingly: "I believe it's better to wait until dark. The
runners, as their spies are called, of the hostile band, are, I
honestly think, at this moment stationed on some of the highest points
of the valley. They are watching to learn if there will be any
demonstration made against the raiding band from this settlement. If
this is true, and I believe it is, they should not be permitted to see
our party start out. If they do discover that a number of mounted men
are riding on the prairie, they will hang on their trail, keep the main
band warned of every movement, and you could not effect anything. In
that case you might as well stay at home."

Upon these hints so forcibly thrown out by Joe, nearly every one at once
coincided with his opinion, and the captain decided to act upon the
boy's judgment.

Joe, who was always an attentive listener, rarely obtruded his ideas
into the conversation of his elders; in reality he was of rather a
reticent disposition, a trait generally indicative of bravery, but he
was ever ready to venture an opinion when asked for it, fearlessly and
in great earnestness. So during the discussion of the supposed details
of the morning's massacre, Captain Tucker asked him what he thought of
the probability of the savages coming down to the Elkhorn from the
scene of their raid on the Spillman.

"Well, Mr. Tucker," replied Joe, "distance is never considered by an
Indian. If a band start on a raid and are successful at the beginning,
they will keep on a dozen miles or five hundred; it makes no difference
to them; they'll wear out any animal but a wolf. If the massacre was
complete, as Mr. Alderdyce thinks, they will probably keep right on
murdering, scalping, and firing the cabins, until they get a setback. My
own opinion is that they will go down to the Elkhorn or some other place
where there is a settlement, and if successful again, will continue on
and come to the Oxhide, perhaps, now they have tasted blood. But if they
have met with a repulse anywhere, or learn that the United States troops
are after them, they may abandon their raid and be now a hundred miles
on the trail to their village."

Joe was evidently fidgety; he wanted to go along, and as the captain and
his father had questioned him so earnestly on such important matters, he
thought he had a right to be one of the party; still, he said nothing
until Captain Tucker, noticing the boy's anxious countenance, asked him
if he would like to go with them.

Joe answered very quickly in the affirmative, but it was with much
hesitancy that his parents gave their consent. The neighbors gathered at
the ranche, however, importuned very earnestly in his favor, declaring
that the success of the expedition might depend materially upon their
decision whether the boy should go or not. Of course, to resist such an
appeal was out of the question, coming as it did almost unanimously from
their friends, so Joe was permitted to accompany the party.

Hurriedly did the delighted boy go out to the corral and saddle his
favorite pony, a coal-black little animal, very swift, full of
endurance, sure-footed as a mule, and as obedient to the touch of its
young master's hand and legs as a well-trained circus horse. Soon
returning, he tied him with the other animals to a tree and then went
into the house to prepare himself for the venturesome trip.

Coming back on the veranda in a few moments dressed in the buckskin suit
given him by the old chief Yellow Calf, he looked the very
impersonation of a veteran frontiersman, and but for his childish face
might have passed for a veritable army scout. He slung his rifle across
the horn of his saddle; its complement of bullets in his pouch he
fastened to the cantle, while the powder-flask was suspended by a cord
thrown over his shoulder. He also carried his flint and steel, thinking
he might have occasion to use it, and with a small lantern was ready for
whatever he might be called upon to do.

As the welcome darkness would not come for an hour yet, the party kept
their animals concealed in the thick timber near the cabin. They sat
quietly in the shadow of the veranda, so that if there were any of the
hostile spies in the vicinity, as Joe had suggested there might be, they
would not be able to observe any unusual demonstration on the place, as
the house was completely masked by the giant trees surrounding it.

[Illustration: "He looked the very impersonation of a veteran
frontiersman."]

By eight o'clock it was dark enough to venture out, and the party
quietly mounted their horses, and strung out in single file down the
narrow trail leading from the ranche to the ford of the Smoky Hill.
Tucker, Joe, and Alderdyce were at the head of the line. Every one was
familiar with the trail as far as the river, for it was the main
travelled track to the village of Ellsworth. It was six miles from
Errolstrath, and contained a general store, a blacksmith shop, and the
post office for all the surrounding country.

The ford crossed the Smoky Hill about two miles east of the little
hamlet, but the party did not follow the trail up the river. They took a
shorter cut over the hills bordering the stream where there was a series
of buffalo paths running northward in the direction they wanted to go.
They thus saved a detour of three or four miles, an important
consideration where time was of the greatest consequence. The buffalo
paths all came out on the other side of the high divide separating the
Saline from the Smoky Hill. A short distance beyond the summit of the
ridge, and down a gradual <DW72>, was one of the valleys of the several
tributaries which gave the many-branched stream called the Elkhorn, its
suggestive name.

After the party had forded the Smoky Hill, the country was unknown to
all excepting Alderdyce and Joe. The latter had often accompanied the
Pawnees on their hunts as far as the Saline and Paradise creeks,
twenty-five miles from the Oxhide.

All had been travelling up to that point in groups of twos and threes on
the flat river bottom, but now again they strung out in Indian file,
following Joe and Alderdyce slowly up the divide and down on the other
side. They then all moved out more rapidly into a short, quick lope as
the ground was more level for several miles. At the end of the level
stretch they halted, as they were approaching the beginning of the
limestone region.

Following Joe's advice they dismounted and muffled the hoofs of their
horses with gunny sacks which they had brought for that purpose, in
order to prevent the sound of the animals' feet from being heard by any
of the savage runners.

This wise precaution was frequently employed by the scouts of the army
with General Sheridan during his celebrated winter campaign against the
allied tribes of the plains, when the troops were obliged to travel at
night through the enemy's country.

It was soon after they had passed the limestone region that a heavy
rolling prairie, over which the trail ran up one <DW72> and down another
of the rocky divides, separated the narrow intervales between. Most of
the time it was a hard, killing pace for the poor horses, as they had
travelled for hours continuously without a halt, excepting to muffle
their feet. The settlement must be reached before daylight, or perhaps
it would be too late to thwart the murderous schemes of the Indians, who
always chose the early hours of the dawn in which to commit their
atrocities. At that time when sleep oppresses most heavily, life and
death were the issue, and the tired animals could not be mercifully
spared. Would they be able to hold out with ten miles of the same cruel
lope ahead of them, before the breaks of the main Elkhorn would be
reached?

There was an hour more of severe riding, during which the heels of the
riders and the sharp sting of the quirt were often called into
requisition to urge the jaded animals on to their hard duty. They were
flecked with foam, their nostrils distended, and they were almost worn
out when the terribly earnest men rode down the last divide into the
grassy bottom of the first branch of the main Elkhorn.

The faintest streaks of the coming dawn were beginning to show
themselves; the summits of the Twin Mounds, capped with white limestone,
already reflected the rosy tinge of the rising sun, which was still far
below the horizon of the valley. The beautiful intervales, through which
the party urged their horses, were covered with buffalo grass, and at
the farther end, not quite half a mile distant, the fringe of timber
bordering the creek could be distinguished as its dark contour cast a
still blacker shadow over the sombre valley.

There the party halted for a few moments to reconnoitre. Captain Tucker
again had occasion to interrogate Joe. He inquired of the young trailer
what would be the first acts of the savages when they arrived in the
valley of the Elkhorn, if indeed they came at all.

"Well, Mr. Tucker," replied the boy, "the first thing the Indians would
do--they'd hide themselves in the timber; lie down in the grass,
probably, and then send out one or more of their runners, the very best
they had with them, to sneak around and watch for a chance to make a
break together on the cabins. Then, if the outlook was favorable, and
none of the settlers were stirring, they'd go from cabin to cabin,
murdering, scalping, and firing the buildings as fast as they could."

"Well, then," said the captain, as he took both of the boy's hands in
his own, and gazed into his bright face, "you know that all the settlers
on the Oxhide, and your own folks, too, say that you are as much of an
Indian as if you had been born in a tepee, so far as savage education is
concerned. Now, I've been talking to your father, and he agrees with me;
I want you to do some dangerous work, or at least it is somewhat risky.
You are the only one among us all who can do it as it should be done. It
is this. While we remain here in the shadow of the timber to blow our
animals and graze them a little, I want you to cross the creek on foot,
and go up to Spillman Ford with Alderdyce, who will show you where it
intersects this branch of the Elkhorn, and try to discover, if you can,
by the dim light, any signs of Indians. I'm inclined to think they have
not come down into this valley at all. But I want you to find out where
they are, if possible. If you do not find any track of them, after we
have rested our horses and warned the settlers of the danger, we will
all go on to the scene of the massacre, and there you will be sure to
learn where they have gone."

Joe and Alderdyce turned over their horses to one of the men who were on
guard watching the animals while they fed on the rich buffalo grass, and
then started on foot for the ford of the Elkhorn leading to Spillman
Creek. It was about a mile, and during the walk, Joe and Alderdyce
talked over the affair of the morning. Joe asked his companion to tell
him exactly what the commanding officer had said to him when he reported
the massacre to him at Fort Harker.

"Well, Joe, I will tell you just what he told me. He said that General
Sheridan had ordered a company of Custer's regiment of mounted troopers
to be sent to the Elkhorn valley and to remain there until the settlers
were advised to come in, or the proposed Indian war was ended."

"Now I have an idea," said Joe to him. "We shall not find any Indians on
this trip; the cavalry have already started for the valley, and the
savages have got wind of it and have gone back to their village,
probably, a hundred miles south of the Arkansas. But, anyhow, we'll go
on up to the ford and learn what we can."

When they reached the crossing, not a sign of a pony's hoof could be
discovered, and both gave a sigh of relief as they now knew that none of
the savages had come down towards the Elkhorn. They hurried back to
their party, and Joe reported that he had not seen a sign.

"Good enough," said Captain Tucker, as he listened to the good news.
"Now, men," continued he, turning and addressing himself to the party
who had gathered near him to learn what report Joe and Alderdyce might
bring, "we will remain here for another hour, and after warning some of
the prominent settlers in the valley, we will go up to the head of
Spillman Creek and see what is to be discovered there. Who knows but
some one may be found hidden in the brush, not daring to come out. We
may be able to save a life or two yet."




CHAPTER VII

  ARRIVAL OF CAVALRY ON THE ELKHORN--A DEER HUNT--WHAT THE
    SCOUTS SAW--THE STORY OF THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS--THE DEAD
    AND WOUNDED--MEN HIDDEN IN THE BRUSH--AN INDIAN
    LEGEND--ARRIVAL OF THE INFANTRY--THE DEER HUNT IN THE
    MORNING--DEATH OF THE DEER


JUST as the sun appeared above the top of the Twin Mounds, Joe, who
could not keep quiet when among the timber or on the prairie, was
scouting around on his own hook, while the remainder of the party was
lying on the grass eating the cold breakfast they had brought from
Errolstrath. Suddenly he rushed down to them, and yelled at the top of
his voice:--

"The cavalry are coming! I saw the gleam of their carbines on the ridge
about a mile away toward the trail to Fort Harker."

Every man was on his feet in an instant; and sure enough, in a few
minutes they heard the clanging of sabres and the sound of the hoofs of
approaching horses. Presently a fine-looking set of men wearing the
fatigue uniform of the United States Cavalry, splendidly mounted on
sleek bay animals, swung around the point of timber where Captain Tucker
and his scouts from the Oxhide valley were standing. The trumpeter
sounded the "Halt," and in another moment the horses, in obedience to
the signal, stood still as if petrified, while the commander of the
troop, Colonel Keogh, of Custer's famous regiment, rode forward and
talked with Captain Tucker, whom he had at once recognized as the leader
of the scouts.

They conversed for some moments, each giving the other what information
he had of the movements of the Indians. Then the Colonel told Captain
Tucker that his orders were to camp on the Elkhorn with his company, and
scout through the valley, protecting the settlers. He said that a
detachment of infantry was also ordered to the creek, and was to remain
there, while he with his mounted men would move from point to point, and
thus prevent the savages from making another raid in that part of the
country. He thanked Captain Tucker for the promptness with which he and
his neighbors had responded to the appeal of Alderdyce. He said that
now the cavalry were there the men might go home feeling assured that no
more attacks were to be feared from the Indians, and that General
Sheridan would soon have enough soldiers under his command to whip
thoroughly the allied tribes, and force them to a peace which they would
be glad to keep.

Captain Tucker told the Colonel how bright Joe was in relation to Indian
affairs, and what a great hunter he had already become. After Colonel
Keogh had himself conversed with Joe, he took a great fancy to him. He
told him that he was going on a deer hunt just as soon as he was settled
in camp, and the infantry had arrived, and he invited Joe to be one of
the party.

Joe thanked the Colonel, and spoke modestly of the compliments which had
been paid him by Captain Tucker. He promised that he would certainly go
on the hunt with him, and be delighted to do so.

He spoke up boldly: "When do you expect to go, Colonel? I know there are
lots of red deer and elk, too, on the Elkhorn, and this is a good time
to find them; I've been here with the Pawnees often."

The Colonel said: "The infantry, in all probability, will reach the
creek some time this evening, as they were getting ready for the march
when I left Fort Harker with my troop. Suppose, Joe, we say the day
after to-morrow? You can remain here with me; I have buffalo robes, and
you shall have a bed in my tent. So go and ask your father at once and
come back to me as quick as you can and report his answer. You'll find
me somewhere about the camp. My tent is not yet put up, but you will
know it when it is, by its similarity to an Indian tepee. It is called a
'Sibley,' and was patterned after the Sioux lodge by its inventor, an
officer of the army of that name."

Joe, wild with delight, ran off to find his father, to whom he told of
the invitation, and finding that no objections were made, thanked him
for his permission to remain.

Captain Tucker had informed the Colonel that as his men and animals were
sufficiently rested, and the horses filled with the rich grass, he
intended to go to the scene of the massacre with Alderdyce, to find
whether any of the settlers were hiding and not daring to show
themselves, or if any of the wounded were still living. Should he find
any of the latter, he would return by way of Fort Harker and notify the
commanding officer, so that he might send an ambulance for them and
medical assistance.

Telling his men of his intentions, they immediately brought in their
horses and saddled them. They then mounted, and rode slowly west toward
Spillman Creek, which was about seven or eight miles from the Elkhorn.
Joe, of course, went with them, as they wanted him to find out which way
the Indians had gone after committing their devilish deeds. He intended
to leave the party at the ford of the Elkhorn on its return, and to join
Colonel Keogh.

In about two hours the party arrived at the mouth of Spillman Creek, and
the first evidence of the acts of the savages confronted the men. Riding
up to a small cabin which the Indians had not consigned to the torch, no
doubt having missed it on their fiendish rounds, they discovered two
little girls crouched in one of its dark corners. One of them was only
six years old, and her sister but eight. They were very bright for
their age, and told a wonderfully sad story of their escape from the
Indians. They said that a big band of savages rode up to their home very
early in the morning; that their father and mother were not yet out of
bed. The Indians killed both of them, and after setting the house on
fire, threw the children on their ponies and rode off. Coming to the top
of a high hill, they saw a company of soldiers in the distance, and they
then dropped them on the prairie and hurried away as fast as their
ponies could run. The girls were not hurt at all. They wandered on,
frightened nearly to death, and seeing the cabin down in the valley,
they went to it and slept there all night. They had waked very early in
the morning, and on going out of doors, saw the wild grapes growing on
the vines at the creek; they ate some for their breakfast, but soon
hearing the sound of horses' hoofs, and thinking the Indians were coming
to look for them, they crawled back into the corner where the scouts had
found them.

Captain Tucker and the rest of the scouts were in a dilemma at first
when they found themselves with the two little orphaned children on
their hands; and they did not know exactly what to do. But soon Joe's
excellent judgment manifested itself. He proposed that one of the men
should be sent back to Colonel Keogh's camp to tell him of their
discovery, and ask him to send his ambulance out to take the children to
Fort Harker, where they would be cared for by the kind ladies of the
post.

The suggestion was acted upon at once. Every man volunteered to go, so
it was left to the Captain to select one. This he did, started him off,
and left Mr. Thompson to stay with the little girls until the arrival of
the ambulance. He and the others of the party then rode up on the valley
of Spillman Creek, as the savages appeared to have confined their
atrocities to that narrow region.

As they were riding close to the bank of the stream, about three miles
from where they had found the two girls, they saw a wagon with the
horses still attached. As they came up to it for a closer examination,
two men, both of whom were known to Alderdyce, came out of the
underbrush.

They had a story to tell, too. Early in the morning they were on their
way to examine a claim on the Spillman, when they perceived at only a
short distance from them, what appeared to be a body of soldiers. They
were all dressed in blue blouses, and were marching four abreast just as
the cavalry do. The men stopped for a moment to get a closer view as
they rode up the divide, when to their horror they discovered the
supposed soldiers to be a band of Indians. They turned their team about,
and made for the nearest timber on the creek and hid themselves. Next
morning they still decided to remain in ambush until they saw some white
people. They had plenty of food with them, so they had remained until
they were discovered by Captain Tucker's scouts. Learning that all was
safe, they climbed into their wagon, whipped up the team, and drove
away. Presently the scouts came to the remains of a cabin, partly
destroyed by fire, where they discovered the dead bodies of a man and
woman, probably husband and wife. These they decently buried and rode
on.

They next found the body of a young man, dead in his field, where he had
evidently been at work when the savages surprised him. He was murdered
with his own hatchet, which was found by his side, his face having been
chopped until it was not recognizable. His body was interred too.

It is useless to relate all that the scouts saw on their mission of
discovery up the Spillman. In all, thirty bodies were found, and some
dozen or more persons who had been wounded and had managed to hide after
the savages had supposed them to be dead. During the next twenty-four
hours these were gathered and taken to the hospital at the fort. Some
recovered, but the majority died.

The party returned to Colonel Keogh's camp, because they had discovered
so much that it was thought best he should know. When they arrived there
they learned that the little girls had been sent to the fort under an
escort of a squad of the troopers, and they also found Mr. Thompson in
the camp waiting for them.

After winding their horses for about half an hour, all returned to
Errolstrath, with the exception of Joe, who remained to go on the
proposed hunt when the infantry arrived.

Colonel Keogh's tent was already pitched, and Joe sat in there with him
discussing the atrocities on Spillman Creek and the deer hunt.

"Colonel," said Joe, "you know that deer have no gall-bladder and the
antelope no dew-claws. Did you ever hear the Indian legend about the
reason?"

"I know the deer have no gall-bladder and the antelope no dew-claws, but
I don't think I have ever heard the reason. What do the Indians say
about it, Joe?"

"Well, old Yellow Calf, the chief of the band of Pawnees which has
camped on our creek ever since we have lived there, told me that a long
time ago a deer and an antelope met on the prairie near the Great Bend
of the Arkansas. At that time both animals had a gall and dew-claws.
They fell to talking together and bragging how fast each could run. The
deer claimed that he could outstrip the antelope, and the antelope that
he could beat the deer. They got awfully mad at each other, and finally
determined they would try their speed. The stakes were their galls, and
the trial was made on the open prairie. The antelope beat the deer and
took the deer's gall. The deer felt very unhappy at his defeat, and he
became so miserable over it, that the antelope felt sorry for him, and
to cheer him up took off both his dew-claws and gave them to the deer.
Ever since then the deer has had no gall-bladder, and the antelope no
dew-claws.

"I met some Kaws once, and I told them what the Pawnees had told me
about it, and the chief of that band said the story the Pawnees had told
was only partly correct. The Kaw chief's version was that after the
antelope had won the race, the deer said to him, 'You have won, but that
race was not fair, for it was over the prairie. We ought to try again in
the woods to decide which of us is really the faster.' So the antelope
agreed to run the second race, and on it they bet their dew-claws. The
deer beat the antelope that time, because he could run faster than the
antelope through the timber, over the fallen trunks of trees, and in the
thick underbrush, and he took the antelope's dew-claws."

"Well, Joe, that is a very funny story; I never heard it before." Then,
looking out of the front of his tent, the Colonel turned to Joe, and
said, "There comes the company of infantry, so we may go on our hunt
to-morrow."

Joe ran out and watched the infantry as they filed into the timber. It
was after sundown, but far from dark. The men were soon settled in their
tents, their camp-kettles bubbling over the fires, and preparations in
full swing for their evening meal.

Joe wandered among the troops and soon picked up an acquaintance with
them. They admired his Indian suit, and earnestly listened to the tale
of his adventures with the Pawnees. Presently he was called by the
Colonel's orderly to come to supper. He went back to the Sibley tent,
where he sat down at the table with Colonel Keogh and his two
lieutenants.

Their simple table was improvised out of the end gates of two of the
wagons, and the cook, a  soldier, had managed to provide an
excellent meal, and as Joe was very hungry, he did ample justice to it.

When the trumpets and the bugles sounded the retreat, Joe went out with
the Colonel, who inspected the men to see that everything was in good
order for the night. They then returned to their canvas quarters, where
the Colonel smoked his pipe, and again discussed to-morrow's hunt with
the boy.

They were to make a very early start in the morning, so, as soon as
"taps" had sounded, which meant that all lights must be put out and the
soldiers retire to their tents, the Colonel suggested to Joe that he had
better go to bed, while he would sit up a while and write out his report
to the commander at Fort Harker. Calling in the orderly, the Colonel
told him to fix up a sleeping-place for the boy. The man spread four
heavy buffalo robes on the floor of the tent, and putting two blankets
on top, the bed was ready for Joe, who tumbled into it and was soon fast
asleep.

When the trumpeter sounded the reveille, at the first streak of dawn the
next morning, the Colonel, who had already risen, called Joe, who
bounded out of his soft bed like a cat. Breakfast was ready in a few
moments, and after he and the Colonel had eaten, and the latter had
given his orders to the officer who was to command the camp during his
absence, Joe and he started out on foot for the hunt.

The night had been cold, and although it was the middle of May, the
white rime of the late frost covered the earth. It was a good omen, as
the sharp footprints of the animals could be more easily distinguished.

Carefully examining their rifles and cartridges as they walked briskly
on, they soon struck the main branch of the Elkhorn, and continued along
its margin in a southerly direction for a mile or more, when they came
to a little opening.

There Joe suddenly stopped, and turning to Colonel Keogh, who had on the
instant also halted, said, "Doesn't that look a little deerish,
Colonel?"

The Colonel, though a good shot and hunter, could distinguish nothing
out of the ordinary after scrutinizing the ground to which the boy had
pointed. The earth looked the same everywhere in the Colonel's eyes.

"Here!" said Joe, as, noticing the bewildered appearance of his new
friend, he turned over a fallen cottonwood leaf with his foot. There the
Colonel saw, after carefully stooping down, the very faint impress of a
hoof.

"Is that a fresh track, Joe?" he asked.

"You may be sure it is," replied Joe, "and only about an hour old!"

"Well, I want _that_ deer," said Colonel Keogh, enthusiastically. He
rose from a stump on which he had been sitting for a few moments, with
his rifle across his knees, and started quickly for a little patch of
box-elder not a hundred yards distant.

"Hold on, Colonel!" said Joe, cautiously; "the deer isn't there now.
Don't you see his hoof-marks point the other way? Look, here's where
he's nibbled the grass," pointing with his rifle to a strip of
bunch-grass in the opposite direction from the box-elders. "Let's go on,
Colonel; deer don't stay long in one spot so early in the day, and if we
don't get a move on us, it may be hours before we can get a shot at
'em."

They trudged on for about a mile and a half, walking side by side, the
Colonel telling the boy some of his experiences in the war of the
Rebellion. Suddenly Joe, touching the Colonel's shoulder, said, "Hark!"
in a hoarse whisper, at the same instant elevating his head like a
stag-hound that has just winded game. In another minute they heard a
rustling as though something were stepping on dead leaves.

"There's a buck deer in there, and a big one, too," said Joe, in a
whisper, as he pointed to a bunch of upland willows whose slender tops
were oscillating slowly as if disturbed by a gentle breeze, though there
was not a breath of wind blowing. "He's probably got a half dozen or
more does around him, and if we are mighty careful, we may both get a
shot."

The willow copse was on the top of a little knoll, and the ground was
smooth on the side of it where the Colonel and Joe stood. Here and there
at intervals were great trees, but without any underbrush to snap under
their feet as they quietly trod over the soft, black soil.

At Joe's suggestion, he and the Colonel separated, widening the distance
between them to about twenty paces, Colonel Keogh on the right of Joe.
They crept on as silently as savages on the trail of an enemy, and soon
arrived at the base of the elevation, which was only some fifty yards to
its crest. There they noticed that the dark earth had been cut up in
every direction by the sharp, delicate foot-marks of the creatures
supposed to be in front of them. A significant glance rapidly passed
from one to the other as they drew nearer their quarry.

At that juncture, just as they reached the edge of the copse, each
masked himself behind a good-sized cottonwood, which seemed to have
grown where it did for their especial use. The Colonel in his enthusiasm
could not repress the remark in a whisper to Joe:--

"Look there, Joe. There's a dozen deer!"

Sure enough, right in front of them were a dozen fat does lying down
ruminating their morning meal. The old buck, the guardian of the whole
herd, was standing up as if watching over his charge, and stamping the
ground with his sharp hoofs to drive off the buffalo gnats that swarmed
thickly around him.

In another instant, at a signal previously agreed upon, a low whistle
from the Colonel, the rifles of the hunters were discharged
simultaneously, and all but two of the terribly frightened animals
bounded off through the timber.

Before the echoes of the pieces had died away, Joe was among the
struggling deer with his hunting-knife, cutting their throats while
they were yet in their death throes. The stately buck had been the
Colonel's game, and he asked Joe to take its head to the ranche so that
the Pawnees, when they arrived in the autumn, could preserve it with its
magnificent set of antlers, which he desired to keep as a trophy of
their hunt.

It was but a little more than two miles to camp, and they did not have
to wait more than an hour for a wagon to arrive, as the driver had been
told by the Colonel to start the moment the sharp double report of the
rifles reached his ears. The dead animals were soon loaded into it, and
the proud hunters walked leisurely alongside of it, back to camp,
arriving there before eleven o'clock.

The deer were skinned by Joe. The meat was cut up into saddles and
haunches, and hung on the limb of a great tree, to secure it from the
prowling wolves, who already scented blood and began to make their
appearance on the bluffs, so keen is the nose of that vicious and
cowardly brute. The Colonel had brought with him from the fort, half a
dozen hounds, among them some of General Custer's celebrated animals,
but they were left tied up in camp that morning, as the Colonel had
decided to make a still hunt the first day, and to chase with the dogs
the next.

That evening, just as all were about to roll themselves up in their
blankets, a scout arrived from Fort Harker with the intelligence that
the Cheyennes and the Kiowas, under the leadership of the bloodthirsty
Sa-tan-ta, the notorious war-chief, had made a raid upon the settlements
near Council Grove, and Custer was leaving at once for the field with
his regiment. As Colonel Keogh's company was part of it, he must return
to Fort Harker immediately, and another detachment of  infantry
were on their way to take its place on the Elkhorn.

All was bustle in a few moments. Tents were struck, and in less than an
hour the cavalry command was on its way, Joe riding at the head of the
column with the Colonel.

They arrived at Fort Harker long before daylight, and Joe bade the
Colonel good by and rode on to Errolstrath, where he pulled up his pony
just as his father and Rob were coming out of the house to go to the
spring to wash themselves.

The boy was gladly welcomed back by all the family, and they sat at the
table for more than an hour after they finished eating their breakfast,
listening to Joe's experiences at the scene of the massacre, and his
hunt with Colonel Keogh.




CHAPTER VIII

  MR. TUCKER PASSES THE NIGHT AT ERROLSTRATH--HE TELLS SOME
    STORIES OF HUNTING BIG GAME IN THE ROCKY
    MOUNTAINS--SAGACITY OF THE FEMALE BIGHORN--THE AMERICAN
    COUGAR--THE BEAR AND THE PANTHER--THE RABBIT HUNT--HOW
    THE BOYS TRAINED THEIR HOUNDS.


THAT evening many of those who had acted as scouts under Captain Tucker
came to Errolstrath, where, on the shady veranda they discussed their
trip and the possibilities of a prolonged Indian war. The Kiowas had
inaugurated hostilities by their raid on the settlements near Council
Grove. General Sheridan had already established his headquarters at Fort
Harker, and every preparation was going on at that post for a winter
campaign against the allied tribes.

After the group on the porch had talked matters over for about two
hours, they all went to their respective homes excepting old Mr. Tucker,
whom the family had invited to stay all night. As it was but eight
o'clock when the others left, Joe and Mr. Tucker turned to the subject
of hunting big game, and the latter told some of his own adventures when
he was a trapper in the Rocky Mountains many years ago. As Joe had never
seen the bighorn of that region, Mr. Tucker related an adventure he once
had when hunting for a pair of young ones. He was up in the Yellowstone
Range, not very far from the scene of Custer's unequal battle with
Sitting Bull, in which the General's entire command was annihilated by
the savages.

"My camp was on the Green River," began the old man, "and one morning
while I was out baiting my traps, I noticed a she bighorn that I knew
would soon have little ones. I was determined to have a pair of kids, as
I had a sort of a small menagerie at my camp, but it contained no
bighorn. So I started to follow her trail and stay with her until her
kids were born, when I intended to capture them and make pets of them.

"I followed her for about two weeks, and was sometimes compelled to
creep cautiously after her in my stockinged feet. My stockings were
clumsy things made of buckskin, not such stockings as you buy. One
evening being so near her, and obliged to climb a steep mountain, I took
out my knife and cut off all the silver trimmings of my buckskin suit,
so that nothing could jingle and scare her.

"At last, after tracking her day after day, I came upon her den, where
she had brought forth two kids. It was the very top of one of the
tallest peaks in the Wind River Mountains, in a sort of cave about five
feet deep, worn in the side of an enormous rock. When I first got a
sight of the kids, they were nearly two weeks old, and were jumping and
playing as all of the goat or sheep family are wont to do.

"They were alone, but their mother was on the brink of a precipice,
within a hundred yards of them, carefully looking down into the valley
below to see if she could discover anything hostile. They are great
watchers. The old one had not seen me, and I had made a detour to the
very summit of the mountain, where I could see that there was a trail
which the mother used to travel in going to and from her young ones. I
felt sure that once at the mouth of the cave or hole in the big rock, I
might easily capture the kids, for which I had footed it so many miles
and followed so many days.

"Before I reached the entrance of the den the old one caught a glimpse
of me, and in an instant, filled with the courage which the maternal
instinct always prompts, she was upon me and trying to get the sharp
point of her crooked horns into my legs to toss me over the precipice
which formed one of the walls of the mountain. The trail on which I was
standing was narrow and slippery. I had left my rifle on the top of the
divide, and was in a mighty tight place, for the female bighorn is
almost as dangerous as a tiger when enraged and solicitous for the
safety of her little ones.

"I fought off the infuriated mother with my hands and feet as well as I
could, but the rage of the brute increased terribly every second. Just
then she caught sight of her kids, and leaving me, she rushed toward
them and ran around them several times, as if telling them she wanted
them to do something in her great trouble.

"The distance from the wall of one mountain to the precipice of the
other was but eight feet. Both had originally been but one mountain,
but ages ago some great convulsion of nature had split them apart, and
had left a huge fissure between them at least two thousand feet deep,
with walls as smooth as glass.

"The old one ran back and forth from the precipice to the kids several
times, showing them as plainly as if she could talk that they must make
the leap to escape from their natural enemy. At last, as if the whole
matter was understood, the mother flew back to the edge of the canyon,
the little ones hot in her tracks, and then all three made the jump,
just clearing the frightful gorge by half the length of the young ones.

"I was dumfounded for an instant, but soon recovered my senses and went
for my rifle, but the coveted animals were far out of range on the top
of the twin peak. I then returned to my camp on Green River more than a
hundred miles away, disgusted and worn out, and never again attempted to
capture the kids of the bighorn in the fashion of my first venture."

Joe and the rest of the family, remembering Joe's scrap with the young
panther, asked the old man if he had ever had any fight with one of
them. He said that he had, and would tell them all about it. Then they
would go to bed, as it was very late for the ranche folks to be up.

"I remember the day you had that tussle with a young panther, Joe, and I
tell you that you got off mighty luckily; the chances were that the
animal would have made mincemeat of you if it hadn't been for that
thrust with your knife.

"The California lion, puma, or panther, as the animal is indifferently
called according to locality, once had a very extensive range on the
North American continent. It could be found from the Adirondacks to
Patagonia, but now, like nearly all of our indigenous great mammals, is
relatively scarce, and is rapidly following the sad trail of the
buffalo.

"Although sometimes called a lion, he in nowise resembles either his
African or Asiatic namesake. He is more nearly related to the tiger in
his habits, though lion-like in color. He is the puma or American cougar
of the naturalists. He is really a long-tailed cat, and the only true
representative of the genus felis on the continent.

"He is a splendid fellow, too, with sleepy green eyes, skin as soft as
velvet and beautifully mottled, and teeth half an inch long and sharp as
razors. His paws measure four inches across, and his limbs are as finely
proportioned as a sculptor could desire, while all his muscles are as
brawny as a prize-fighter's. His breast is broad, and his body as
flexible as a snake's. He is an active climber and generally drops or
springs upon his prey from a limb where he has carefully secreted
himself. Like the majority of wild beasts, he generally runs from man,
excepting when cornered, or in the case of a female with kittens when
suddenly met; then her motherly love presents itself as strongly as in
any other animal.

"The cougar attains its greatest size in the Rocky Mountains, where its
body reaches a length of four feet ten inches, and its tail from two to
two and a half feet.

"The American panther has one inveterate foe, the bear. The grizzly and
the panther are mortal enemies. The famous trappers I have known, such
men as Kit Carson and Lucien B. Maxwell, have told me that in these
animals' frequent combats, the panther generally comes out victor, and
that in their early trapping days they often came across the carcass of
a bear which had evidently met its death in a lively encounter with a
mountain lion, as they called it.

"Carson once related a contest of that character which he had
accidentally witnessed. A large deer was running at full speed, closely
followed by a panther. The chase had already been a long one, for as
they came nearer to where he stood, he could see both of their parched
tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their bounding, though
powerful, was no longer as elastic as usual. The deer having discovered
in the distance a large black bear playing with her cub, stopped for a
moment to sniff the air, then coming nearer, he made a bound with head
extended, to ascertain whether the bear had kept her position. As the
panther was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharply around, and
turning almost upon its own trail, passed within thirty yards of its
pursuer. The panther, not being able at once to stop his career, gave
an angry growl and followed the deer again, but at a distance of some
hundred yards. Hearing the growl, the bear drew her body half out of the
bushes, remaining quietly on the lookout. Soon the deer again appeared,
but his speed was much reduced, and as he approached the spot where the
bear lay concealed, it was evident that the animal was calculating the
distance with admirable precision. The panther, now expecting to seize
his prey easily, followed about thirty yards behind, his eyes so
intently fixed on the deer that he did not see the bear at all. Not so
the bear; she was aware of the close proximity of her wicked enemy, and
she cleared the briars before her and squared herself for action, when
the deer with a powerful spring passed clear over her head and
disappeared.

"At the moment the deer took the flying leap the panther was close upon
him, and was just balancing himself for a spring, when he perceived, to
his astonishment, that he was now face to face with a formidable
adversary. Not in the least disposed to fly, he crouched, lashing his
flanks with his long tail, while the bear, about five yards from him,
remained like a statue, looking at the panther with her fierce, glaring
eyes.

"They remained thus a minute: the panther agitated, and apparently
undecided, and his sides heaving with exertion; the bear perfectly calm
and motionless. Gradually the panther crawled backward until at the
right distance for a spring; then throwing all his weight upon his
hinder parts to increase his power, he darted upon the bear like
lightning and forced his claws into her back. The bear then, with
irresistible force, seized the panther with her two fore paws, pressing
it with the weight of her body and rolling over it. Carson said that he
heard a heavy grunt, a plaintive howl, a crashing of bones, and the
panther was dead.

"The cub of the bear came after a few minutes to learn what was going
on, examined the victim, and strutted down the hill followed by its
mother, who was apparently unhurt. The old trappers used to claim that
it was a common practice of the deer, when chased by the panther, to
lead him to the haunt of a bear; but I won't vouch for the truth of the
statement.

"I have killed several of the creatures," continued Mr. Tucker, "but
never had a very serious tussle, excepting once, up in what was then
called the Klikatat Valley, in Washington Territory. I had been out
after elk, but had not seen any, and was going up a very narrow, rocky
ravine looking for their tracks. When I arrived at the head of the
little canyon, I heard a snarl. Casting my eyes in the direction of the
sound, I saw, to my dismay, a she panther on a flat ledge under a clump
of dwarf cedars, with three kittens alongside of her.

"The enraged beast was in the attitude of springing, when I caught sight
of her. I had no time to pull my rifle to my shoulder or jump aside. The
ravine was so narrow that there was not room enough between the jagged
walls to raise the piece and take aim. So quick were the cat's movements
that she was almost upon me, her mouth wide open and her claws
unsheathed ready for business. I was calm, for I had trained myself
never to become excited under danger, and just as she jumped for me I
cocked my piece, stuck the muzzle down her throat, and pulled the
trigger as she fell upon my shoulder.

"The shot killed her instantly, but not before she had ripped some of
the flesh off my arm as she rolled to the ground. It was a remarkably
close shot, and a lucky one for me too. I skinned her, but was so sore
that I had to return to my camp and dress my wounds, which healed in a
few days."

When the story was finished, they all went to bed. Mr. Tucker promised
the boys and girls he would remain over the next day and go on a rabbit
hunt which they had planned for the morning.

It proved to be a glorious day as the sun rose next morning in a
cloudless sky. Breakfast was out of the way by six o'clock, and the boys
saddled their buffalo ponies, as they called those which they had
captured out of the herd; their sisters' ponies also were saddled.
Gertrude had a very gentle animal which her father had traded for with
the Pawnees, but he was blind in one eye, and she called him Bartimaeus,
or Barty for short. He was hard to catch, but when caught was a quiet,
easily ridden animal. Kate's was an iron-gray which had been born on a
neighboring ranche, and especially broken for her benefit. He was of
that small breed peculiar to Texas, and his power of endurance was
phenomenal. On a long journey, with only the wild grass to subsist on,
they soon wear out the pampered steed of the stable.

The relation between Ginger and his young mistress was remarkable for
the confidence and affection each had in and for the other. He was now
five years old, and Kate had trained him herself, but had never used
whip, spur, or severe curb during her long and patient training.
Consequently Ginger responded cheerfully and promptly to her every
command. His education had been based upon gentleness and affection. Her
love for him was reciprocated in a manner bordering upon human
intelligence, thus confirming the theory that kindness is more effective
in subordinating the brute creation to our will than the club or kindred
harsh measures.

Kate's pony had never been confined by fence or lariat; he roamed at
will all over the beautiful prairie or in the timber surrounding
Errolstrath. Yet day or night, in sunshine or in storm, if Kate required
his services, she had only to go and call him, and if within the sound
of her voice, he would come galloping up to her, neighing cheerfully.
When he arrived where she stood, bridle in hand, waiting for him, he
would affectionately rub his nose on her arm or shoulder, and
submissively follow her to the house. If he happened to be a long way
off when she went to seek him, she would jump on his bare back and ride
him home. He was always rewarded on these occasions with a lump of sugar
or salt, of both of which he was very fond. In the three years of their
companionship neither girl nor pony had ever deceived each other: his
sugar or salt was never forgotten, nor had he once failed to respond to
her summons.

It made no difference when Kate wanted to go anywhere, whether she
mounted Ginger bareback and bridleless, or with saddle. Under either
condition she was perfectly at her ease, and he equally obedient to her
voice, by which alone she frequently guided him.

He was as fleet as the wind, and more than once Kate had run down a
cottontail rabbit in a spirited chase over the prairie.

She had christened him Ginger, not because there was the slightest
resemblance to that spice in his color, but rather for the "spice" in
his nature.

Mr. Tucker rode his favorite large roan horse, which he had brought to
the ranche with him, and which had carried him so bravely on the long
and wearisome trip to the Elkhorn.

The happy little party left Errolstrath about seven o'clock, followed by
the old hounds Bluey and Brutus, which were as anxious as their young
masters for the excitement of the impending chase.

They rode down the Oxhide under the shade of the elms which fringed its
border, until they arrived at the open prairie a mile from the ranche.
There the dogs were ordered ahead, and began to run, eagerly looking out
for a sight of any foolish rabbit, cottontail or jack, that might be out
on the level stretch of country over which the hunters were now loping.

They had not gone on half a mile before they started a big jack from his
lair of bunch-grass, where, probably, he had been taking a late nap.
With a characteristic bound, jumping stiff-legged for a moment, he
fairly flew over the short buffalo sod, the dogs after him with every
muscle strained to overtake him before he could hide in some tall weeds,
or clump of plum bushes which were scattered throughout the prairie at
intervals of five or six hundred yards.

Ever since they had come into possession of their ponies, Joe and Rob
had trained Bluey and Brutus in such a manner that they scarcely ever
failed to secure any game they hunted.

The rabbit is a very swift creature, and has a fashion, when pursued, of
suddenly doubling on his own tracks. Being so much smaller than a hound,
he can perform the feat a great deal quicker than a dog, and if the
latter is not trained to know just what to do under such circumstances,
and just how to run, the rabbit almost invariably slips away from him.
Bluey and Brutus were taught not to keep close to each other when on the
run after rabbits. One of them, generally the younger, when they first
started out for a hunt, remained far enough away from his mate to make
the turn when the rabbit did, without forging ahead of him, as the
foremost hound was sure to do, by the sheer momentum of his rapid
running. Then, the hound in the rear had plenty of room and time to
make the turn as soon as the rabbit, and was right upon him, as close as
was the head dog when he doubled on his tracks. Then the old dog would
recover himself and take his place behind the one that was now ahead,
ready for the same tactics whenever the rabbit made another attempt to
escape by again doubling on himself. So the race was conducted until the
rabbit was caught. That was effected by the dog which happened to be
ahead when he came near enough to thrust his long nose under the
animal's belly and toss him high in the air, catching him in his mouth
as he came down.

"Admirable!" said Mr. Tucker, as Bluey, who happened to be ahead, tossed
the rabbit up and caught him as he fell toward the ground. "I tell you,
boys, that's as fine a piece of work as I ever saw done by any hounds I
have run with. You must have taken a great deal of pains to teach them
to do their work so splendidly?"

"It took a long time," said Rob, who had really given more attention to
training Bluey and Brutus, than had Joe, who had spent more of his spare
hours in the camp of the Pawnees. "I sometimes almost gave up, they
were so stupid when I first tried to teach them, but by degrees they
understood what I wanted, and now I will put them against any hounds in
the settlement for doing good work."

"I must admit," said Joe, "that all they can do is to the credit of Rob;
he has more patience with animals than I have, though you know, Mr.
Tucker, that I am never cruel. I know that you can accomplish more with
a dumb brute by kindness than you can with a whip."

By noon the hounds had caught ten rabbits--six cottontails and four
jacks--and, of course, were played out when the party turned back on the
trail to Errolstrath. Here they found dinner waiting for them, and they
all ate heartily, the delightful exercise having made them as ravenous
as coyotes. The hounds were not forgotten; they had a rabbit each for
their dinner, after eating which, they went to their accustomed beds on
the shady side of a haystack near the corral, and slept all the rest of
the afternoon.

Mr. Tucker left for his ranche about an hour after dinner, promising to
come to visit the family again soon.

The family were worried about the impending Indian war, and when three
o'clock had arrived his mother sent Joe up to Fort Harker to find out if
there was any news of Custer and the troops under his command, who had
gone after the Kiowas.




CHAPTER IX

  INDIAN RAIDS--KATE IS MISSING--"BUFFALO BILL'S"
    OPINION--"BUFFALO BILL" FINDS HER LITTLE BASKET--THE
    SOLDIERS RETURN TO THE FORT WITHOUT FINDING HER--GRIEF
    OF THE FAMILY


IT was after dark when Joe returned from his mission to Fort Harker. He
had been very kindly received by the officers, who had heard all about
him from Colonel Keogh. The commanding officer told him that he wanted
him to warn the settlers on the Oxhide that the war had really
commenced; that General Sully had had a great fight on the Arkansas, and
that it could not be considered as a victory. He told him also to tell
the people on the creek that at any moment they might be visited by a
hostile band, notwithstanding that they were in such close proximity to
the post.

"You know yourself, my man, that the Indians have a faculty of going
anywhere they want to go, and all the troops in the army might be
fooled in regard to their movements. They are here to-day, murdering,
and taking young girls captive, and a hundred miles away to-morrow.

"Tell the settlers," continued he, "that they must be on the lookout. I
have not enough troops to put on guard on every creek. I wish I had;
then there would be no danger of any sudden and unexpected raids. Why,
do you know, Joe, that only yesterday, a band of Dog-soldiers made an
attack on Wilson Creek, sixteen miles from here, and killed two men who
were at work in their hayfield?

"It was reported to me about three hours after the affair had occurred,
and I sent a company up there, but as they were only infantry,--I have
no cavalry now at the post,--the Indians were soon out of reach.

"I want you to tell the settlers on the Oxhide to particularly watch
their girls. The Indians will get some of them if they possibly can.
They don't always murder them, but hold them in a terrible slavery in
hopes of getting a heavy money ransom from the Government for their
release."

Joe related to his parents all the conversation he had with the
officers at Fort Harker, and early the next morning he and his father
rode through the settlement, warning the people to be on their guard.

Only ten days afterward, when the family at Errolstrath were just going
to sit down to supper, it was discovered that Kate was missing. Gertrude
went up to her room, supposing she might be reading there, for she was a
great devourer of books, but she did not find her.

The boys hunted for her in all imaginable places on the ranche where
they thought she might possibly be, but could not find her. When Joe and
Rob returned from their fruitless quest, the family were too thoroughly
frightened to think of eating. Mr. Thompson mounted his horse and
started to make the rounds of the nearest neighbors to learn whether she
was visiting any of them.

He returned to the ranche long after dark, but brought no news of her
whereabouts, and found every member of the family in tears, and his wife
nearly crazy. He was told that Kate's pony had come home, riderless, to
the corral while he was absent, and a small sumac bush to which his
reins were tied, had been torn up by the roots and was dragging at his
feet. None of them could conjecture where she could be.

"My God!" exclaimed her mother, "if the Indians have captured her and
carried her off, what shall we do?"

"Something must be done at once," said Mr. Thompson. "Joe, get your pony
quickly, and we will hurry to the fort to learn whether any Indians have
been seen or heard of in this vicinity to-day. If so, we will get the
commanding officer to send out a squad of soldiers immediately. You must
go with them, Joe, and trail the savages if you can find any signs of
them."

Joe and his father rode as rapidly to Fort Harker as their animals could
carry them; went to the commanding officer's private quarters, as the
business offices were closed after night, and reported to him the
terrible anguish which the family were suffering.

They immediately adjourned to the Adjutant's office, and the commander
sent his orderly for the officer of the day. When he made his
appearance, he asked him whether any reports had been received
concerning Indians being in the vicinity. He replied that no such
report had been received by him, and it was his belief that none of the
hostile savages were in the immediate country.

At that moment, Buffalo Bill entered the room. He was chief of scouts at
Fort Harker, and had just returned from some perilous mission to one of
the military posts on the Arkansas, and was coming from the stable, to
report to the Adjutant. He was told of the mysterious disappearance of
Mr. Thompson's daughter Kate, and the opinion of the famous Indian
fighter and courier was asked as to what he thought of the matter, as no
Indians had been reported in the vicinity.

"Well," said Bill, "because you gentlemen have received no report of the
savages, it does not follow that none have been here. _I know that they
have been here, and to-day._ As I crossed Bluff Creek on my way here
this afternoon, about six o'clock, I saw in the distance a band of
Indians, numbering about ten or twelve, riding rapidly south. I hid
myself in a ravine so that they should not discover me, but I got a good
look at 'em with my field-glass. I think they were Comanches, though I
can't be certain of that; they might have been Cheyennes or Kiowas;
they were too far off to be made out exactly. Now, you ask for my
opinion as to what has become of the gentleman's daughter. I believe
those Indians have her; because they were riding so fast toward their
villages, and they are, you know, all south of the Canadian.

"But don't let Mr. Thompson worry too much; the simple fact that she is
a prisoner among them is bad enough. If among the Kiowas, and the chief,
Kicking Bird, is in the village when the band arrives with the girl, he
will not allow her to be harmed. He is a cunning old fellow, and knows
the value of money. He will have good care taken of her, and get a heavy
reward from the Government for ransom. If she should fall into the
village of Sa-tan-ta, God help her! He is the worst demon on the trail;
but anyhow, I don't think they will harm her, as they will want a
ransom."

"Well," said the officer, "I am sorry that I have no cavalry at the
post, but I will send a detachment of the infantry after them in
six-mule wagons. I imagine it will be a useless task to try to catch up
with them if, as Buffalo Bill says, they were going as fast as they
could to their village on the Canadian. Lieutenant Hale," said he,
turning to the Adjutant, "make a detail at once of thirty men, and send
them out under a couple of non-commissioned officers on the trail of the
savages, if it can be found. Anyhow, some sign may be discovered that
will tell us whether the girl is with them."

Then turning to Joe, he said: "I wish that you would go with the
detachment, for you are the best trailer in the whole country, not
excepting our chief scout here, Buffalo Bill, and he's the prince of all
frontiersmen."

"Well," said Buffalo Bill, "I've just come off a pretty hard trip, but I
volunteer to go with the party; if I can do anything in a case of this
kind, fatigue doesn't count."

"Thank you, Bill," said Mr. Thompson. "I will return to Errolstrath and
tell my family what has been done, and your favorable opinion that the
savages won't harm her: that will be a comfort at least. Good night,
gentlemen," said he; and he went out and untied his horse from the
hitching-post, and rode slowly home.

The night was quite dark, though there was a little moonlight, but the
detachment did not get away from the post until long after midnight, as
there was so much delay in hitching up the teams and turning out the
soldiers who had gone to bed. By the time the little train of three
wagons arrived at Bluff Creek, where Buffalo Bill had seen the Indians,
the day was just breaking. They could not travel to that point from the
fort very rapidly on account of the rough nature of the trail. It was
nothing but a series of rocky hills after they had crossed the Smoky
Hill, and was constantly becoming rougher as they approached Bluff
Creek, which was well named on account of its high bluffs.

The party halted at the ford where they supposed the savages had
crossed, and began to look for Indian signs. Pony tracks were plainly
visible in the soft earth where the trail led down to the water, and
Buffalo Bill dismounted and examined them carefully. He then asked Joe
to get off his horse and count the hoof-marks. Joe did so, and both he
and the famous scout agreed that there must have been about a dozen of
the savages.

Crossing the creek, followed by the wagons, Joe and he ascended the hill
on the other side. They had not proceeded a quarter of a mile when
Buffalo Bill picked up from the trail a small par-fleche basket, which
Joe immediately recognized as belonging to his sister.

"Look here, Mr. Cody, there is her name which I carved myself when I
gave it to her. Now we know for a fact that the savages have captured
her. I know why Ginger came home with that little sumac bush fastened to
his bridle. Kate must have tied him to it, and when the Indians swooped
down on her, the pony broke loose and tore up the little tree by the
roots in his fright, for he was always scared out of his wits at the
sight of an Indian."

The little detachment of soldiers rode on for a dozen more miles, when
the mules showed unmistakable signs of fatigue. They could not be made
to travel faster than a walk, notwithstanding the persuasive efforts of
the blacksnake-whips in the hands of their drivers. So both Buffalo Bill
and Joe reluctantly decided that it was no use to follow the Indians any
farther. They knew the habits of the savages so well, that they were now
probably a hundred miles ahead of them, for they always took loose
stock along with them so as to change animals when their own horses
became leg-weary.

Very reluctantly, then, the cavalcade was turned round and headed for
the fort, where the party arrived at about one o'clock. Buffalo Bill, as
chief of scouts, reported the result of the trip to the commanding
officer.

All were depressed at the failure of the expedition, but it was
impossible that it should have turned out differently, and when Joe
arrived at Errolstrath and related the story of the finding of Kate's
basket, the grief of the family knew no bounds. All felt keen anguish at
the absence of their favorite, and at her sad fate.

There was nothing to be done except to wait patiently for some action on
the part of the Government in ransoming her if she was alive. The family
settled themselves into a calm resignation, but the sun did not seem to
shine so brightly, nor the birds to sing so sweetly as when the pet of
the household was there. Even her antelope appeared to partake of the
general gloom; it evidently missed its loving young mistress, and would
wander around the house, disconsolately seeking her.




CHAPTER X

  HOW KATE WAS CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS--THE BAND RIDE
    RAPIDLY SOUTHWARD--AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE--HER
    DETERMINATION TO ESCAPE--TEACHES THE SQUAWS--IS TREATED
    KINDLY


IMMEDIATELY after dinner on the day that Kate was missed, she bethought
herself that the raspberries might be ripe. She wanted to surprise her
mother and sister, but as will be seen, was surprised in such a manner
that she never forgot it as long as she lived.

Without saying a word to her mother or Gertrude, she took out of her
room a little basket made of par-fleche,[1] given to Joe by the Pawnees,
and by him presented to her. She went out to the pasture, caught her
pony, Ginger, saddled him, and rode out to the fatal raspberry patch
where once she had such a terrible encounter with a she-wolf.

It was a fortunate thing that both the girls had learned to ride, for a
sad fate would have been in store for her had she not been a thorough
horsewoman.

Arriving there in less than half an hour, she tied Ginger to a sumac
bush, and to her delight found that the berries were quite ripe, and was
soon absorbed in the task of filling her basket. Suddenly, with the rush
of a tornado, and uttering the most diabolical yells, a dozen Comanches,
dressed up in their war paint and eagle feathers, swooped down on the
unsuspecting girl as a hawk swoops down on a chicken. Before she
realized where she was, one of the red devils, leaning over from his
pony, caught her by the arms and tossed her in front of his saddle, and
in another instant the whole band was dashing away southward as fast as
their little animals could be urged.

Of course, she fainted for a moment, but strangely held on to her
basket. When she had recovered from her first shock, the Indians
endeavored to make her understand by signs that they were not going to
hurt her. In fact, they treated her with a sort of savage kindness. The
great feather-bedecked brute made her as comfortable as he could in
front of him, as he pounded the pony's flanks with his moccasined heels
to urge it on as fast as possible.

They rode rapidly on, staying for nothing, crossed Bluff Creek, and
reached the Arkansas River that night. They waited there for an hour to
allow their ponies to graze, and themselves to eat and smoke. They rode
on again until daylight the next morning, when the sand hills of the
Beaver came in sight. There they halted for breakfast, and shared with
the now relatively calm girl their dried buffalo meat, and bread made of
ground-roots.

That evening they arrived at their village on the Canadian, more than
two hundred and fifty miles from the Oxhide. Kate was turned over to the
squaws, who treated her with the kindness innate in all women, because
she was only a little girl. Had she been a young woman, that monster
Jealousy, which makes his home even in the rude tepee of the savage,
would have made her lot entirely different.

She was allotted to the lodge of an old squaw, the old chief White
Wolf's fifth wife, whose duty was to guard her and see that she did not
attempt to escape. The savages, as Buffalo Bill had suggested, simply
wanted to keep her until the Government should offer a ransom for the
little captive, so it behooved them not to abuse her.

As the days rolled on in their weary length, the white captive became
more reconciled to her fate. She had never given up the hope that the
officers at Fort Harker would soon send out the troops to seek her, and
that she would be restored to her dear Errolstrath home and her parents.
At the same time, as she was a most excellent horsewoman, she always
thought that if the worst came to the worst, she would make her escape
and again ride the long distance she had ridden in coming to the
village.

When she had regained her self-control on her dreadful journey, she had
looked around her and had taken such observations as she could of the
lay of the country, the timber, and the general aspect of the trail.
Even then, in all the terrible excitement of her capture, she thought of
escaping at the first opportunity that offered itself. She indelibly
imprinted every tree, rock, and ford on her mind, so that the long ride
over the trail to the village was like a photograph on her brain to be
taken out of its storehouse whenever required.

In a very few days she had so ingratiated herself in the good opinion of
the women of the village, that they really took a fancy to her. She
willingly helped them in all the daily tasks heaped upon them by their
hard masters. She learned readily how to tan the different furs which
were brought into the place after a hunt, made moccasins, herded the
ponies in her turn, and even became such an adept in cooking that she
was soon permanently assigned as cook for the occupants of the tepee in
which she was lodged. Then she was spared the dirtier and harder labor
which fell to the lot of the Indian women, for she had been brought up
by her excellent mother to perform all kinds of work in which a white
woman is supposed to become proficient, and now it served her in a way
that was never dreamed of.

The Indians occasionally had flour, but knew of but one way to prepare
it. They made a kind of gruel, by boiling, and adding a little salt. A
most unpalatable dish! She made bread and biscuit, which she baked in
the most primitive way, on a piece of thin iron before the coals of the
camp-fire; but then the food was so different from that to which the
savages had been accustomed, that no one was permitted to prepare the
meals for the lodge where she made her abode, but the White Fawn, as
they began to call her.

Like Constantinople, every village is overrun with dogs, and they are
the most vigilant guards that can be imagined. No one may hope to
approach an Indian lodge, or a group of them, without being saluted by a
chorus of the most unearthly barking and howling from the canine
cataract that is sure to pour out the moment a strange footstep is
heard. Kate, always a lover of pets, immediately began to cultivate the
friendship of the dogs of the village. There was, however, something
more in her method than mere natural affection for the brute creation;
she had an object in view. She knew that when the time arrived for her
to attempt to escape, the dogs must be thoroughly attached to her, so
that they would regard any movement she might make without the slightest
suspicion. This she soon effected, and in a short time every miserable
cur in the village was her faithful ally.

The intense interest which she took in the herd of ponies may be
imagined, for in one of them, at some time in the near future, was
concentrated her hope of escaping from the hateful village. She had
noticed a little roan pony which seemed to her to possess that power of
endurance that would be so necessary when she started on her long and
lonely journey to the beloved Oxhide. She knew that he was the swiftest
animal of the hundred or more in the bunch, for she had watched him
often when the dusky warrior who owned him rode away on the hunt. She
had read in some favorite magazine at the ranche, that in the old tales
of English minstrelsy, the roan horse was the favorite color of the
heroes of those stories, and she selected that animal out of the herd to
carry her away. So, whenever she could, surreptitiously, she petted him,
and he became so attached to her that he would follow her like a dog.

The savages watched her very closely, and she dared not think of leaving
the village for many long weeks. At last she appeared to be so pleased
with her new associations that their vigilance relaxed somewhat, and
their eyes were not always upon her.

She very rapidly learned the language of her captors, and then, as she
could talk to the women, who were really kind to her, her isolation did
not seem so hard to bear.

The principal food of the savages was dried buffalo meat, and, as it
would keep sweet for a long time and was very nourishing, she hid
portions of her rations in the hollow of an old elm that stood near her
tepee, for use on the trip when the time arrived for her to run away.

The clothes which Kate wore when she was stolen soon began to show the
hard service to which they had been subjected, and finally she had to
resort to the blanket for a general wrap like her female associates. She
had patched her civilized dress until it was like Joseph's coat, of many
colors, but she tenaciously clung to it, determining that she would wear
it home, if she was fortunate enough ever to return. So she took it off
and carefully stored it with her buffalo meat in the hollow of the old
elm.

She soon became aware that the savages were at war with the whites, for
often when the warriors went away dressed up in their feathers and
hideous paint, they came back with their ranks decimated, and then there
was wailing and howling in the village.

She knew, also, that General Custer, whom the Indians called the
Crawling Panther, was gradually outwitting them, for she heard the
sobriquet they had given him often mentioned in their talks around the
camp-fires.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Par-fleche is the tanned hide of the buffalo, without the hair. The
Indians make baskets and boxes of it in which to pack their provisions
and other articles when they move their villages.




CHAPTER XI

  THANKSGIVING DAY AT ERROLSTRATH--KATE'S RETURN--CUSTER'S
    BATTLE WITH "BLACK KETTLE"--KATE TELLS HER STORY--THE
    ORIGIN OF INDIAN CORN--A WOLF HUNT WITH GENERAL
    CUSTER--A WOLF STORY BY THE COLONEL


FIVE months had made their sad passage at Errolstrath ranche since Kate
was carried off by the Indians. It was now November, and Thanksgiving,
that day so sacred to every New Englander's heart, was rapidly
approaching; it lacked but one week of its advent. Notwithstanding the
sadness which still hovered over Errolstrath, the great healer, Time,
had poured balm into the wounded hearts. There still remained the tender
remembrance of the light which the absent one always brought into the
house, and the parents still strove to fulfil their obligations to those
who were left to them, so Thanksgiving was kept as it had been ever
since the settlement of the family on the ranche.

The mince pies had been baked, the cider bottled, and all that was
lacking to make up the complement of the great dinner was a turkey. As,
however, the woods were full of them around Errolstrath, no uneasiness
was felt in regard to the presence of the magnificent bird when he was
wanted.

Joe, upon whom the family depended to keep the larder well supplied with
game, intended to go and kill a wild turkey the next day. Thanksgiving
came the second day following on the twenty-fifth, so there was ample
time to procure the principal dish for the coming event.

Joe had long since ceased to hunt for mere amusement. He had become a
veritable pot-hunter, not in the general sense in which the word is
used, that is, a man who only kills his game on the ground, but he
hunted only when the family needed a change of diet, and desired some
kind of game.

It was Rob's duty that month to bring the cows home and milk them, a
duty at which the boys took turn and turn about each month. That evening
he was returning home with his charge, and was riding, as usual, one of
the buffalo ponies. As he was going along the bank of the Oxhide, in the
long grass which grew in some places higher than a man's head, his
animal suddenly stumbled with both feet, into a prairie dog's hole, and
Rob was incontinently thrown over his head, falling into the long grass
without receiving any injury. As he started to his feet again, he felt
something struggling in his hands, for he had involuntarily clutched at
the ground when the pony so unceremoniously tumbled him off, and to his
great surprise, he discovered that he had accidentally caught a large
wild turkey! He held on to the bird manfully, although it tried its
hardest to get away from him; and holding it by the legs, he walked on
to the corral and drove the cows in. Then, still leading his pony, he
arrived at the house, and called his mother and Gertrude out,
exclaiming:--

"I've got the turkey for Thanksgiving, and I didn't have to shoot it,
either!"

Joe, hearing the noise, came down from his room, and learning what had
caused the racket, said:--

"By jolly, Rob, you are a lucky dog; but if any one read of the way you
caught it, they wouldn't believe it. I never heard of such a thing
before. I sha'n't have to hunt one to-morrow now, and I'm glad of it,
for I want to go to the fort to try to find out how the Indian war is
coming on."

"Well, Joe," said his mother, "as you needn't shoot one now, suppose you
kill and pick it while Rob is milking, then hang it up somewhere so that
the lynxes can't get it, and in the morning Gertie and I will get it
ready for the oven."

Joe then took it from Rob, who was still holding the struggling creature
by the legs, and taking it to the woodpile, he chopped off its head,
then he picked it, and hung it up in the smoke-house as the safest place
until his mother was ready for it in the morning.

Thanksgiving day opened clear and cool, but not at all cold, for
November in Kansas is one of the most delightful months in the whole
year. The Indian summer is then at its height, and the amber mist hangs
in light clouds on every hill, giving to all objects a smoky hue. This
mist rests particularly on the bluffs bordering that stream to which
General John C. Fremont gave the name of "The Smoky Hill Fork of the
Republican." He first saw it in the late autumn of 1843, when on his
exploring expedition to the Rocky Mountains, and it is into that river
that the Oxhide empties itself only a short distance from Errolstrath
ranche.

It was intended to have dinner served promptly at noon, and Mrs.
Thompson had so announced to her husband and children, who were all
anxious for twelve o'clock to strike.

About ten, while she and Gertrude were busy in the kitchen, the boys out
in the yard, and Mr. Thompson in the timber, marking some trees he
planned to cut down, there rode up to the front porch a strange-looking
figure on a roan pony which was evidently nearly blown in consequence of
the pace at which it had been driven.

The strange object was seemingly a girl, but she was one mass of rags
over which was thrown a red blanket, Indian fashion. Her hair was
unkempt, and she sat crossways on her animal, like a savage.

Mrs. Thompson, hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs on the buffalo sod
in front of the house, went out with her dish-cloth in her hand to see
who the intruder might be. Looking at her, she at first thought one of
the Pawnee boys had come for Joe, but when she heard in a sad and
apparently disappointed tone a voice which she could never have
forgotten: "My heavens! mamma, don't you know me?" she recognized it as
that of her lost daughter Kate. The cloth dropped from her hand, and she
fell prone upon the porch, overcome by the shock.

Just as Gertrude, who had heard her mother's smothered groan, ran out
with a tin dipper of water to dash into her face, Kate dismounted, and
rushing to where her mother was lying, she threw her arms around her
neck and began to sob violently.

It was then that Gertrude, for the first time, saw her sister Kate, and
she, too, immediately fell upon her lovingly, and for some moments there
was weeping, laughing, kissing, and hugging. The boys, in the back part
of the house, and their father in the stable, hearing the voices,
hurried to the veranda, and in another second all were kissing and
hugging the ragged girl, each one trying to outvie the other in their
joy at the return of the pet of the household.

They fairly dragged Kate into the sitting-room, where, for a few
minutes, they looked at her in a dazed sort of way. Her mother was the
first to come to her senses.

"The first thing to do," she said, "is to get some decent clothes on the
child; then as soon as Mr. Tucker comes we will have dinner. Oh! my,
what a Thanksgiving it will be!"

Kate was soon made comfortable in clean linen, and a dress of her
sister's, for she had outgrown all that were of her own wardrobe five
months before.

At this moment Mr. Tucker rode up to the door, and allowing Rob to take
his horse to the stable, the old man walked into the house. He was the
only invited guest on the Thanksgivings at Errolstrath. All his family
were long since dead, and he was alone in the world; besides, being a
New Englander, he had not forgotten how to appreciate the most important
festival of Yankee Land.

He was wonderfully taken aback when he saw that Kate had returned, and
he congratulated her with his eyes full of tears; for he was a man with
a warm heart, though his early life in the days of the old trappers had
given him a rough looking exterior.

Kate looked like the dear Kate of old, as all sat down to a real
Thanksgiving dinner. She was much browner than when she left
Errolstrath, because of her constant outdoor life in the Indian village.

"Oh! Kate," said her mother, as the happy girl took her accustomed place
at the table, between her father and Gertrude, "how earnestly I have
prayed that you might be restored to us; I felt at times almost in
despair, but the thought of the good God's promises to the patient,
cheered me up, and I knew that in His own time my prayer would be
answered. What a different Thanksgiving this is from what we all have
expected, when we thought of Kate's vacant chair! Only think, we have
never yet been separated on this blessed day during all the years we
have lived at Errolstrath! But we little thought that we should be
together to-day."

"We have much to be thankful for," said Mr. Thompson; "excellent crops,
good luck with our stock, and to cap the climax, our beloved Kate is
restored to us."

The Thanksgiving dinners at Errolstrath were composed of those
conventional dishes which make up the celebration of the festival in New
England, and the one at Errolstrath that day was perfect in its
resemblance to those of the old homestead in Vermont.

While they were discussing the good things on the table, Kate was told
how Rob had got the turkey for the dinner, and also how matters had
progressed at the ranche during her absence, for she was very anxious to
know. Her father said that he had raised the largest crop of corn since
he had been on the creek; that the wolves had carried off two calves
from Errolstrath, but that many of the neighbors had suffered a great
deal more from their depredations, and that a grand wolf hunt was
contemplated by the whole neighborhood, for something had to be done to
thin out the ravenous creatures. Gertrude told how many chickens she
had, but Joe gave them all the best news they had heard for a long
time.

"I was over at Fort Harker yesterday," he said, "and I heard that
General Custer had attacked the camp of Black Kettle, the Cheyenne
chief, on the Washita in the Indian Territory, and completely wiped them
out. The war is ended, and the savages are suing for a peace which
General Sheridan says they will be sure to keep this time. The
commanding officer told me that Custer would soon arrive at the fort,
and that the settlers need have little more fear; that they may go
anywhere now without expecting to lose their hair. He said that Sheridan
had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general for the brilliant
success of his winter campaign, and that he would shortly be at Fort
Harker on his way to Washington."

"Well, that is glorious news," said Mr. Tucker. "No more stealing pretty
little girls from their homes, eh?"

When Joe had finished his joyous piece of intelligence, the family
adjourned to the big sitting-room, and Kate was asked to tell the
wonderful story of her capture and escape. She seated herself in her
favorite chair, an old Boston rocker, brought from Vermont and nicely
cushioned at the back, and was making ready to begin, when her mother
said:--

"What in the world, Kate, possessed you to go away from the house that
day and to tell none of us where you intended to go?"

"Why," answered Kate, "I remembered that you were very fond of
raspberries, and I thought that, as they must be ripe, I would saddle
Ginger and go up to the patch to get some, for I wanted to surprise you.
I took my little Indian basket--"

[Illustration: "I had nearly filled my basket."]

"Buffalo Bill found your basket on the trail the other side of Bluff
Creek ford," interrupted Joe, "and that is how we came to know that the
Indians had captured you."

"I remember now," said Kate, "that I held on to it for a long time and
then dropped it. I don't know why I kept it in my hand. Well, as I was
saying, I rode out to the patch, tied Ginger to a sumac bush, and began
to pick the berries, which were ripe as I had expected. I had nearly
filled my basket when with a dash that nearly frightened me out of
my senses, a band of Indians came from the other side of the big
ledge, and before I knew where I was, I found myself in front of a
horrible-looking savage, and the whole band started south as tight as
their ponies could go. I remember hearing Ginger give a snort, as he
jerked up by the roots the bush I had tied him to, and fairly flew
towards the ranche--"

"There, mother," said Joe, "that's just what I told you when Ginger came
home with the sumac fastened to his bridle!"

"Oh, if I could only have jumped on Ginger's back," continued Kate,
"before the Indians had got me, they never would have had the ghost of a
chance of catching me. But they came upon me before I had the least idea
they were anywhere near.

"We rode all that afternoon, halting for a few moments, long after dark,
for the Indians to change ponies, as they had some loose ones with them.
We kept on at a good gait all that night, until about daylight, when we
stayed for more than an hour on the other side of the Arkansas River, to
graze the ponies among the sand hills, and for the Indians to eat their
breakfast. They were quite kind to me; gave me some dried buffalo meat,
and brought me some water from the stream in a horn, and tried to make
me understand that they did not intend to harm me.

"Of course, I was frightened at the idea of being carried off by the
horrid savages, but I tried to keep my senses, and watched every tree
and rock on the trail. I looked at the sun to learn which way we were
going, and determined in my mind that I would escape at the first
opportunity.

"On the tops of the highest points of the hills, I saw the stone
monuments, which Joe had often told me were placed by the savages on
their travels from place to place, as marks to show where water and wood
are to be found."

"Yes," said Mr. Tucker; "you can see those piles of stones on every hill
about here; and from them you can always see water or timber, indicating
where to camp."

"They were to be seen on every divide we crossed," continued Kate; "and
besides, I saw lots of the compass-plant, or rosin-weed, the leaves of
which, Joe had told me, always pointed north, so I felt satisfied if I
could ever escape, I would have no trouble in finding my way back to
the Oxhide.[2] After a long, wearisome ride, until the next morning, we
arrived at the Canadian River, which the Indians called the 'Mai-om,' or
Red, and on the bank of which was the village consisting of about a
hundred lodges.

"There I was turned over to the women, who treated me very decently, and
I immediately began to study the language, for I knew that that would
help me in getting into their good graces. I willingly took hold of the
work which falls to the lot of the squaws in every camp, and taught them
how to cook after the white style. You may imagine I had plenty to do,
for the warriors liked the biscuit I used to make, and they sometimes
had a good deal of flour for which they had traded with the white men
who bought their furs.

"I made friends of the dogs in the village, and there were hundreds of
them, some of them miserable curs, but they could make more noise than a
pack of wolves; and I thought if I could teach them to know me, they
would not bother me when I attempted to run away; for you know that
they are the most watchful animals imaginable. At night, not the
slightest sound escapes their well-trained ears, and at the approach of
a human being, they set up the most terrific barking and howling you
ever heard. Well, I soon made friends with every one of them, and I
could go around the village after dark, and they would not utter a
growl.

"I watched very closely the large herd of ponies,--there were more than
two hundred belonging to the village,--to find out which one of them was
the fleetest, and had the most endurance. I picked out the little roan I
rode here, and, Joe, I will make him a present to you; for if you had
not taught me so much about plants, and the methods of the Indians, and
before all things else, taken such pains with me when I wanted to ride a
pony, I never should have been able to run away and come home safely."

"Thank you, Kate," said Joe. "We have kept Ginger just as finely as ever
for you, and he is the best pony in the whole country, I don't care how
many the Indians may have."

Kate went on with her wonderful experience. "Near the tepee where I
slept I found an old elm tree that had a great hollow in it near the
roots, and I determined to make it my storehouse for the food I should
need when I ran away. I did not, of course, begin to hide anything in it
until I had been in the village for over four months. Then I used to
save little by little of my portion of the dried buffalo meat, as I knew
that it would keep for a long time without spoiling.

"We ate all sorts of things that at first rather disgusted me;
puppy-stew, for instance. Now, mother and Gertrude, don't laugh; I
really soon learned to like it, though I never expect to be compelled to
eat it again. It is the cleanest thing the Indians have, if you will
only get over the natural prejudice against eating dog. Why, just think,
the puppies are only sucklings when they are eaten; they have tasted
nothing but their mother's milk, and the mothers are fed on buffalo meat
only.

"I suppose that you, mother and Gert, want to know how puppy-stew is
prepared? Well, when the little things are rolling fat, as round as a
ball of butter, the old woman who has charge of the lodge takes them up
and feels them all over, and if satisfactory, she chokes them to death
by literally hanging them to a tree with a buffalo sinew. When dead,
they are singed before the fire, just as you singe a fowl; the entrails
are taken out, and then the flesh is boiled in a pot, and eaten as hot
as possible. The savages, particularly the old squaws, can take up in
their buffalo-horn spoons, meat which would scald a white person to
death, and swallow it without the slightest difficulty. I suppose that
that, and their constant brooding over a smoky fire in the tepees, makes
them look so old and wrinkled at an early age. They are the most
horrid-looking witches you ever saw, and they would need no 'fixing up'
to play the part in Macbeth."

"Talking of curious dishes eaten by the Indians," said Mr. Tucker, "up
in Oregon, where I was trapping a good many years ago, the squaws make
what I call Indian jelly-cake. They take the black crickets, roasted,
which form a large portion of their subsistence, and make a kind of
bread of them, after having ground them on a flat stone. They then
spread on it the boiled berries of the service tree or bush, and if it
was not manipulated by their very dirty hands, it would be very
palatable."

"The Indians of the great plains," continued Kate, "live almost
exclusively on meat; they gather a few berries sometimes, but their
principal diet is buffalo meat.

"After I had been in the village for over four months, I began to think
of trying to escape. My clothes were becoming more ragged every day, and
I was obliged to resort to the blanket as a covering, though I kept what
I had worn there as long as I could.

"One day there was a great feast in the village, with dancing and
carousing, which the warriors kept up until long after midnight, and
consequently slept very soundly. Now, thought I, is my time. So after I
found out that the old squaw with whom I lodged was sound asleep, I
crept up, and looked out to see what kind of a night it was. The moon
was low down in the western heavens, but bright enough for me to see the
trail, so I determined to make the attempt. I took a piece of buffalo
robe for a saddle, and went out to the herd to catch the pony on which
I had had my eyes for such a long time, and had petted whenever I was
not watched. The dogs, of course, had come out of their holes to see
what was going on, having heard my almost noiseless footsteps; but
recognizing me instantly, they did not set up their customary howl. They
went back to sleep without making any trouble, and I walked out to the
herd about a quarter of a mile away, and soon found the little roan I
wanted. He came up to me without a neigh, luckily, and I fastened the
piece of robe on him, tucked the dried buffalo meat, which I had taken
from my hiding-place, into my bosom, and jumping on, started at a pace
which, if I had not been a good rider, would have tossed me off before I
had gone half a dozen yards.

"The pony seemed to know just what I required of him, for he ran on a
good lope, with his belly almost touching the ground, and in a little
while I had crossed the ford of the Canadian, and was going up the
divide on the other side as fast as I dared to force him. I took a
glance at the north star to get my bearings, for I dared not follow the
broad trail, as the Indians would be sure to track me, and struck across
the country, up one hill and down the other until day began to break.
Then I stayed a few seconds at a small branch to let my pony drink and
to take a swallow myself, and on I went, not daring to let him graze
yet.

"Mile after mile the noble little fellow carried me until late that
afternoon. Of course I watered him at every creek I came to, but did not
halt until it had grown quite dark. Then I took him about a mile down
into a piece of timber, unsaddled him and let him graze for more than an
hour. I kept my ears open, fearing every moment to hear the sound of
ponies' hoofs, for I felt confident that the Indians would follow me the
moment they discovered that I was gone.

"When I thought he had sufficiently rested, and I had eaten a small
piece of the meat, I mounted him again and started on a lope northward.
I kept the little gallop, changing into a brisk walk once in a while,
until I could see by the daylight the long silvery line of the Arkansas,
looking like a white snake in its many windings. Then I felt pretty
safe, after I had stopped and watched the trail back as far as I could,
which was for more than two miles. I could see nothing like dust, nor
hear a sound, so I began to hope that I had really escaped, and my heart
began to feel lighter than it had for many a long month.

"I crossed the Arkansas, which the Indians call 'Mit-sun,' meaning Big,
and it was up to my pony's breast, but he struggled through splendidly,
though I got my moccasins wet, for the water came to my knees. I did not
mind that, as I had often got wet through in the Canadian where we used
to go swimming almost every morning while at the village. The squaws are
very fond of the water in that way, but are not so clean with their
hands as I would many a time have liked them to be.

"On the other side of the divide separating the Arkansas from the Smoky
Hill, I halted in a box-elder grove to rest my roan, and rest myself,
for I was nearly worn out. I felt very safe then, for I knew that I was
approaching the settlements on Plum Creek, and if I had known, what Joe
has just told us, that the war was over, I might have been at my ease
all the way from the Arkansas.

"Early this morning I came to Bluff Creek, at the very spot where I had
crossed with the Indians, and how my heart fluttered when I knew I was
so near dear Errolstrath! From that creek I rode slowly, as I knew I had
nothing to fear from the Indians, for the settlements were too thick,
and besides it was daytime, when the Indians rarely attack.

"I often got off my pony when it grew too dark to see, to feel the
leaves of the compass-plant, that I could always find without much
hunting on every hill. Now, mamma and father, don't you think that I
have made a famous ride?"

"We all think so," said her father; "it is one of the most remarkable on
record, and we rejoice more than even you can imagine, to have our dear
daughter back again, well as ever, after such an experience."

"Why don't the Indians raise corn?" inquired Rob, in a general way; "it
is so easily grown out here on the plains."

"Some of the tribes do," replied Mr. Tucker. "The Sioux and the Mandans
have always had their corn-fields, but as usual the women have to do
all the work. Do you know, Rob, that the corn is a native plant of North
and South America, yet it has never been found wild?"

"Do tell us about it," said Mrs. Thompson; and Kate asked if there were
not some legend connected with it, "for there is not a thing that they
eat, without its wonderful story."

"Certainly," replied Mr. Tucker. "There is a beautiful legend among the
Sioux, which I learned from them when I was among them in 1840, and as
it is not late yet, if you like, I will tell it to you."

"Do! do!" all exclaimed in chorus.

"Of course," began Mr. Tucker, "among the Indians the origin of corn is
wrapped up in the supernatural legends of the race, of which there are
several, differing materially, however, in their details. Strange as it
may seem, nowhere in all the vast domain of both Americas, has a wild
species of corn been discovered; and yet the inhabitants of these
continents have used it from the earliest times, of which even history
has no record. Yet, at some time in the unchronicled past it must have
grown wild. An unknown benefactor of his race--one whose name not even
tradition preserves, excepting in unintelligible myths--saw somewhere,
the feathery tassels and glossy blades with their silken ears amidst the
foliage of a sedgy river bank, and owing to his first care, the wild
plant, after many ages, has become the maize of commerce, and the king
of all the cereals of the nineteenth century.

"When Columbus found the New World, corn was the staple food of all
tribes of Indians from the far north to the extreme south, who attempted
to cultivate the soil at all.

"The celebrated Pere Marquette, the Catholic priest who passed his life
among the savages, met with it at every point, on his memorable journey
down the Mississippi River, in 1763. It has been exhumed from tombs of a
greater antiquity than those of the Incas of Peru. Darwin discovered
heads of it embedded in an ancient beach that had been upheaved
eighty-five feet above the sea-level.

"That Indian corn is indigenous to America, has never been questioned by
botanists, for Europe knew nothing of it until Columbus returned home
from our shores.

"Longfellow has poetically told of one of the Indian traditions of the
origin of corn, in his _Hiawatha's Fasting_.

"The legend was first transmitted to the white men by Rattlesnake, and
strange to say, he was a chief of the Kansas or Kaw tribe of Indians. He
related it on an island at the mouth of the Kansas River, in 1673, as is
recorded in the old French manuscript of an early traveller.

"It states that a band of a hundred Kansas Indians in returning from a
successful raid on the Shawnees, of whom they had taken several
prisoners, halted on the island, taking advantage of the thick timber
which grew in groups, as a convenient spot to torture their captives.

"Pere Marquette, whom the Indians called 'The White Prophet,' happened
to be there most opportunely; for through the respect and veneration in
which the monk was held, he saved the lives of the hapless Shawnees, who
were set at liberty. That evening while eating their supper of cooked
hominy, the good priest asked for the legend which told of the origin of
Indian corn, and Rattlesnake gave it, as he said he had often heard it
at his mother's knee.

"It is the same story the Sioux told me, but I will follow the language
of the old manuscript, for I have often read it.

"Once when the world was young, and there were but few red men in it,
there was a chief whose wife bore him many children. Every summer added
one and sometimes two to his family. They became so numerous that the
father could not give them sufficient food, and the hungry children were
continually crying. By great patience and skill in hunting, however, the
chief at length raised a large family, until his eldest son reached the
stature of manhood.

"In those days the red men all lived in peace and friendship. There was
no war, and no scalp-locks hung from the doors of the lodges. The eldest
son had the fear of the Great Spirit in his heart, and, like his father,
he toiled patiently in the chase that he might assist in procuring food
for his brothers and sisters.

"In those days all of the promising young men, at their entrance into
manhood, had to separate themselves from the tribe, and retire into the
forest, to see if the Great Spirit would grant them some request. During
this time there was to be neither eating nor drinking, but they were to
spend the hours in thinking intently on the request they were making of
the Manitou.

"When the young man had gone a long distance in the forest, he began to
pray to the Great Spirit, and to ask for a favor which he had long
cherished in his heart for the occasion. He had often felt how
frequently the chase had disappointed the red men, and how often their
families had gone to sleep hungry, because they had no meat. He had
always determined when his fasting and dreaming hour should come, that
he would ask the Great Spirit to give the red men some article of food
more certain than the meat obtained in the chase.

"All that day the youth prayed, and thought of his request, and neither
water nor food entered his mouth.

"At night, with a bright hope in his young heart, he lay down to sleep.
Soon he had a vision. He saw a magnificently attired youth coming toward
him. He was clad in robes of green, and green plumes hung gracefully
about his comely countenance.

"'My dear young friend,' said the stranger, 'the Great Spirit has heard
your prayer, but the boon you ask is a great boon; and you must pass
through a heavy trial of suffering and patience before you will see the
realization of your wish.

"'You must first try your strength with me, and suffer nothing to enter
your lips until I am overcome, before you will receive your reward.
Come, the night wears apace, let us wrestle amid the trees.'

"The chief's son had a big heart, and knew no fear, so he closed with
his graceful antagonist. He found him endowed with muscles like the oak,
and he had the wind of a wolf, that never was exhausted by effort. Long
and long they wrestled, but so equal was their strength that neither
could claim any decided advantage. 'Enough, my friend, for this time.
You have struggled manfully. Still resist your appetite, give yourself
up wholly to prayer and fasting, and you will receive the gratification
of your desires. Farewell until to-morrow night, when I will return to
wrestle with you again.' Then the young visitor, with his green plumes
waving over his head, took his flight toward the skies, the green and
yellow vestments with which he was clad expanding like wings.

"When the Indian awoke, he found himself panting like a stag when chased
by the wolves, and the perspiration dropped from his body; yet his heart
was light, for he knew a sign had come from the Manitou. Although he was
very hungry that day, and some berries and grapes tempted him sorely, he
refrained from touching them, resisting successfully these natural
desires.

"Night came, and the young Indian closed his eyes in sleep; and lo!
there was a continuance of his former vision. He saw coming toward him
the graceful being he had seen on the previous night. The silken wings
of green and gold swept through the air with great velocity, and the
green plumes on his head waved rhythmically in their beauty.

"They again wrestled, as before, and although the Indian had neither
eaten nor drunk, he felt his strength greater than in the previous
conflict; and he obtained some signal advantage over his celestial
competitor. They were struggling together when the morning commenced to
look upon the world, and he of the green plumes thus addressed the
Indian youth:--

"'My friend, on our next trial you will be the victor. Now, listen how I
instruct you to take advantage of your conquest. When my efforts cease I
shall die. Strip me of my yellow garments and bury me in soft and
new-made earth. Visit my grave week by week, for in a little time I
shall return to life in the form of a plant, which you will readily
recognize by its resemblance to me. Let no weeds or grass be near me to
keep the dew and sunshine from my green leaves, and once a month draw
the fresh earth to my body, that it may grow and strengthen. When ears
have shot from my side, and the silk which shall fall from their tops
commences to dry, then pull the ear, strip it of its garments as you
will strip me when I am dead. Place the milky grains before the fire
which will cook the outside, without destroying any of the juicy
substance. Then all the race of man will have a sweeter and stronger
food than they have ever known before. There shall be no more hunger
upon the earth excepting among those who have a lazy spirit, or whom the
Bad Manitou claims as his own.'

"When the Indian awoke, he felt very weak from hunger, and it required
all the resolution of which he was master to restrain the gratification
of his appetite, but he passed the day in fasting and prayer, and at
nightfall laid himself down to sleep.

"True to his promise, his friend of the green plumes again appeared in
his trance, and again the wrestle commenced. The young Indian was
exceedingly weak from his long fasting, but when engaged in the conflict
he felt his heart grow big within him; his arms became as strong as the
young oaks of the forest, and after a short struggle he threw his
antagonist to the ground. The young Indian stood by the side of his
adversary who said that he was dying, and told him to remember the
instructions he had given him. The young Indian accordingly stripped the
body of its vesture of mingled green and yellow, and carefully digging a
grave, deposited it in the soft earth. He thought that the earth adhered
to his hand in a strange manner, and at that moment he awoke, and found
in his hand a seed such as he had never before seen.

"The Indian then knew that the Manitou had heard his prayer, and that
the grain was the body of his friend. He then went from the forest to
the prairie, made soft the earth, and planted the strange seed sent to
him in his dream.

"He then returned to his father's lodge, and the whole family were
anxious to know if he had received any sign from the Great Spirit, but
he evaded all inquiries and kept his important secret. Every morning,
before the sun's bright rays had looked upon the earth, he was beside
the grave of the seed, and carefully kept the grass and weeds away.

"On the morning of the ninth day, the faithful youth saw a green plant
shooting from the earth, and as he gazed on its green blades, he knew at
once the friend with whom he had wrestled.

"Once each month he drew the fresh earth to the stalks, which grew day
by day until they far overtopped his own stature, and then there began
to protrude from their sides the shoots from which a mass of silken
fibres issued. In a short time the plant began to dry, as had been
foretold to him, and then he invited his father, mother, brothers, and
sisters to the spot and showed them what the Great Spirit had sent him
at his fasting season. He then pulled one of the two ears and roasted it
before the fire.

"The whole family tasted the new food, and they liked it. The other ear
was kept for seed, and in a few years the red man had plenty of the new
food which the Manitou had sent him."

"That is a beautiful story," said Mrs. Thompson, and the others all
agreed with her. "Kate, you must be very tired; don't you want to go to
bed and sleep like a Christian once more?"

"No," replied the young girl, "my muscles are 'like the oak trees in the
forest,' as were those of the Indian who got the corn from the spirit
with the green wings. Besides, it's only seven o'clock, and I want to
look at you all for some time yet."

Before eight o'clock, Buffalo Bill and Colonel Keogh came over from the
fort, as they had heard from some one from Oxhide that Kate had come
home, and they wanted to see her.

They were both surprised at her excellent condition, and Bill ventured
the remark that the Indians had certainly used her much better than they
would have used him had he been in her place.

"I've no doubt of that," said Mr. Tucker; "they would have had a
roasting frolic if they had caught you instead of our little friend
Kate!"

"Well," said Colonel Keogh, "the war is ended, and I guess we have had
the last trouble in Kansas that we shall ever have. The Indians are
going peacefully to their reservations, where the Government will feed
them, which is cheaper than fighting them, at anyrate! General Custer is
at the fort, and he has heard so much of Joe that he wants to see him,
and take him on a wolf hunt in a day or two."

"I'll go, Colonel, for sure, for they are carrying off calves and hogs
every night from some of the ranches on this creek," said Joe.

"Talking about wolves," said Colonel Keogh, "I never saw so many
together in all my life as I did after the battle of the Washita. We
found the bunch of ponies belonging to the Indians, numbering about
twelve hundred, and General Custer ordered them all to be killed, as a
necessity, to prevent other savages from getting them. A Plains Indian
without a horse to ride is as helpless as a child. He won't walk, and it
was thought that by killing all the ponies we found, it would <DW36>
the savages as effectually as if we killed the same number of warriors.
The bunch was driven into a narrow canyon near their camp, and as they
huddled against the high rocky wall, a detachment of the cavalry was
detailed to shoot them. We camped near there for a few days, and at
night the wolves would congregate there to feed upon the dead bodies of
the ponies. I suppose they came from a distance of a hundred miles, for
you know a wolf thinks nothing of going that far for a good meal. It
happened to be the time of the full moon, and just after nightfall a lot
of us used to go and ride on top of the bluff to watch the wolves come
to the feast. I think it is no exaggeration to say that five thousand of
the hungry creatures gathered there every evening, as long as any flesh
remained on the bones of the slaughtered ponies. Such snapping,
snarling, growling, and fighting was never heard before. You could hear
them for two miles easily. Some of them were so pugnacious and ravenous
that they actually killed and devoured each other! I do not believe such
a scene was ever witnessed before or will be again."

"You have all heard that Sheridan has been promoted to be
lieutenant-general, and Sherman to be general, as Grant has been elected
to the Presidency?" said Buffalo Bill. "Sheridan received notice on
Kansas soil of his well-deserved promotion, and it makes the place
classic ground. I will tell you how it was. Of course, official notice
of the promotion was daily expected, as it had been seen in the papers
from Washington, but the mails were very irregular in the vast
uninhabited region south of the Arkansas. It was carried by the scouts
from Fort Hays, the nearest railroad point, and they also took
despatches to the scattered military posts that had been established
temporarily, in the form of camps, cantonments, or wherever a detachment
of troops happened to be. Early one morning General Sheridan,
accompanied by two officers of his personal staff, left Camp Supply in
the Indian Territory for Fort Hays, to take the railroad for Washington,
where he had been ordered to report. When the party had arrived at the
foot of a high mountain, just on the border of this state, they saw far
ahead of them on the trail made by the troops in going into the field, a
dark object moving rapidly toward them. As the distance between them
lessened, they noticed that it was a horseman whose animal, flecked with
foam, and with distended nostrils, was straining every muscle to reach
the ambulance. In a few moments the sound of the horse's hoofs were
distinctly heard on the hard trail, and when he had approached near
enough, its rider, the excited scout, recognized Sheridan among the
occupants of the ambulance. He rose in his stirrups and waved his hat in
one hand, while in the other he held up a piece of yellow paper, crying
out at the top of his voice:--

"'Hurrah for the lieutenant-general!' The paper he handed to Sheridan
was a telegram from the President, informing him of his promotion."

"Well," said Colonel Keogh, looking at the old-fashioned clock in the
corner of the room, "I had no idea it was so late. It's nearly ten.
Come, Cody; we must get back to the fort." Then saying good-night to
all, with an admonition to Joe not to forget the wolf hunt, of which he
said he would send him word, they mounted their horses and rode off.

Mr. Tucker was to remain until morning, so they all retired, after
having passed one of the most cheerful Thanksgivings in their lives.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] The compass-plant, or rosin-weed, as it is commonly called, is the
_Silphium laciniatum_ of the botanists. It is found in luxuriance on
every hill-top on the great plains, and resembles an immense oak leaf,
which, while growing, always points its thin edges north and south,
consequently broad surfaces east and west.




CHAPTER XII

  A WOLF HUNT--TWO SNAKE STORIES--TERRIBLE STRUGGLE WITH A
    MOUNTAIN WOLF--A MAIL RIDER EATEN--THE OLD TRAPPER'S
    EXPERIENCE WITH FOUR OF THE FIERCE BEASTS


THE allied tribes of the plains, now thoroughly whipped into subjection
by the gallant Sheridan and his intrepid subordinates, Custer and Sully,
went sullenly to the reservations recently established by the Government
in the Indian Territory, and "white-winged Peace" once more spread her
pinions over the fair land of Kansas. The settlers could go from one
village to another with perfect immunity from sudden attacks by savages
hidden in some ambush on the trails, so the state made phenomenal
strides toward a greater civilization.

Crops were enormous in their results when the virgin soil was turned to
the sun, but the wolves, especially in the vicinity of Errolstrath,
seemed to increase with the prodigality of Jonah's gourd. They became so
persistent in their nightly depredations at the ranches, that only by a
concentrated effort of the neighborhood to exterminate them could
stock-raising be made profitable.

A few days after Colonel Keogh's visit to Errolstrath on that happy
Thanksgiving when Kate had come back safely to her home, an orderly from
Fort Harker dismounted in front of the house, bearing a note to Joe from
General Custer. It stated that the General proposed to hunt the wolves
the day after to-morrow, and desired him to invite Mr. Tucker, the old
trapper, and as many more of the neighbors who were good shots, as would
like to go. He wanted the party to meet him at the mouth of the Oxhide
as early as seven o'clock. From this point he intended to go to the
general rendezvous of the beasts in the limestone region, down the Smoky
Hill.

As soon as dinner was over at Errolstrath, Joe saddled his pony, and
started for Mr. Tucker's ranche three miles away, to invite him to come
over to stay all night and join Custer and the others of the party on
the morning of the hunt.

Rob was at the same time told by his father to get his pony and deliver
General Custer's invitation to as many of the neighbors as he could
reach, and return by sundown. He left promptly on his mission, but went
in a direction exactly opposite from that of his brother.

When he had loped along about a mile up the Oxhide, his attention was
attracted by a curious noise which seemed to come from the bank of the
stream. He rode his pony through the brush toward the strange sound, and
what was his surprise to see two snakes fighting right on the extreme
edge of the water where the bank was only just above its level. One of
the reptiles was a black water-snake, and the other a bull-snake nearly
twice as thick round as his opponent, but not quite as long. The
bull-snake had his tail firmly wrapped around a sunflower stalk, and the
other had his attached to a big weed. Each had hold of the other by the
middle and was trying to pull in an opposite direction. It was evidently
the intention of the black snake to drag his antagonist into the water
and drown him, for he is a good swimmer, while the bull is not, and the
latter was just as determined that his enemy should not get him into the
stream.

They were both stretched to their utmost tension, and as Rob said, when
he told about them on his return, he expected every moment to see them
break in two; for both were drawn out as thin as a clothes-line. At last
the hold of the bull-snake gave way, and the impetus, like the snapping
of a whip, threw them both into the water. Now the black snake had a
decided advantage, for he was in his element, and he immediately exerted
every muscle to draw his antagonist's head under. Finally, after a
severe struggle he succeeded in holding him there for a few moments, and
when he let go, the bull-snake's dead body rose to the surface. Then the
black snake gave a few shakes to his tail and darted off under the
water, apparently not the least injured by his death-struggle with his
larger antagonist.

Both boys returned to Errolstrath before sundown, and as it was Rob's
month to take care of the cows and milk them, he went promptly about his
business. Joe, after taking Mr. Tucker's horse to the stable, and
feeding the other stock, returned to the house, and sat in the big room,
talking to his guest for half an hour, until supper was announced.

Supper being cleared away, all adjourned to the sitting-room again, and
the boys and girls proposed that the old trapper should relate some more
of his experiences in the Rocky Mountains, when he was a young man; a
request with which he cheerfully complied whenever he passed a night at
Errolstrath.

After all were comfortably seated in their accustomed places, Rob told
of his adventure with the two snakes on the bank of the Oxhide, when
Joe, after his brother had finished, remarking that coincidences were
curious, stated that he, too, that same afternoon, had had an adventure
with three snakes--one more than Rob.

"When I reached the broad military road to Fort Sill," said he, "at the
crossing of Mud Creek, I noticed some distance down the trail a terrible
commotion. The dust was flying as if it had been twisted around by a
whirlwind, and by looking steadily I could see something moving on the
bare earth, where the grass is all worn off the road. I rode slowly up
to the moving object, ready for any emergency, when I discovered three
bull-snakes, two of them of immense size, the third one not so large.
They had a half-grown cottontail among them, and were fighting bravely
for the sole possession of the little creature, which was already nearly
dead. I thought I would stay to see the fun, so I whipped the smaller
one, and one of the larger of the reptiles away. They went hissing into
the grass, as I applied my riding-whip to them pretty lively. Then I sat
still on my pony to watch the single snake enjoy the meal I had so
opportunely provided for him.

"Presently he began to wind his long body around the rabbit, and I could
hear the bones of the poor thing crack as the muscular pressure was
applied. He then gradually unfolded himself, turned his head toward the
muzzle of his prey, dislocated his jaws, and commenced to take in the
rabbit.

"Little by little the rabbit, which was much larger than the snake's
body, disappeared, until it was entirely enveloped by the reptile. Then
he coolly reset his jaws, and after a series of hisses--perhaps he was
thanking me for my kindness in interfering on his behalf--he crawled
away into the thick grass. I let him go, Mr. Tucker; for we never kill a
bull-snake, they are such good hunters for gophers, mice, and even
rabbits, which are becoming such a nuisance here. I saw several wolves,
of course; you can't go a mile anywhere without seeing them, but as I
carried no gun with me I did not try to interview any of them."

"I expect to have a good time the day after to-morrow," said the old
trapper, "and it will recall some of my own experiences with them years
ago."

"Oh, do tell us about it!" said Kate; "I just love hunting adventures."

"All right, Kate; you have grown into a kind of savage since your life
with the Indians, eh?"

"I heard lots of wonderful stories from the warriors when they sat
around the fire at night, but they told such abominable yarns that I
didn't believe them. They can stretch a thing pretty well, I tell you,"
answered Kate.

"Begin, please, Mr. Tucker," said Rob, who was as interested as any of
the family.

"Well, then," said he, "I will tell you of the brave deed of a Mexican,
which occurred a good many years ago, when I was down in Southern
California.

"He was a native, and named Amador Sanchez, well known in the Sierra
Nevadas as a brave and successful hunter. He had a terrible fight with
one of those great shaggy, gray mountain wolves. The struggle lasted for
several hours, and ended by both combatants being laid prostrate on the
ground. They were so completely exhausted as to be unable to reach each
other from want of sheer physical strength. In that condition they
passed one whole night. On the following morning, when the Mexican had
recovered sufficiently to be able to creep to his shaggy antagonist, he
found him dead.

"The terrible conflict grew out of the Mexican's daring attempt to save
the life of a boy who was about to be torn to pieces when the Mexican
attacked the wolf.

"At one time the wolf had the youth under him in such a way that it was
impossible for Sanchez to plant a ball in any vital organ without
imperilling the boy's life. Nothing daunted, however, with both revolver
and rifle, he succeeded in lodging several bullets in other parts of the
savage beast. Still the enraged brute clung to the unfortunate child,
using every endeavor to tear him to pieces and horribly mangling every
part of his body. At this juncture, the brave Mexican hunter could no
longer refrain from active effort. He dropped his pistols and rifle,
drew his sheath-knife and slung-shot; then winding his blanket around
his left arm to protect it, he rushed in and compelled the animal to
turn upon him, and so gave the boy a chance to escape.

"Wounds were freely given and returned, but the wary Sanchez fought with
much dexterity and determination. The wolf finally became so mad with
rage and pain, that he closed in upon the Mexican and threw him headlong
upon the ground, where he remained almost senseless for a few moments
before recovering his breath.

"Instead of following up his advantage, the beast, doubtless believing
his enemy dead, because he did not move, commenced to examine and lick
his own bleeding wounds. The spirit of the intrepid Mexican, however,
was up, and he determined to conquer the wolf or die.

"Early in the struggle, by a blow from his slung-shot, Sanchez had
succeeded in breaking the brute's lower jaw, and that was
unquestionably the fortunate wound which eventually gave the victory to
the Mexican.

"Sanchez renewed the fight as soon as he felt himself sufficiently
rested, and, by adopting some curious tactics, in which he was
materially assisted by a clump of trees, he succeeded in putting some
heavy blows with his knife right into its vitals. At this, the wolf was
aroused again to an unendurable madness, and, gathering himself for one
grand effort, he bit at the Mexican's head and once more felled him to
the earth. From this final attack, and his previous loss of blood, the
brave man fainted dead away. How long he remained in that state he could
not tell; but when he became conscious again, he found that the victory
was on his side, for the wolf had breathed his last.

"The poor boy, as soon as the battle was decided, as he supposed at the
cost of his friend's life, started for the village, arriving there late
the following afternoon. Upon hearing his story, a party of well-armed
men immediately went to the scene of the struggle, to bury their brave
comrade. They were guided by the boy, who was able to ride a pony.

"Arriving at the spot about midnight, they found Sanchez in a most
pitiful condition. His flesh was terribly mangled, his clothes were torn
to ribbons, and his back and shoulders were one mass of lacerated
wounds, inflicted by the sharp teeth and claws of the wolf.

"Although he received the most delicate care and assistance at the
hospital from those noble women, the Sisters of Charity, it was many
weeks before he was able to resume his occupation of hunting. Even then
he owed his life to his wonderful recuperative powers and his iron
constitution."

"What a terrible time he must have had," said Kate. "The gray wolf is an
awful animal to be attacked by. Do you know that they very frequently go
mad, and then many savages are bitten, and die a horrible death from
hydrophobia? One of the warriors was bitten while I was down in the
Indian village. He had a hand-to-hand tussle with the wolf, and although
he was only slightly bitten, he died raving."

"Yes, they are bad brutes to deal with," said the old trapper,
"particularly those huge fellows that hunt in packs; a man has not the
slightest chance with them. I know that in Oregon, about twelve years
ago, the mail rider for the military posts of Forts Dallas and Simcoe
was caught in the mountains by a pack of them, and nothing of him or his
animal was found excepting the letter sack, the hoofs of his horse, and
some buttons, with other portions of the rider's clothing."

"Have you ever had a personal encounter with any of the terrible
beasts?" inquired Mrs. Thompson.

"Oh, yes!" replied the old man. "I'll tell you all about it."

"In 1856, I tried to ranche it in the central portion of Washington
Territory. I had no neighbor nearer than thirty miles. I was a little
lonesome at first, because it was really the first time I had been
without partners, and I saw my neighbors but once in a whole year.

"I remember that I started to visit John Elliott. I felt that I needed
company, and he and I had trapped together some years before, and were
well acquainted.

"Towards evening, I started for my thirty-mile walk. It was in December,
and of course, cool, with a magnificent full moon to light my trail
through the deep forest and over the prairie.

"I had gone about two miles, I think, and as I neared a small lake, and
was tramping along the edge of the water with my rifle carelessly
swinging in my left hand, I suddenly heard a growl that startled me, and
stopping at once, I saw a great wolf standing with his paw buried in the
carcass of a red deer, and his mouth full of its flesh. The brute was
not chewing, for his jaws were motionless, and he looked at me as if
deciding which was the better meal for him, that which he had under his
feet, or I. He was an immense animal. I don't think I have ever seen a
larger wolf. If I had left him alone and gone about my business, he
would not have troubled me. They are generally cowards, and will run at
the sight of man, unless provoked or cornered, or are running in packs,
when they will fight to the death.

"I, like the fool that I was, raised my rifle, took a quick aim at him,
and pulled the trigger. He jumped at the instant I fired, and although I
aimed at his heart, I missed it and hit him in the upper part of the
fore leg. Then with his mouth wide open, showing his white teeth, and
the froth running down the sides of his cheeks in his rage, he came for
me with a howl, which I thought was answered by about fifty more in the
timber.

"It didn't take me ten seconds to get up into the fork of an oak tree
which stood only a few feet away. By the time I was safely settled in my
seat, there were four more of the great grizzled beasts right under me,
smacking their chops and whining as if their mouths watered for a taste
of my flesh. If I could have talked to them in their own way, I would
have suggested that they go and feast off of the deer which still lay
intact.

"Then, as I could not make them go away by mere suggestions, I loaded my
rifle and shot one of them as dead as the deer. That made more food for
the others, as they will eat each other under certain circumstances, but
that particular time was not one of them. I didn't blame them, for the
brute I had killed was a long, gaunt, miserably thin, mangy-looking
creature that seemed as if he had not had anything to eat for a month.

"The refuge I had sought from the ravenous beasts was but a sapling, and
I expected it every moment to break with my weight. Presently, I heard
the crotch begin to split, and letting my rifle drop, I was quick enough
to catch my arms and legs around the trunk of the tree, and hold on for
life until I could draw my knife and shove it into my belt ready for
use.

"Having accomplished this, I watched my chance, and if there ever was
such a scared wolf as the one round whose back I wound my arms when I
fell, I'd like to see him!

"We rolled on the ground together, and the other three just backed off
to watch the fight, and a pretty moonlight tussle it was. He got my body
under him at last, and I thought I was done for.

"I felt a little faint when he sunk his teeth into me, but he didn't
seem to like the hold he had, so he pulled his teeth out of me, tore my
coat, shirt, and flesh, then seized my fur cap and shook it for a
moment, which was a lucky mistake for me on his part. I felt his wet
lips on my forehead, and had just time to let go my hold on his throat
and clutch my knife, when he seized my cap again and made an attempt to
swallow it. His throat was in no condition to get it down, however, for
my knife-blade was through his jugular, and the point of it in his
spinal marrow, and in another minute he was dead wolf!

"I bled considerably when I got up, but I wasn't weakened a bit. The
whole affair had occurred in half a minute, and I was ready for the
other three, who now all attacked me together. I caught up my rifle and
struck one of them across the nose and floored him. As he picked himself
up I seized him by the hind foot and fell upon him. If the first wolf
was frightened when I tumbled on him from the tree, this one was more
so. I can never forget the awful howl he gave as I stood up on my feet
again, and swinging him into the air, struck one of the remaining two a
terrible blow with his body.

"The first one I had wounded was scared at the novel fight, and tucking
his tail between his legs, vanished into the woods, and I was left with
only two on my hands. I caught up one of them as I had caught the other,
and his comrade took to his heels and was soon out of sight.

"The one I held by the heels, I swung twice around my head and then let
him fly. The centrifugal force, as they used to call it at college,
forced out his wind, and his scream, as he shot through the air, was
diabolical. He went fully a rod into the water, and his howl only
stopped when he struck it. I was weak and faint now from the tremendous
exertion. The beast came up again, and struck out for the shore. When he
reached it, he did not dare to approach me, but stood there as if
petrified.

"At last he began to move off. I followed him slowly, and saw that he
was getting tired. Presently he stopped again and tried to climb on the
top of a shelving rock, but he was very weak, and just as he was making
the attempt a second time, I raised my rifle and sent a bullet into his
heart.

"I was now rid of all my foes, but too weak to walk much further, so I
went back to my cabin and gave up my proposed visit until I was
recovered from my wounds."

"Well," said Joe, "that beats my fight with the panther. We sha'n't have
any such trouble on the day after to-morrow, though, for we shall have
a big enough party to fight a whole mountain full of them."

It was long after ten o'clock when Mr. Tucker had finished the thrilling
story of his fight, and then the family all retired--some of them to
dream of wolves, bears, and panthers perhaps.




CHAPTER XIII

  JOE, ROB, AND THE OLD TRAPPER--GENERAL CUSTER ARRIVES AT
    THE RENDEZVOUS--THE WOLF DENS--FIRST TUSSLE BETWEEN THE
    HOUNDS AND A WOLF--CINCH'S GREAT BATTLE


THE morning of the wolf hunt came at last. Before six o'clock, Mr.
Tucker, four near neighbors, and the two Thompson boys rode out from
Errolstrath toward the appointed rendezvous, at the mouth of the Oxhide.

As all dogs work better on an empty stomach, the hounds, Brutus and
Bluey, had not been fed that morning, so that their appetites for the
chase should be keen.

The little party from the ranche arrived at the mouth of the Oxhide
before the contingent from Fort Harker. They did not have to wait many
minutes, for they soon saw a cloud of dust on the Smoky Hill trail, and
presently the General's four great hounds came bounding along. Closely
following them was Custer on a magnificent animal. Colonel Keogh rode
his favorite horse, Comanche, which had been wounded in the battle with
the Cheyennes, on Mulberry Creek, when the command had a doubtful
victory under General Sully. Comanche was destined to become more
celebrated a few years later, when he and a single Crow Indian were the
sole survivors of the unequal fight with the Sioux under the notorious
Sitting Bull. It was there that Custer and all of the famous troopers
with him went down to annihilation, in the valley of the Rosebud.

The General and Colonel Keogh greeted the party, and they rode on at a
slow pace. They wanted to save the wind of both the horses and dogs, for
the supreme moment when the wolves should give them all the excitement
they might desire.

About seven miles from Errolstrath, the Smoky Hill makes a grand sweep
to the southeast, the curve forming nearly half a circle. Bordering the
river at that point is a series of immense limestone bluffs whose
scarped sides come down to the water. The plateau which crowns the
bluffs is honeycombed with holes, the dens of the big prairie wolf. They
intended literally to beard the ferocious beasts there, for the wolf
prowls by night and remains in his lair in the daytime. The General, the
Colonel, the old trapper, and the boys were in front, while the hounds
trailed after the horses, and were not allowed to advance until the word
was given for them to do so.

Custer's dogs were of rare breed, and had been presented to him by some
English or Scotch nobleman. They were rough in coat, muscular, fleet of
foot, and fully able to cope with the biggest wolf that dared tackle
them.

The zigzag trail leading to the summit of the high bluff where the
business was expected to begin, was reached about half-past seven, and
the tedious ascent was commenced. Arriving on the top at a point where a
heavy belt of timber skirted the edge toward the river, they all halted
to rest a few moments before they went out into the open where the
wolves were.

An occasional low growl and a snarl were wafted by the breeze toward
them, where they were concealed among the great trees. The hounds
listened with ears cocked up, and uttered a whine now and then, as they
gazed wistfully into their masters' faces. They were impatient for the
fray like the charger who "smelleth the battle afar," but the time had
not yet come for them to do their work.

The morning was deliciously cool. The ground was just covered with a
slight coating of frost, making friction enough to insure safety for the
horses. They would be called upon to do some hard running, and the rough
plain where the wolves were, was sandy and treacherous, from the
constant digging and scratching of the quarrelsome beasts themselves.

"A perfect day for the fun," said the General, turning to the old
trapper, who had dismounted and was cinching his saddle a little
tighter.

"Yes, General," replied he, "we could not have a better morning. The
wind is just right for the dogs' noses, though I suppose those beautiful
hounds of yours run both by scent and sight?"

"They are fine specimens of their species, not very graceful or
beautiful, perhaps, but for muscle and endurance, I don't believe that
there is a wolf on the plains which can get the better of one of them in
a fair fight. They have had several tussles single-handed, but so far
have come out without anything more serious than a few scratches. Their
jaws are as powerful as a bull dog's, and they hold on with all that
animal's tenacity. I look for some fine sport to-day; there will be some
lively coursing if we succeed in getting the wolves out of their holes."

"Bluey," said Joe, who was sitting on his pony alongside of Custer, "is
a great fighter; he has had three or four tussles with wolves, and came
out on top every time. He has the most wonderful shaking powers I ever
saw in any dog, and he has whipped two or three bull dogs in the
neighborhood. They all give him a wide berth now, whenever they see him
coming. Brutus is quite a young hound yet, and although he is good with
rabbits, and did some splendid work when we had that fight with the
lynx, he has never really shown what he can do. I guess he'll have a
chance to show his mettle to-day."

"I advise all of you to cinch up your saddles," suggested the General,
"as Mr. Tucker has already done, for you don't want to be tumbled off by
a loose cinch. We'll make a break for the wolves in a few minutes; the
hounds are uneasy, and I guess our horses are sufficiently rested now."

When the last saddle was cinched up, Custer gave the word "forward," and
the party moved out of the timber. The hounds cavorted around when they
saw signs of active work, but they were restrained from rushing too far
ahead by a word from their masters.

The hunters rode slowly at first, until they had emerged from the
timber. They then broke into a lope, separating to a distance of about
fifty yards from each other. Custer was on the right, followed by the
old trapper and Joe; while Rob and Colonel Keogh with the others of the
party brought up the left.

Although they were out of the standing timber, there were a great many
fallen trees scattered over the ground, and they were obliged to jump
over these, as they could not afford to waste the time to go round.

There was one immense black walnut trunk over which all had gone very
easily excepting Colonel Keogh and Rob. When these two reached the
obstacle, Rob's buffalo pony took it flying, but as Comanche rose to
make the leap, the effort burst the cinch of the saddle, and the Colonel
was thrown. He fortunately struck on his feet and held on to the bridle
reins, so the animal did not get away. His orderly rushed up, and it did
not take more than five minutes to change saddles, and give the Colonel
a mount again.

By that time Custer and the others were far in advance, for they had
increased their pace as the hounds sighted their quarry. Some were in
full cry, the rest silent, according to the habits of their species. A
huge wolf had come out of his hole to learn what the thud of the horses'
hoofs meant, had seen the dogs, and immediately bristled up ready for
battle.

The lean and hungry-looking brute stood motionless, awaiting the arrival
of the pack of hounds. The hair along his spine stood erect like a mad
cat's, and his tail swelled to twice its normal proportions. They were
heading for him with tongues out and their long necks stretched, ready
for the impending battle.

In another instant, when the shock came, there was a chaotic whirlwind
of wolf, dog, hair, and blood, accompanied by snarls, growls, and
squeals. This cyclone of enraged canines was enveloped in a cloud of
dust which fairly obscured the combatants for a few seconds; but when
it settled there was a dead wolf, literally torn to shreds, and a hound
or two limping along, nearly _hors de combat_, after the terrible
struggle.

The noise of the fight caused a dozen or more of the denizens of the
bluff to crawl out of their dens and look around to learn what was meant
by this invasion of their sacred precincts.

Some just poked their heads up, and all you could see were their great
ears. Others came up bristling with fight, and some, the cowardly ones,
giving one look at the party of horsemen and the pack of hounds, tucked
their bushy tails between their legs, and scooted off over the plateau,
yelping like whipped curs!

In a moment, spying those wolves that had apparently accepted the wager
of battle, the dogs made a grand rush for them, some in pairs, some
singly.

General Sheridan owned a magnificent smooth-haired hound, named Cinch,
from the fact that round his belly was a dark circle, resembling a
saddle-cinch. He was a very powerful animal, and had been brought with
the pack by General Custer, on account of his well-known staying
qualities. Cinch had selected a monstrous beast, a little larger than
himself, as his victim, and forthwith attacked him singly.

The wolf stood firmly at the mouth of his den, awaiting the approach of
Cinch with a sort of self-satisfied look, as though he would tear to
pieces that civilized specimen of his own genus. With a growl and a
snapping of their great white teeth they came together. How the hair did
fly as they bit whole mouthfuls out of each other! It was an awful
struggle for canine supremacy. Every one of the party abandoned his
quarry elsewhere--although Bluey was making a glorious fight with
another monster not a hundred yards away, and the rest of the pack were
hard at work on a number that had attacked them in concert--to witness
the battle royal between Cinch and the largest wolf that they had ever
seen.

At last Cinch succeeded in getting a firm hold on his shaggy
antagonist's throat. It proved to be a "knock-out," for when Cinch had
done with him, the wolf was stretched out dead. The hound himself did
not escape without serious wounds. His fore paws were bitten through
and through. One of his eyes was badly torn, and great pieces of hide
hung in strings from several parts of his body. He was nearly done for,
so badly hurt, that the General told one of his orderlies to take the
poor dog on the saddle in front of him, and carry him back to the fort
for repairs.

They then turned their attention to Bluey. By the time they came up to
him he had just finished his antagonist as completely as had Cinch. The
wolf was dead, and the old hound was busy licking his own wounds, of
which he had many.

The rest of the pack which had been fighting together had killed four,
but two of their number had succumbed to the fierce attacks of their
opponents, and were dead. Joe and Rob were delighted to know that Bluey
and Brutus were all right after the several battles, excepting a few
bites which would soon heal.

In taking an inventory of the number of wolves killed by the hounds,
they found seven in all. Their hides were so badly torn that they were
not worth skinning, so their carcasses were left just where they fell.

It was considered a good morning's work, as it was but eleven o'clock
when Cinch had put the finishing touches on his victim. The men were
tired after their rough ride, and the hounds slowly followed, tongues
out, and many of them limping fearfully. In this way they rode together
back to the mouth of the Oxhide, then separated and went to their
respective homes.




CHAPTER XIV

  A WILD TURKEY HUNT--THE TRIP TO MUD CREEK--THE TURKEY
    ROOST--THE SHOOTING BEGINS--COUNTING THE NUMBER
    KILLED--JOE SELLS TURKEYS


WHEN Mr. Tucker, Joe, and Rob arrived at Errolstrath, it was just one
o'clock. The family had kept dinner waiting, and everything was ready to
put on the table by the time the horses were fed and the hounds' wounds
rubbed with witch-hazel. Mrs. Thompson used to prepare this remedy
herself, and she considered it the best thing in the world for injuries.

At dinner the boys and the old trapper entertained the family with an
account of the morning's hunt, telling them how splendidly both Bluey
and Brutus had behaved in company with such thoroughbreds as Custer's
hounds, and especially with General Sheridan's famous Cinch, who was
supposed to be the finest animal of his kind in the country.

They all adjourned to the broad veranda after dinner was over,
excepting the girls who had to clear up the things. Mr. Tucker said that
Colonel Keogh had told him that some of the officers' families who had
just come from the East to Fort Harker were very desirous for wild
turkey, which they had not yet tasted.

"He wanted me to ask you, Joe, if you cannot soon get them a few. I know
that this is the very best time to hunt them, so let you, and Rob, and
me go to that roost on Mud Creek this evening. It's full moon to-night,
and we shall never have a better chance."

"All right," promptly spoke up both of the boys. "We'll have to take our
ponies," said Joe, "for it's fully six miles. I was down there the other
afternoon, and I should think that hundreds roost there."

"What time ought we to leave here?" inquired Rob. "You know that my
month to herd and milk the cows is not out yet, and I want to do my work
before I go; not that father would not do it willingly for me in a case
of this kind, but I don't care to bother him; he has enough to do with
the other stock."

"Oh!" said Joe, "we need not get away from here until long after
supper. The birds won't come to their roost until it is nearly dark, and
as we always have supper at six, and can ride down to Mud Creek easily
in an hour, you will have ample time to do your chores, Rob, without
hurrying a bit."

"Tell us something about the wild turkey, Mr. Tucker," said Rob. "You
know all the habits of our beasts and birds."

"Well, Rob," said the old trapper, "the wild turkey is one of the
indigenous birds of America. He once flourished from the most remote
eastern boundary of the United States to every part of the far West.
Now, through the wantonness of man, he is rapidly disappearing, as is
nearly all of our large game. There are still plenty here in Kansas. The
wild turkey makes his haunts in the timber, and being gregarious birds
they keep together in large flocks, and roost in the same place for
years, if not disturbed. All of our domestic turkeys have come from the
wild stock, but the wild ones are still larger than the tame ones in
many instances. I have shot them in nearly every place in the country
where I have hunted. They are stupid in refusing to leave their roosts
at night when shot at. They persistently fly back again to the same
trees, when they could just as easily fly away out of danger. In such
times they are almost as foolish as the sage hen, which in my opinion is
the most stupid bird that flies. You can shoot at them until you hit
them, if it takes a week; they won't move."

Just as the sun sank behind the hills beyond the Oxhide bluffs, Joe,
Rob, and Mr. Tucker left Errolstrath for the turkey roost on Mud Creek.
The old trapper rode Joe's buffalo pony, while Joe mounted the little
roan which had brought his sister so safely from the Indian village; Rob
rode Ginger, which Kate had kindly loaned him for the occasion.

They followed the trail up the creek for about a mile, then turned
abruptly east over the hills toward Fort Sill military road, then over
the open country for another mile, until they arrived at the head of Mud
Creek.

The moon had risen in a cloudless sky, and it shines nowhere so
brilliantly as in our mid-continent region. Every tree and bush cast a
shadow, and the trail over the prairie was lighted up with a golden
sheen, so soft and mellow that you could have seen a pin where the
grass had been shorn away.

When they arrived at the edge of the woods in the centre of which was
the resting-place of the birds, they tied their ponies to saplings, and
then quietly walked on into the timber. As soon as they had come in the
vicinity of the roost, they squatted on the ground behind the friendly
shelter of a large elm, and waited for the coming of events.

They did not have long to wait. Before they had been there a half an
hour, two large flocks came stealthily walking down the deep ravines
leading into the sheltered bottom where great trees stood in thick
clumps, under whose shadow were the unmistakable signs of an immense
roost. At the head of each flock, as it unsuspiciously advanced,
strutted a magnificent male bird in all the pride of his leadership.
Upon his bronze plumage the moon's rays glinted like a calcium light, as
its soft beams sifted through the interstices of the bare limbs of the
winter-garbed forest.

When the leader of the flock had arrived at the spot where his charge
had been accustomed to roost, he suddenly stopped, glanced cautiously
around him for a few seconds, then apparently satisfied that all was
right, he gave the signal--a sharp, quick, shrill whistle. At that
instant, every bird, with one accord and a tremendous fluttering of
wing, raised itself and alighted in the topmost branches of the tallest
trees.

In a few moments more, numerous flocks having settled themselves for a
peaceful slumber, the old trapper said to the boys: "Now is our time;
let's begin!"

Joe had his little Ballard rifle, that had never yet played him false on
his hunts with the chief of the Pawnees; Rob had a shot-gun, and Mr.
Tucker his never-failing old-fashioned piece which he had carried for
twenty-five years.

They fired at first almost simultaneously, but after the first discharge
each fired on his own hook. The turkeys fell like the leaves in October.
The birds not killed at the first fire did not seem to have sense
enough, as Mr. Tucker had said, to escape from their doom. They flew
from tree to tree at every shot, persistently remaining in the immediate
vicinity of the roost, with all the characteristic idiocy of the sage
hen.

When it was time to think of going home, they gathered up their birds,
and found they had killed fourteen--more than an average of four apiece.
It was all they could do to pack the birds on their ponies, and they
were compelled to walk them all the way to the ranche to keep the birds
from falling off.

The next morning Joe took the turkeys to Fort Harker, where he disposed
of them at a fair price, and received many thanks besides, for his
prompt action in response to Colonel Keogh's request to go hunting for
them.




CHAPTER XV

  HOW THE ROBIN CAME TO KANSAS--MOCKING-BIRDS--EATEN BY
    SNAKES--JOE LOSES HIS TAME ELK--THE LAST OF THE
    WOLVES--FINDING THE QUAIL'S NEST--JOE BUILDS A CAGE FOR
    THEM--RAISING CHICKENS


THE winter was short, and soon came April, with its sunny skies. The
robins, wrens, blue jays, and the mocking-birds made the woods melodious
with their sweet notes. The violets by the brook side under the shade of
the great trees were the first harbingers of the beautiful season, and
the dining-table was made odorous with their blue blossoms at every
meal. Both Kate and Gertrude loved flowers, and never failed to gather
three times a day, a large bowl full of these poems of springtime.

Mr. Tucker surprised them one evening by paying them a visit after a
solitary hunting expedition up the creek. The boys soon persuaded him to
stay the night, and tell them a story until bedtime.

"What shall it be, hunting or fighting?" said Mr. Tucker, turning to
Joe.

Before her brother could speak, Gertrude answered for him. "Tell us that
legend about the robin, that you have promised us so often."

"Yes, the robin," said Joe. So they all settled into comfortable
positions, and Mr. Tucker told them the following story:--

"The Delaware Indians claim that the robin followed them to Kansas. He
has been in the eastern part of the state only since the establishment
of their reservation within its limits, according to the legend of the
tribe.

"The Delawares, you know, were those Indians with whom William Penn made
a treaty, the provisions of which were religiously kept for many years.

"Among the Delawares the robin is sacred. From the gray-headed chiefs to
the papoose just freed from the thongs of his hard cradle, they all
listen with superstitious love and reverence to his warbling. The bird
was once the favorite son of a great sachem of that powerful tribe,
changed by the Manitou, but still loving man, and evincing it always by
building his nest and singing near his abode.

"Once there was, ages ago, a great chief among the Delawares, who then
lived in the far East. He was distinguished for his wisdom in the
council, and his success in war. He had many wives, but they brought him
daughters only, and he, as well as his nation, was dissatisfied, for he
desired a son who should succeed to the honorable position of his
father.

"One day when the chief was walking through the village, a dove lit on
his shoulder, and then flew and nestled in the bosom of a young Indian
maiden to whom it belonged. She was the daughter of the medicine-man of
the tribe, and her father declared that the dove was a messenger from
the Great Spirit, who had thus shown by that sign that the two should be
one.

"The news imparted by the medicine-man was agreeable to the chief, for
the girl was beautiful and virtuous. He married her, and she became the
favorite wife, who, in due time, greatly to his and the joy of his
people, presented him with a son. The boy was called Is-a-dill-a, and he
grew up different from all the youth of his age; for he was fond of
peace, would not mingle with the crowd who tortured prisoners doomed to
death, and his father thought him a coward. One day the father
upbraided his son for his peaceful inclinations, and Is-a-dill-a
answered:--

"'Great chief of the mighty Delawares, my liver is not white, nor would
my blood chill like snow before the enemy, but Is-a-dill-a prefers to
gather the wild blossoms which grow upon the prairie, and chase the deer
among the cliffs, to lying in ambush for the red man, and sending an
arrow into his heart; the Great Spirit, who is father of all the red
men, has told me in my dreams to love them all.'

"His father was about to respond angrily to the utterance of a homily so
unbecoming a great warrior's son, and the future chief of a powerful
tribe, when he saw a huge black bear approaching him with angry
demonstrations. The chief was armed, as usual, with bow and arrows, and
a stone axe. Is-a-dill-a, without any weapons, was ordered by his father
to climb a tree, that he might escape the danger of the impending
conflict. The chief, then resting upon one knee, and fixing a selected
arrow to his bow, aimed at the eye of the bear, when only a few feet
distant. The oscillating motion of the beast's head prevented it from
taking fatal effect, and the arrow struck the skull, which was too thick
and hard to be penetrated. The now infuriated animal, with a savage
growl, sprang upon the chief who dealt it a fearful blow with his stone
axe, but was seized in the ponderous paws of the bear, and a mortal
struggle ensued. In a moment the chief was bleeding from a hundred
wounds, and the animal's mouth was already at his throat, when
Is-a-dill-a picked up his father's axe, dealt the beast a powerful blow
over the eye, which completely destroyed it, and continued the work
until the exhausted animal fell to the earth. But in his death agonies
the bear succeeded in embracing Is-a-dill-a and tearing him dreadfully,
so that he lay insensible by the side of the dead brute.

"The chief was the first to recover from the swoon in which he had
fallen from loss of blood, and as he saw the body of his son lying
beside that of the immense bear, it was some time before he could
connect the circumstances, for it appeared impossible for a boy of his
age to perform such an exploit. He was bitterly grieved, when he thought
how pure was the filial affection of his son, and bitterly regretted the
reproaches he had often heaped upon him who was so worthy of honor and
affection. He crawled to his son's body,--for he believed him dead,--but
feeling that the heart was still beating, with much effort and great
pain he succeeded in getting some water from a little spring near by,
and applied it to the forehead and lips of the insensible Is-a-dill-a;
in a few moments he gave a deep sigh, looked at his father with a glow
of recognition, then again became unconscious.

"Fortunately at this moment, three squaws who had been gathering
berries, approached, and seeing the condition of the chief and his son,
hastened to the village for assistance. By careful nursing, both
recovered, and the boy became the object of admiration and reverence;
for since his exploit with the bear, none dare dispute his courage,
which is the greatest virtue among the Indians.

"As I have already told you, it is necessary for all promising youths to
retire into some solitary place, and submit to a long fast, that they
may propitiate the Great Spirit. In a few years, Is-a-dill-a expressed
his desire to attempt the ordeal. The chief made everything in
readiness, and soon Is-a-dill-a was alone in his little lodge in the
wilderness, upon his bed of skin. He looked up with great confidence to
the Great Spirit, and felt that the light of his countenance would rest
upon him. Every morning his father visited him, and encouraged him to
persevere, by appealing to his pride, his ambition, and his noble
instincts. The ninth day came and passed, and also the tenth; on the
morning of the eleventh Is-a-dill-a was dying with weakness, and his
full, rounded muscles had shrunk and withered from the prostrating
effects of the terrible ordeal.

"'Father,' said the almost expiring youth, 'I have fasted eleven days, a
longer time than man ever fasted before; the Great Spirit is satisfied;
give me something to eat that I may not die.'

"'To-morrow, my son, before the bright sun rises, I will bring you
venison cooked by your mother; fast until then that your name may become
mighty among the great chiefs of the Delawares.'

"The old man departed, proud of the fame his son would acquire; and the
next morning, before the sun had risen, he was at the lodge of
Is-a-dill-a, with a supply of the most tempting food, but he stood
motionless before a strange sight within the lodge. There was a youth
with golden wings and most beautiful features, having a halo of light
around his head, painting the breast of Is-a-dill-a with vermilion, and
his body brown. Then, in a moment, the winged youth was changed to a
dove, and Is-a-dill-a to a strange and beautiful bird, and they both
flew through the door of the lodge to a tree, and the strange bird thus
addressed the chief of the Delawares:

"'Father, farewell. The Great Spirit, when he saw that I was dying from
hunger, sent a messenger for me, and I am changed to this bird. I will
always preserve my love for man, and will build and carol near his
dwelling.'

"The two birds then flew away, but every morning the robin, during the
lifetime of the chief, sang from the large oak tree that overshadowed
his lodge.

"When the Delawares moved west of the Missouri, the faithful descendants
of the strange bird followed them, and that is how the robins came to
Kansas."

The mocking-bird, that sweetest of our feathered songsters, is
indigenous to the central region of the great plains, and his notes are
heard when the day breaks. He seeks the highest points upon the
dwellings, the ridge of the house, the barn, or the top of the windmill,
if there be one, where, like the Aztecs of old, or their lineal
descendants, the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico to-day, he greets the
coming god in the east.

Like the robin, the mocking-bird loves the companionship of man. He
builds his nest near their dwellings, in the garden, the orchard, or the
trees close by. Kate and Gertrude had made several attempts to get hold
of some little ones in their nests, but there was always something that
seemed to thwart their plans. Last year they found a nest in a grapevine
in the garden, and they watched it zealously day by day, from the laying
of the last twig by the parent birds, to the hatching of the two white
eggs. They saw the fledglings develop from week to week, until they were
nearly large enough to be taken from the nest, when one morning, on
going as usual to watch the progress of the little birds, what was their
horror to see a snake swallowing the last one. The other they knew, by
the swelled body of the reptile, was hopelessly gone! Their disgust and
sorrow may be imagined, and as it was too late in the season to think of
finding another nest with young ones in it, they were forced to abandon
their quest until another spring.

This April they were successful. A pair had built their nest in the
vine-covered summer-house, a rustic little place that Mr. Thompson had
erected out of the wild grape, for a retreat in which his wife and
daughters might sit in the afternoons when they did not care to go as
far as the deep woods. No harm came to the fledglings this time, and
they were placed in a handsome cage bought by the girls from the
proceeds of the eggs laid by their own brown Leghorn hens.

The birds soon became very tame, and made the house resonant all day
long with their brilliant notes. They knew the girls the moment they
came near the cage, and would stretch their wings and gently pick at
their fingers when they put them between the wires. They were a constant
source of pleasure, for the girls loved pets of all kinds, and taught
them to return their affection by means of gentleness and constant
kindness.

Joe lost his elk this spring, and he was greatly disturbed by it. He had
made arrangements with an old hunter, living near Fort Harker, to go out
to the Saline Valley and capture another young one. He intended to break
them both to harness, and expected to have a unique team to drive. The
elk was so tame that he permitted it to roam at will through the woods
on the margin of the Oxhide, where it browsed on the small bushes or
grazed on the luxurious grass which grew in such profusion on the creek
bottom. It always returned to the corral at night for its feed of corn,
but one evening it failed to come up as usual. He wandered through the
woods, looking for it, when, happening to come upon a camp near the
mouth of the Oxhide on the trail westward, he saw to his indignation,
that the emigrants, a very ignorant set from Missouri, had butchered his
elk. He gave them a talking-to that was more emphatic than choice in its
language. They told him they thought it was a wild one, but he became
disgusted at their falsehood, and asked them if wild elks had blue
ribbons on their necks as his had, and he pulled it from the hide which
was lying near their wagons. The girls had sewed it on the elk for him
not a week ago. He saw that the party was such a miserable set that he
could do nothing with them, so he had to leave the place, as mad as a
wet hen, and abandon his idea of ever having an elk team.

It was a relief for the family to feel that they could now go where they
pleased without fear of marauding bands of Indians. The winter campaign
had most effectually settled their propensities for murdering and
scalping the settlers, so both the girls and boys made trips to the
neighbors, and went on fishing excursions, or hunted whenever they cared
to. Even the wolves, which had been such a terror to the whole
neighborhood, had been so successfully thinned out in several
"surrounds" by the men living on the various creeks, that the raspberry
patch was no longer infested by them.

Kate and her sister went up there one morning, not expecting, of course,
that the berries would be ripe as early as April. As neither of them
had visited the place since Kate's capture, and everything was now
perfectly safe, they thought they would like to go there again.

When they arrived at the well-remembered ledge of rocks, Kate pointed
out to Gertrude the exact spot where she was standing when the savages
swooped down on her; and they climbed to the top where they were
attacked by the wolf.

They found the vines full of blossoms, promising a beautiful crop in
June, and while strolling along the bank of the stream they suddenly
came upon a quail's nest in which twenty-five eggs were just hatching
out. As the quail runs the moment it breaks from the shell, the girls
determined to take the little ones home and bring them up as they did
their chickens. The old birds made a terrible fuss. They would run a
short distance from the nest, and pretend to be very lame; apparently
being hardly able to move. They thus tried to induce the girls to catch
them--a ruse adopted by many other birds when their young ones are in
danger. But Kate and Gertrude, who were well posted in the tricks of
animals and birds, paid no attention to the antics of the old quails,
but were intent on catching all of the little ones they could. Even then
it was a hard job, for the baby quails run almost as fast as the
parents, and hide in the grass where they lie quiet until all danger is
past. They succeeded, however, in getting all but four of them, and
walked hurriedly back to Errolstrath with the tender things in their
aprons.

"If I didn't know they were quails," said Kate, "I should think that
they were young brown Leghorn chickens. Did you ever see such a
resemblance, Gert?"

"They do look exactly like the brown Leghorns, and do you know, Kate,
that when I first saw a brood of Leghorns, I thought they were young
quails."

"I expect we shall have little trouble in raising them, for Jenny
Campbell had as many as a dozen of them in her cellar all last summer.
Her brother caught them as we did these, in the spring, just as they
were coming out of their shells. They will eat small grain like
chickens."

"Well, we won't keep them in our cellar," said Gertrude; "we'll get Joe
or Rob to build us a big cage out of lath, and then we can make them as
tame as the mocking-birds."

"Do you purpose to eat them?" inquired Kate.

"Certainly; why not? Mamma and papa love them broiled on toast, and so
do I. I don't expect to make such pets of them that when the time comes
to eat them, I shall think so much of them that I can't do it; and you
must not either, Kate."

The girls arrived safely at the ranche with their charge, and Joe being
begged to make a cage, set about it at once, and had it ready in less
than an hour. The birds were put in it, and it was set on the veranda,
where the little things could get plenty of air and sunlight. They
picked up millet seed as readily as an old chicken, when Gertrude threw
in a handful to them. In a few days they were contented in their
confinement and became very tame.

Kate and her sister intended to raise a great many chickens this spring,
and they set as many as forty hens; for their eggs and young broilers
brought a good price at the fort and in the village. They had excellent
luck at hatching time, but as the little ones began to grow, when the
girls counted them every morning they found their number decreasing day
by day. They could not divine the cause at first, so Rob was set to
watch, and discover, if he could, what caused their disappearance. Some
hens that had fifteen or sixteen would come around the yard next morning
with only six or seven.

They had three cats: one named Dame Trot, a pure tabby; one called
Mischief, a white and gray; and Tortoise, because of her color. Tortoise
had a litter of kittens which she kept under the front porch. Joe had
suspected that the cats knew something of the disappearance of the
little birds, and told Rob to keep his eyes on them. As he sat one
evening on the veranda he saw Tortoise suddenly spring from behind a
cherry tree and catch one of the young Leghorns in her mouth and carry
it to her nest under the porch. Rob immediately crawled there, and to
his surprise found the heads of more than twenty chickens. He ran into
the house and told of his discovery. His father said that the cat must
be killed at once; for when a cat gets a taste for chickens, it is
impossible to break it of the habit, and Joe was commissioned to put
the guilty Tortoise out of the way.

Kate cried and was in great distress, for Tortoise was her cat, and she
begged her father to put off its death until to-morrow morning, when she
would go and spend the day with Jenny Campbell. She could not bear to
stay and see her favorite cat killed. Her request was granted, and
Tortoise had a respite until morning, but she was shut up in a box so
that she could not get any more of the chickens.

When morning came, Kate got Rob to saddle Ginger, but before she started
she begged Joe to bury Tortoise in some out of the way place where she
would never find her grave. Joe promised he would, and when his sister
was out of sight down the trail, he took the cat out of her prison and
went to the woodpile, and with one stroke of the axe cut off her head.
Then he took her down into the woods and buried her under a bunch of
wild plum bushes, where no one would ever see the grave.

After the death of Tortoise the chickens throve admirably, and no more
were ever missed by reason of the cats having caught them.




CHAPTER XVI

  THE PAWNEES RETURN--ANTELOPE HUNT WITH THE INDIANS--JOE
    MISSES--WHITE WOLF--TALK OF A WILD HORSE HUNT--THE
    SAND-HILL CRANES--THEIR WEIRD COTILLION


THE Pawnees camped on the Oxhide that autumn earlier than usual, as one
of the boys of the tribe had said they would.

The band arrived the first week in September, and Joe was again in his
element. He spent every spare moment in the camp, but, much to his
regret, learned that his old friend Yellow Calf was dead; he had died
about a month before of sheer wearing out. He was nearer ninety than
eighty, which he had given as his age to Joe. One of the younger of the
principal men had been made chief in his place. He had been with the
band every season when they camped on the creek, and also was a firm
friend to Joe, so the boy had lost nothing except the presence of the
old fellow who thought so much of him.

One morning about the middle of April while the Indians were still on
the Oxhide, and Joe as usual was in the camp, a warrior came in and
reported a large herd of antelope on the Smoky Hill bottom; he said
there were at least eight hundred of them. He proposed to Joe that they
should go after them, and the boy agreed without any hesitation.

The chief told them they had better take about half a dozen of the men
with them; for if the antelope were out on the open prairie, they could
not get near enough to them without a great deal of trouble. If they had
some one to drive the herd toward them while they hid themselves in the
tall grass, they could entice a number within range by using the usual
strategy.

Joe and the Indian, whose name was the White Wolf, started, taking with
them seven men of the band as drivers. When they got out into the
opening beyond the timber on the Oxhide, they discovered the large herd
unsuspiciously grazing about two miles away.

The seven Indians were then ordered to make a detour far beyond the
animals, at least a mile from the far side of them, while Joe and White
Wolf secreted themselves in a large patch of bunch-grass. This was out
on the prairie about a hundred rods distant from the timber, and was
pointed to by White Wolf so that his men would understand exactly what
was required of them.

Joe and the Indian who had remained behind with him, then walked
leisurely toward the bunch of tall grass. They had plenty of time to
prepare themselves, as it would take at least an hour before the Indians
could get beyond the herd to move it.

On the way to the prairie Joe had stopped at the ranch, to borrow the
Spencer carbine for White Wolf, while he took his little Ballard rifle,
that was only good for about a hundred and fifty yards, while the
Spencer would carry a ball five hundred.

They reached their hiding-place in plenty of time, for they lay there
fully fifteen minutes before they saw a commotion among the antelope.
The herd were observed to raise their heads as if they winded danger,
and then making a few of their characteristic stiff-legged bounds, they
stood alert as if preparing for flight.

Joe knew by this that the animals had been startled by the Indians,
though he could not see a sign of one of them.

The herd at first ran as swiftly as they could in an easterly direction,
then they began to slacken their pace, and a few, having recovered their
courage, commenced to nibble gingerly at the short buffalo grass again.
At this juncture White Wolf tied a white rag around his head, and,
standing on his knees, began to sway his body backward and forward with
a steady oscillating motion. Presently the antelope saw him, and a few
of them stopped short to gaze at the strange object.

In a few moments four or five of the inquisitive creatures moved slowly
forward again, still attracted by the swaying white figure of the
savage, which so excited their curiosity. Presently, as they came closer
and closer, Joe told White Wolf not to fire until they came within range
of his little gun. Soon the proper distance was attained, and Joe,
drawing up his piece, said:--

"Now, White Wolf, fire away!"

Their pieces were discharged simultaneously; it seemed like a single
shot, so accurately had the triggers been pulled together. Two of the
graceful creatures rolled over on their sides, one White Wolf's,
instantly killed, while Joe's was sprawling out, every limb quivering
like an aspen leaf.

Both hunters dropped their guns and started out to cut the throats of
their game, Joe was in the act of placing his hand on the neck of the
one he had fired at, when, to his surprise, it jumped to its feet and
ran off to join its not faraway companions, and the astonished boy never
saw it again!

Which was the more surprised, the boy or the antelope, it would be
difficult to determine. He turned to the savage, who was bewildered,
too, and asked him what in the world was the cause of the animal's
recovery after he had shot him.

"I aimed at his heart as he stood broadside toward me," said Joe, "and I
don't know what it means."

"You only grazed him," answered White Wolf. "We Indians often catch wild
horses in that way, when we can't get them in any other." Of course,
they conversed in the Pawnee tongue, for the savage did not understand a
word of English.

"Oh! I know what you mean, White Wolf," said Joe. "I just grazed his
spinal cord with the ball; it paralyzed him for a moment, that's all.
Yellow Calf told me how the Pawnees used to catch wild horses in that
way, down on the Cimarron bottom, when the tribe lived on the Republican
River."

"I'm soon going down there with some of my warriors. A Kaw brave told me
the other day that there are a good many wild horses there yet; will you
go, too?" asked White Wolf of his young friend.

"I'll go if my father and mother are willing, and I guess they will be,"
replied Joe. "I should so like to see a herd of wild horses. I have seen
nearly all the other animals that live on the plains and in the timber,
but have never seen wild horses, because they don't range as far east as
Oxhide Creek. There are lots of them in Nebraska though, farther north,
Mr. Tucker says."

As the prairie was too level for the hunters to hope to get near the
antelope again, now that they had discharged their pieces, and as the
other Indians were coming up to them, they decided to go back.

One of White Wolf's men packed the dead antelope on his horse, and they
all rode slowly toward Errolstrath. When they arrived there, White Wolf
insisted that Joe take half of the game. To this at first the boy did
not agree, but as the chief insisted so persistently, he finally
consented. So the antelope was divided fairly, one portion was carried
into the house, and the other to the Indian camp down the creek.

At dinner Joe told his father that White Wolf was going to the Cimarron
bottom in a few days to try to capture some wild horses which, so he
learned from one of his Kaw friends, were roaming on the salt marshes of
that region, and that the chief wanted him to go with him.

Mr. Thompson said that he had not the slightest objection now that the
war was over and there was nothing to be feared from the savages, but he
told Joe that if any animals were captured, he ought to be entitled to a
share.

"I have made that all right with White Wolf already, father," said Joe.
"He agrees to give me as great a proportion as his other warriors are
entitled to. He hopes to capture at least one apiece, as the Kaw who
told him about the herd said there were three or four hundred of them
down there."

As soon as dinner was over, Joe jumped on his pony and loped off to the
Indian camp to tell White Wolf that he could go to hunt wild horses with
the band.

The chief said that he was glad of it, and that they would start by the
first of the week. It was now Thursday, and that would give them all
plenty of time to make ready. He told Joe that he would let him have a
pony out of his herd, so that he could save his own the hard trip, for
there would be severe work for all the ponies.

Joe started back to the ranche, and when he arrived at the foot of
Haystack Mound, on the side of it farthest from the corral, he saw a
squadron of sand-hill cranes circling around near the ground, and as he
knew they were going to alight, he pulled up his pony. After turning
loose his animal, which he knew would run right to the corral, he hid
himself in the plum bushes which grew all over the bottom, to watch the
strange antics of those curious birds.

They dance a regular cotillion when on the ground. They chassez
backward and forward, and waltz around, keeping time in a rude sort of
way as they go through the mazes of their weird movements.

Presently they all came fluttering down, about forty of them, and
immediately began their laughable capers. Joe had witnessed their
performance a hundred times, but he could never resist looking at it
again whenever the opportunity offered. They danced for more than half
an hour, and then seeming to have enjoyed themselves sufficiently, they
took flight, and soon were but as a wreath of dark blue far up in the
sky.

Joe returned to the house, and puttered around until supper was ready.
At the table he told of his stopping at Haystack Mound to witness the
antics of a flock of cranes that had alighted on the sand knoll near
there, and said he could sit and look at them all day.

Of course all the family had witnessed the performance of the cranes
often, for in the season scarcely a day passed that a flock did not make
its appearance somewhere on the ranche.

Kate said, "I used to watch them on the Canadian when I was in the
Indian village, and they were about the only things that I laughed at
while there. After I had been there about a month and had got pretty
well acquainted, one of the boys gave me a young crane for a pet. He
became so tame that he would follow me all over the village.

"I kept him three months, when one morning, as I was walking down to the
river with him, I saw him suddenly stop, put his head on one side, look
up at the sky, and running a few steps, fly away. I watched him until he
was out of sight. It was a flock of his own species that he had seen,
and I did not even begin to hear their croaking until he was far out of
sight."




CHAPTER XVII

  WILD HORSES--JOE SLEEPS IN WHITE WOLF'S TENT--CAMP ON THE
    WALNUT--WOLVES AND LYNXES--KILL AN ELK--THE
    CHASE--CAPTURE OF THE BLACK STALLION--WHITE WOLF'S
    SKILL--BREAKING THE HORSES


THE Pawnees remained on Oxhide Creek later than usual this spring. As
they wanted to go on a hunt for the wild horses on the Cimarron bottom,
they had to wait until the grass grew enough to furnish pasture for
their own ponies on the trip.

About the middle of April, White Wolf told his warriors that he would
start in a few days. A runner was despatched to Errolstrath, to tell Joe
the band would leave in a short time, and to be ready at a moment's
notice. The runner said that when White Wolf started he wanted to be off
very early in the morning, so as to make the Arkansas the first night.

Joe, all anxious for the exciting trip, persuaded his mother and sisters
to bake up a lot of bread, and boil hard a couple of dozen eggs for
him. He told them that that would be all he wanted, as they intended to
depend upon the chase, Indian fashion, for everything else; and as the
country they were going over was full of buffalo, antelope, and elk,
they would not suffer from lack of food.

He cleaned his father's Spencer carbine, bought a box of cartridges for
it, and told Kate that he intended to ride the roan which she got from
the Indians and had given to him. He thought the animal was better than
any the Pawnees had in their herd, though White Wolf had said that he
could ride one of theirs.

The night of the third day after the runner had come to tell Joe to get
ready, another one came to the ranche and said that White Wolf and the
warriors would start in the morning. He told him that he had better come
to the camp with him, and stay there that night, so that there would be
no delay about getting off early in the morning. So Joe got his things
ready, tied a couple of blankets to the cantle of his saddle, his lariat
to the horn; slung his carbine over his shoulder, and buckled his belt
of cartridges around his waist. He then bade good by to the family,
jumped on his pony, which he had named Comanche, after the tribe which
had captured Kate, and rode with the runner who had come for him, to the
Pawnee camp a mile distant.

Arriving there, Joe found everything in confusion. Some of the warriors
were picketing their riding animals near the tepees, allowing the loose
ponies to run at large, as they will never leave the main bunch. Others
were packing their wallets of par-fleche with dried meat for the
journey. White Wolf was sitting in the door of his lodge, smoking his
pipe and giving general directions to his warriors.

At last everything was straightened out to the satisfaction of the
chief, and then all adjourned to their several tepees to make ready
their arms and ropes for the work that was to be done when they reached
the Cimarron.

Joe slept in the lodge of the chief that night, and before the dawn was
fairly upon the world, the warriors were up, saddling their ponies,
taking down their lodges, and packing their traps on the backs of the
animals designated for that purpose. Then after a hastily swallowed
breakfast of dried buffalo meat, at a signal from White Wolf, the party
mounted, and the cavalcade rode southwest at a gentle lope, the pack
animals in front, in charge of two warriors.

Joe rode alongside of White Wolf in the centre of the column, and they
talked of the probability of finding the herd of wild horses on the salt
marsh where they were going.

They pulled up about noon to graze their animals and to have a smoke,
which is the first thing an Indian does when he halts: it is of more
importance to him than eating.

The Big Bend where the Pawnees wished to cross the Arkansas was
seventy-two miles from the Oxhide, near the famous Pawnee Rock, on the
old Santa Fe Trail.

When the sun was about two hours high, they could see, three or four
miles distant, the white contour of the sand hills which border the
great silent, treeless stream, and the Indians knew that their
camping-ground was near. It was to be in the timber at the mouth of the
Walnut, less than two miles from the spot where they would strike the
Arkansas.

Before it had grown fairly dark, the heavy timber on the Walnut was
reached, and the party halted, turned their animals loose, took another
smoke, and then prepared for the night.

Around the camp-fire, White Wolf and several of the oldest warriors told
how that region once belonged to their tribe. Their largest village had
been two hundred miles farther north, on the Republican, and many times
they had come down to where they were now camped, to hunt the buffalo,
or steal horses from the Cheyennes, their hereditary enemies. They told
how they were once a powerful nation, but the white man had stolen their
lands, and now, only a small band, they were obliged to live on a
reservation set apart for them by the Government.

It was a wild region where Joe now found himself. All night long could
be heard the cry of the lynx, which sounded like that of an infant. The
wolves howled in the timbered recesses of the creek, but Joe slept well,
rolled up in his blankets in the chief's lodge, and it was morning
before he thought he had been asleep an hour.

At the first streak of dawn, the Indians were out. White Wolf said that
the mouth of the Walnut used to be a favorite place for elk. They might
still haunt the stream; he would send out some of his hunters, and
perhaps they would have elk for their breakfast.

He selected two of the warriors, who started out on foot to see if they
could find any game. Joe, of course, accompanied them. They stalked
cautiously as only an Indian can--Joe had mastered the art
perfectly--along the bank of the stream, not a stick breaking under
their feet, nor the sound of the rustle of a dead leaf being heard, so
quietly did they tread.

At last, arriving at a bend of the creek, where the timber grows the
thickest, the Indian in the lead stopped abruptly, put his hand out
behind him, the sign for the others to halt, and taking Joe's carbine
from the boy's shoulder, got down on his belly and crawled forward as
noiselessly as a snake. Suddenly he raised the gun, and seeming to take
a careless aim, pulled the trigger, and immediately Joe and the other
warrior saw four elk rush past them, down the prairie, and out of sight.

As he turned to Joe and the other warrior, telling them at the same
time to come on, the Indian who had fired said in his own language,
"We'll have elk for breakfast now."

They followed him into the timber, and there, not thirty yards from
where he had stood when he fired the carbine, was an elk, about two
years old, dead as a stone wall!

The work of skinning the elk did not take more than ten minutes, and it
was cut up into conveniently sized pieces, and each one of the hunters
packed his portion to camp, less than a mile distant.

When they arrived they found the fire burning briskly, for White Wolf
and the other warriors had heard the report of the gun, and they knew
that something in the shape of game had been secured, for Mazakin and
Trotter, the two Indians whom the chief had sent out, were unfailing
shots. The meat was soon cut into slices, and each man cut a twig fork
upon which he stuck a slice, and every one became a cook for himself.
Joe produced a loaf of his bread, and with water alone for drink they
made an excellent meal.

When they had finished, the sun was just rising like a great molten ball
out of the horizon of the far-stretching level prairie. The ponies,
standing ready, were mounted, and the party moved out, crossed the
Arkansas at Pawnee Rock, and continued a southwesterly course all day.

By sundown they arrived at the Cimarron, a clear, babbling stream, where
the water was a little brackish, and which the Cheyennes call
Ho-to-oa-oa (Buffalo).

There were no trees at this part of the Cimarron in those days, and they
were obliged to pitch their camp on the sandy bank of the river. The
grass was luxurious, and their animals fairly revelled in it. They soon
filled themselves and lay down, as if they realized the hard work which
would be their portion for the next few days.

There were plenty of fish in the river, and as Joe had thoughtfully
brought some hooks and lines, he and White Wolf with two of the other
warriors took dried buffalo meat for bait, and soon caught all they
wanted for their supper.

The next morning they broke camp at daybreak, and rode for a grove of
timber just visible in the far-distant western horizon, where White Wolf
said he believed they would find some wild horses. They always take
shelter at night in timber if any is to be found, and wander out on the
prairie in the morning to graze.

The party arrived at the grove by two o'clock, and established their
permanent camp, as they saw the unmistakable signs that a herd of wild
horses made it their nightly rendezvous. Their lodges were put up in the
southern edge of the grove, away from the trails of the animals.

The Indians kept very quiet all day, sitting in the shadow of their
lodges, smoking and talking. They did not even build any fires, but
contented themselves with their dried buffalo meat and the bread which
Joe had brought, for fear of making the slightest disturbance, and thus
preventing the wild horses from returning to their usual nightly
resting-place. Every once in a while, either White Wolf himself or some
of the other warriors would venture out of the timber and gaze long and
anxiously over the vast prairie, in hope of seeing something of the
bunch, which they knew was grazing somewhere not many miles away. Once
the chief thought he saw in the distance, moving objects which he took
for horses, for he was noted far beyond any other member of his band
for his keen sight. He was right in his conjectures, for before half an
hour had passed from the time he had first riveted his attention, the
bunch--for such it was--had swung around, broadside to, and, approaching
nearer the timber, could be counted. There were over forty animals, led
by a magnificent black horse which the chief said he would try to
capture.

It was a beautiful sight, and Joe stood transfixed as they kicked up
their heels, and raced after one another like a group of school
children, little suspecting that, before the sun went down the next
evening, many of them would be ridden by the Indians who were now gazing
at them so covetously.

Night seemed to be very slow in coming to the band of Pawnees, who
smoked and smoked incessantly, to pass the long hours before darkness
would invite the herd to seek its bed-ground. At last after dark, by the
light of the crescent moon, they saw the animals, led by the coal-black
stallion, cautiously walk into the timber about a mile from the Pawnee
camp. When the neighing and pawing had ceased, the hunters wrapped
themselves in their blankets and buffalo robes, intending to be up
before it was light, and surprise the herd before it was ready to go out
to graze.

The ponies were securely picketed, saddles, girths, and bridles
examined, buffalo-hair lariats overhauled, and all made ready for an
early start on the hard day's ride.

Long before the sun had showed the faintest indication of his coming;
while the stars were still shining brilliantly, the Indians and Joe were
up, and hastily breakfasting, or taking their matutinal smoke. They then
mounted their ponies, and stealthily walked the animals in the direction
of the slumbering bunch of wild horses.

When they had arrived within a few hundred yards of the place where the
handsome creatures were still unconsciously resting, one of the Indians
and Joe, who was as good as the best man among them, dismounted and
crawled forward in the brush to reconnoitre. They returned in a few
moments and reported to White Wolf that all was quiet, not a single
horse's ear had they seen pricked up, so the animals had not as yet been
warned of danger.

White Wolf then gave his orders, making such disposition of his forces
as would cause the herd to be surrounded when the warriors had
approached near enough to use their lassoes. So quietly did the ponies
do their duty, that when the herd was awakened to hear and see their
enemies almost upon them, the lassoes of several of the warriors had
done their work.

As the others bounded away with astonishing speed, out of the timber and
over the prairie, a spirited chase commenced. The Pawnees urged their
ponies to their greatest capacity, the manes and tails of the wild
horses in front were flying wildly in the air, while their hoofs were
beating the hard sod, showing how tightly strung were the muscles of the
frightened animals.

The Pawnees were obviously gaining upon the fugitives, quick-footed
though they were. The chief came up with the leader, the splendid black
stallion, and began to swing his lasso around his head, gradually
enlarging the circles by permitting the rough buffalo-rope to slip
gently through his fingers. A sudden movement at the same instant
plunged the stallion into an increased speed, when, White Wolf thumping
the flanks of his mettlesome pony, it dashed quickly forward, and the
Pawnee threw his lariat with unerring skill around the neck of the black
horse. The bunch was thrown into a panic, when the members of it saw
their leader tumble to the ground, and wheeling round in their course,
they were completely surrounded by their pursuers. At least ten were
lassoed by the same number of Pawnees, including Joe, who had long ago
become an expert with the rope. The remainder of the bunch not yet
caught were kept together by the rest of the Indians, who were
continually circling around them, so that not one escaped, and at the
end of an hour the whole forty were lassoed, and tied fast by the legs.
Some fifteen of them were not desirable animals, and these were turned
loose again.

The business of breaking them in began when they had driven the
remaining twenty-five to their camp down on the farther edge of the
grove. The frightened animals, notwithstanding their fetters of rawhide,
kicked up the earth, shook their heavy manes, curved their necks, and,
with eyes that seemed all afire, gazed tremblingly at their captors.

As White Wolf wanted the black stallion for his own riding, he began
with him. It took four of the stoutest Pawnees to hold the fiery
creature by a long lasso; this had the effect of partial strangulation,
which weakened and temporarily overcame the wonderful power of the
spirited creature. Violent were his plunges as he tried to free himself
from the grasp of his captors. His terrific leaps only served to draw
the lariat tighter around his neck; his breathing became more and more
difficult, and might have been heard for the eighth of a mile. His heart
beat as if it would burst from his heaving chest, and his veins stood
out in great ridges along his quivering flesh.

At last, overwhelmed by his agony and fear, powerless with suffocation,
he fell, and for an instant lay upon the ground without sense or motion.
The lariat was immediately loosened around his neck, and as
consciousness returned to him, his already glazed eyes became bright
again, the fresh air dilated his nostrils, and his tremendous chest rose
and fell.

In ten minutes he was on his feet, but how different he appeared from
the magnificent animal which had stood in all his native pride and
dignity at the head of his band. He was weak, hardly able to stand, his
great head drooped, and his eyes were without that natural brilliancy
which had so markedly characterized them; he appeared only the ghost of
his former self. Like a monarch who had been dragged from his throne,
who has been scoffed at by those whom he had previously despised, he was
destined to become the slave of man.

As soon as the horse somewhat recovered from his exhaustion, he was
mounted by White Wolf, who kept his seat, notwithstanding the animal's
terrific efforts to throw him, and forced him to run round and round in
a circle. If for a moment the horse showed the slightest manifestation
of flagging or obstinacy, White Wolf would give him an awful blow over
the head with his heavy buffalo-hair rope. Gradually he became more
passive, and in less than half an hour from the time when the chief had
mounted him, he was declared broken, and was led away to be picketed
with the rest of the Indian ponies.

The remaining twenty-four horses were all subjected to the same course
of discipline; some giving up in a few moments, others as obstinate as
was their leader. Before dark all had been sufficiently subdued to suit
a savage's idea of gentleness, and the party went to bed that night
elated over their wonderful success.

The next morning they started for home, camping at the same place on the
Walnut. From there to the Oxhide, they made two night halts instead of
one, as on their outward trip.

Joe's share of the capture was three beautiful ponies. Under the
discipline of the kindness which always prevailed at Errolstrath, these
were made in a few weeks almost as gentle as tame horses.




CHAPTER XVIII

  THE LAST HERD OF BUFFALO--THE STAMPEDE--THE SOLDIERS IN
    FULL CHASE--JOE GETS TWO COWS--HAULING IN THE
    MEAT--RATTLESNAKES


THE last big herd of buffalo ever seen in the valley of the Oxhide
visited their ancient feeding-grounds during that same spring of 1869,
when Joe hunted wild horses on the Cimarron with the Pawnees. One
morning, shortly after his return to Errolstrath, an immense number of
the shaggy ruminants came tearing across the Smoky Hill, below the fort.
They rushed up toward the soldiers' barracks, and dashed wildly through
the post, over the parade-ground, and on toward the Oxhide.

In a moment the whole garrison was in full chase, enlisted men and
officers, and a fusillade ensued, which sounded at a distance like a
general engagement of troops. The firing was heard on the Oxhide, and
several of the Pawnees who happened to be out on the highest bluffs saw
the herd coming. One of their number hurried to their camp and notified
the other warriors, who immediately mounted their ponies and got ready
for the chase. Joe and Rob were hunting rabbits with their hounds that
morning on an elevated plateau, and they, too, saw the cloud of dust
raised by the great herd, as it came thundering through the Smoky Hill
bottom. Forgetting all about rabbits and everything else, they rushed to
the house for their guns. In a few moments they joined the Indians, who
were coming at a breakneck gait toward the on-rushing mass. The buffalo,
wild with fear and excitement at their proximity to the cabins of the
settlers, were on a general stampede.

When buffalo are stampeded, they become absolutely blind, and rush
without any aim into anything that is in their path. Some of the
frightened beasts that now had reached Errolstrath ranche, dashed
through the front yard, leaping over fences and gates as easily as a
greyhound. In their mad career they knocked down the milk-pans,
water-buckets, and other things that stood near the kitchen door.

Kate was standing on the wash-bench, trying to get a good look at the
buffalo as they came tearing along, and before she was aware of the
fact, she found herself sprawling on the ground. An old bull that was
separated from the rest of the herd had come dashing round the corner of
the house, and striking the end of the bench with his leg, sent Kate
headlong. She picked herself up unhurt, and rushed into the house,
almost as badly scared as when the Cheyennes had swooped down on her.

She gathered her wits in a moment, and with her mother and sister stood
on the back veranda, where they could all see the herd now far up on the
hills, and still running in their madness. The Indians, soldiers, and
officers were shooting at the frenzied beasts as they ran among them,
regardless of consequences. Now and then they toppled one of the huge
animals over, but the white men in their excitement missed oftener than
they hit, while the Pawnees rarely failed to bring down their game.

The party on the porch at Errolstrath watched the herd and hunters until
nothing but a cloud of dust could be seen far in the distance, yet the
yelling of the Pawnees could still be faintly heard long after the
buffalo had vanished from sight.

By noon, Indians and whites slowly retraced their course down to the
creek bottom, the Pawnees going to their camp, the soldiers to the fort,
and the boys, Joe and Rob, home.

"How many of the buffalo were killed after all that terrible yelling and
shooting?" asked their mother.

"Well, not nearly as many as ought to have been," answered Joe. "I never
saw such a mixed-up mess in all my life. Enough cartridges were used to
have killed five hundred, but the men from the fort were as excited as
the buffalo, and they didn't hit an animal once in a hundred shots, and
then when they did, half the time the ball struck them where it had no
more effect than if you had hit them with a stick!

"The Pawnees killed more than all the others; they got twenty-five, and
have gone to camp for ponies to pack the meat on. I don't think that
fifty buffaloes were killed in all. I got two, both of 'em cows, and I
must take the wagon out and haul 'em in. We will have enough meat to
last us a long while, but we shall have to smoke most of it."

"Where did the herd go?" inquired Kate.

"Most of the animals kept right on toward the east, while some of them
turned round and travelled south. I suspect that the settlers on Plum
Creek flats will have a good time with them, as a part of the herd that
went south was headed for there. I tell you," continued Joe, "you've got
to keep a clear head on your shoulders when you go after buffalo. Most
of those fellows from Fort Harker are recruits, and are fresh from the
East; they never saw a buffalo before, and I don't wonder they were
excited."

"I never saw so many rattlesnakes," said Rob, "as I did on that big
stony prairie where we killed the majority of the buffalo. I guess I
counted fifty if I did one. I think that the stamping of the buffalo
must have frightened them out of their holes."

"It's very lucky that the rattlesnakes out here are not so venomous as
those back East," said Mrs. Thompson; "more than twenty persons have
been bitten by them in the neighborhood since we've lived here, and a
little whiskey soon cures it."

"Do you remember, Gert," said Kate, "when you nearly sat down on one
that was curled up on that stump you were going to take for a seat in
the woods last autumn, and he rattled just in time?"

"I guess I do," answered her sister. "There's one thing I like about a
rattlesnake: he always gives you good warning that he is around. He
doesn't ever take you unawares, like some animals, a bull dog for
instance, that says nothing, and takes hold of you before you know it."

"Their skins make pretty belts and hatbands," said Rob. "The cowboys on
the big cattle ranches kill hundreds of them while they are out herding,
and tan the skins to put around their hats. I saw a whole set of jewelry
that was made out of the rattles and mounted with gold wire. One of the
boys was going to send it to Texas to his sister."

"Well, they may be odd," said Mrs. Thompson, "but I certainly shouldn't
like to wear them."

"I like the furs of animals better than anything for ornament, either to
wear or to have in my room," said Kate. "I guess it would make a city
girl envious to see my chamber with all its beautiful skins that Joe and
Rob have given me. One of these days I mean to have papa send some of
those otter and beaver skins to Kansas City, and get them made up into a
cape and muff."

"He will," said her mother. "I was telling your father only the other
day when we were up in your room, that it was a pity so many magnificent
skins should be tacked around the walls, and lying on the floor, just
for ornament, when there are enough there to make us all a set of winter
furs. He said he would send them off in a few days, so I think you will
have your wish gratified before long."

The boys were sent with the wagon to bring back the meat of the two cows
that Joe had killed, and about noon they returned. The robes were very
fine ones. Joe asked the Pawnees to tan them for him, and when they were
finished, which would be in about a week, he intended to make them a
present to his father and mother for their bedroom.

The buffalo meat was cut up that evening, by Mr. Thompson, and on the
next day was smoked with corn-cobs, which are always used for that
purpose out West.

While getting the meat ready, Mr. Thompson told the boys that he
wouldn't be at all surprised if, when they wanted buffalo again, they
would have to go miles away for them, as the country was becoming so
thickly settled that the herds might never come as far east as the
Oxhide. "Of course," continued he, "the antelope will remain with us a
long time yet, but even they will become scarcer each year, and then
they, too, will disappear, for it seems that the great ruminants of the
plains cannot live with the white man as they can with the savages. The
latter have no permanent home, but congregate in temporary villages in
the winter, and as soon as spring opens, they are off again, living on
horseback and depending upon the chase for their existence. It has ever
been so with the Indian since the landing of the Pilgrims, in 1620. The
white man has dogged their footsteps as they themselves follow the deer.
One of the facetious old bishops of New England, I forgot his name now,
said: 'The Puritans, when they landed on Plymouth Rock, first fell upon
_their knees_, and then upon the _aboriginees_!' It appears to be the
fate of the red men to vanish before the onward march of the whites."

"I feel sorry for the Indians, father," said Joe. "I tell you it would
have made you almost weep to hear White Wolf, that night we camped on
the Walnut, relate in his sorrowful manner how powerful his tribe once
was, before the white man took their lands away from them."

"I have a warm spot in my heart for the Indian," said Mr. Thompson, "but
it is their fate, I suppose, and cannot be helped. You cannot civilize
the old ones, and the only hope is in taking the rising generation away
from their tribal affiliations when young, and teaching them to live
like the whites."




CHAPTER XIX

  THE INDIAN HORSE-RACE--KATE'S PONY WINS--THE TRADE WITH
    THE PAWNEES--THE DANCES AT NIGHT--THE INDIANS SAY GOOD
    BY TO THE FAMILY--NOBLE ACTION OF WHITE WOLF


THE Pawnees having remained on the Oxhide much longer than in any
previous season, they began to make preparations for departure. Joe
asked the chief to give a dance with his warriors at the ranche, for his
parents and his sisters to see how the Indians enjoy themselves.

White Wolf said he would be sure to do so the night before they left.
To-morrow, they were going to have a horse-race, and, should his father
be willing, they would use that long, level stretch of prairie between
the house and the creek. It was a distance of about four miles, the
usual length of a race-course with the Indians.

White Wolf said that the wagers would be ten horses, and that if Young
Panther wanted to bet, he would make one with him. Joe replied that
neither he nor his father approved of betting, but that both of them
dearly loved to see horses run. "If I believed in betting, though," said
Joe to the chief, "I would bet that my sister's pony, Ginger, can outrun
any pony you have." The chief smiled, and told Joe that if he would not
bet, he might ride that pony in the race, and if he came out ahead, then
he would know whether his sister's animal was the fastest. Joe agreed to
it, and when he returned to Errolstrath he obtained Kate's permission to
ride Ginger in the race the following day. Mr. Thompson had readily
given his consent to the Indians to use the trail in front of the house
as a race-course.

Joe went down to the camp that evening and told the warriors that they
might have the use of the course. White Wolf then said: "We will be up
there by the time the sun is so high," pointing with his hand to where
the sun would be at eight o'clock.

"All right," replied Joe; "we will be ready for you. The folks can sit
on the porch and see the whole length of the course. Be sure to come
promptly."

When Joe returned to the ranche, he announced that he wanted to get up
very early in the morning, and as Rob was always the first one in the
house out of bed, he asked him to call him the moment he awoke.

Rob, as usual, was out before sunrise. He promptly called his brother,
who lost no time in dressing, washing at the spring, and going out to
the pasture to catch Ginger. He led him to the corral, gave him a most
vigorous currying, after which he fed the pony an extra ration of oats,
to give him heart for the race.

Shortly after breakfast was out of the way, Kate, who was on the
veranda, feeding the mocking-birds, came rushing into the sitting-room,
crying, "The Pawnees are coming; I can hear their tom-toms beating; they
will soon be here!"

All the family went out, and sure enough, there were the Indians all
dressed up in feathers, and painted in every imaginable savage manner.
White Wolf had a row of white dots on one cheek, flanked on each side by
a streak of vermilion, while the other was green and blue. He had on a
war bonnet with eagle feathers sticking in it around the upper edge,
making it look like a grotesque crown. Down his back dragged a long
trail of buffalo hair plaited into his own, and at every few inches for
its whole length (it reached the ground when he walked) there were
fastened bright metal disks nearly as big as the top of a tomato can.
Around his wrists were a dozen or more brass rings, and on his bare
ankles he wore as many rings of the same material. He had an embroidered
buffalo robe thrown gracefully over his shoulders, half concealing his
coat of beaded buckskin. His leggings were of the same stuff, and were
also gayly decorated with  porcupine quills deftly woven in them.
The other warriors were similarly dressed and painted, but wore only one
eagle feather in their bonnets, which was the distinguishing feature
between them and their chief.

Following the warriors were the boys of the band, each riding a pony,
and leading others which had been wagered on the race.

The race animals were ridden by their owners, and came after all the
others; among them was the wild coal-black stallion that White Wolf had
captured on the Cimarron. He looked like himself now, as he proudly
pranced along, his mouth frothing as he champed on his rawhide bit, and
his neck arched as he stepped like a thoroughbred over buffalo-grass
turf leading to the house.

Several of the warriors had tom-toms in front of them, which they were
beating vigorously with a stick as they rode proudly along. The
tom-toms, or drums, are made of tanned buffalo hide stretched over a
willow hoop, and the sound resembles that of a drum, but as the pounding
is simply a continuous series of strokes without any variation, it is
not music, but a very monotonous noise.

When the band had arrived at the house the Indians dismounted, and after
a series of "Hows?"--their customary salutation--to the family on the
veranda, they dismounted and began to converse among themselves in an
excited manner. Presently one of the warriors started on a run toward
the creek. He soon returned with some sticks, and then he and another
warrior began to mark out the course.

This took them some time, and while they were at the work, the boys who
were to ride the race began to cinch up their buffalo-hide saddles, and
prepare themselves for the impending struggle.

Joe was already prancing about on Ginger, and he could hardly hold the
spirited little beast, so anxious was it to be off, as if it perfectly
understood the meaning of all the preparations. The Indian ponies, too,
seemed to enter into the spirit of the thing, for they also commenced to
cavort around, and it was with much difficulty that their riders could
restrain them from bolting down the track.

At last everything was in readiness, the animals in place, Joe on the
outside of the four who were to run. The animals were all jumping up and
down, stiff-legged, and bucking with all their strength to throw their
riders.

In a few moments White Wolf gave the signal, and away they darted like
meteors. Ginger kept his place well, the black stallion leading for the
first half-mile until a big roan of one of the warriors took the lead;
then Ginger made a dash ahead. For a moment it was nip and tuck which
would keep the lead, but when the second mile was half run, the animals
began to show their powers of endurance. Some flagged, others were far
behind, and Ginger and the roan were going relatively slower; when all
at once, just as the home stretch was reached, Ginger took a spurt and
seeming to gain his second wind, like a pugilist in the ring, came in
forty feet in advance of the roan, the black stallion twenty feet behind
him. The other ponies were so far away, that if they had been running on
a white man's course they would have been declared "distanced."

Such a shout went up from the veranda of the house, where the family
were sitting, as they saw Ginger dash ahead, and Joe caught the sound of
it as the wind wafted the paean of victory to his ears.

White Wolf was disappointed in the result. He thought that his black
horse had great powers of endurance, and as soon as they were assembled
in front of the veranda, he offered Kate five of the best and youngest
of his horses in exchange for Ginger. Kate hesitated for a moment, but
considering that Ginger was now nearly eight years old, and after
consulting with her father and Joe, she decided to make the swap.

As the chief owned the roan that had really won the race,--Ginger being
a mere outsider just to test Joe's belief that he was the fastest
animal,--White Wolf was, in fact, the winner, and took the ten ponies
that were wagered.

With the assistance of her father and brothers, Kate selected five of
the best and youngest of the chief's bunch, including the roan. The
Indians then returned to their camp, promising to come up that evening
and give a series of dances, as they intended to start for their
reservation the next morning.

After they had left the front of the house, and Joe had taken the five
new ponies to the corral, he told Kate that he would now let her have
Cheyenne back, and he would take the roan, as the latter was too large a
horse for her to ride. Kate agreed readily to the proposition, so she
once more owned the little animal that had brought her so safely from
the Indian village.

When the family had finished their supper, Joe and Rob, with a team of
work horses, dragged several large logs from the creek to the front of
the house to make a big bonfire, for the Pawnee dance.

Shortly after dark the redskins came up with their best toggery on, and
when Joe, who had donned his Indian suit for the occasion, told White
Wolf he was ready, the Indians commenced to circle around the great fire
of logs, in their savage fashion. Some of them jumped stiff-legged like
an antelope when he is first startled. Others, bending nearly double,
shuffled in pairs, each one on his own hook, trying to see which could
make the most ridiculous postures, for they have no regular figures, but
keep admirable time to the drumming on the tom-toms.

When the first dance was finished, they gave a representation of the
scalp dance. The chief crept along the ground, putting his ear close to
it, in the attitude of listening on the trail of the enemy, then waving
his hand for his warriors to come on, they rushed into a supposed Indian
camp, and went through the simulation of killing their victim, and
wrenching off his hair with their knives. The motions, which at times
were really graceful, were carried on in perfect unison with the
monotonous pounding of the drums.

The next dance was named "Make the buffalo come." The medicine-men, who
claim to possess mysterious powers, tell the warriors to dance, for
that will make the buffalo come, and then they can get their meat. The
crafty old fellows are sure never to order the dance until about the
season that the animals come to that part of the country where the tribe
may happen to be. They are kept dancing night after night until the
buffalo really make their appearance, then the medicine-men claim that
they brought them by their incantations and the wonderful power of their
medicine.

For this dance, White Wolf's warriors and himself covered their heads
with the skin of a buffalo's head, horns and all, so that they looked
like a lot of men with the heads of that animal as part of their
anatomy. It was a long dance, and during its performance, the most
indescribable antics were gone through.

The family were well pleased with the entertainment, and when it was
over, Mrs. Thompson invited the Indians into the sitting-room, where the
girls had prepared a little supper for them, consisting of cake and
lemonade. The latter was new, and created quite a sensation, but Joe
told them it was not fire-water, and they might drink a barrel full
without becoming crazy.

At midnight when the dances and the supper were over, the Pawnees rode
back to their camp, delighted with their evening's entertainment.

The next morning Joe was down at the Indian camp very early to see his
dusky friends make ready for their departure. The chief told him that
they had camped on the Oxhide for the last time; the whites had taken up
all the country, and the buffalo would come there no more. Now when they
needed buffalo meat, they would be obliged to go out as far as the
Walnut, and in a few more years there would be no buffalo at all. His
people would have to take the "white man's road" if they expected to
live. He and the other warriors made their youthful friend some
presents, and told him that they had to go by the house to take the
trail down the Smoky Hill Fork to their distant home. He said that they
would stop a moment at the ranche to say good by to all the people who
had been so kind to him and the tribe every year since they had camped
on the creek.

Joe returned to Errolstrath, feeling very sad, because he had become
much attached to the Indians, and he knew that he would miss them so
much, and feel lonely for a long time. He told the family that the
Pawnees would come soon to say farewell, and that they must be sure to
be out on the veranda when they came.

By nine o'clock, Kate, whose ears were well trained to faint sounds,
through her vigilance when a captive in the Cheyenne camp, came into the
house from the porch where she had been attending to her birds as usual,
and said the Pawnees were coming; she could hear the tread of their
ponies' hoofs.

Then the family took their places on the veranda, as they had promised
Joe. Presently, slowly coming up the trail, with White Wolf in the lead,
the band of Pawnees were seen approaching the house. Arrived in front,
they all halted, and with their usual "How? How?" saluted the family.

All came down from the porch to shake hands, when Ginger, who with the
other ponies was running loose in the bunch, came up to Kate and,
neighing affectionately, began to rub his nose against her arm and
shoulder. The salutation of her once favorite pony was too much for the
warm-hearted girl, and she burst into tears as she returned the
animal's love for her by throwing her arms around his neck.

"Oh, father!" said she, "why did I ever consent to part with Ginger? I
am so sorry now. I would give worlds to have him back again."

White Wolf, noticing her weeping, asked in his own language why the
little squaw was feeling so badly. Joe told him how she loved Ginger and
how sorry she was she had ever consented to give him up.

White Wolf then said: "Tell her she shall have her pony again. I am a
chief and do not like to see the white squaws cry." He dismounted from
his animal, and going up to Kate, took Ginger's foretop in his hand;
then taking hers, he pressed into it the bunch of hair.

Ginger neighed when the rude ceremony of returning him to his former
mistress was over, seeming to understand just what had been effected.

Kate took the chief by the hand and thanked him as earnestly as she
could find language to express herself, which, of course, had to be
interpreted by Joe.

Then Rob brought from the stable the five other ponies that had been
given for Ginger, and after a few more parting salutations the Pawnees
rode down the trail.

Ginger was restored to his stall in the stable, and Kate was the
happiest girl in the settlement that day.




CHAPTER XX

CONCLUSION

  RETROSPECTIVE--THE OLD TRAPPER PASSES AWAY--MR. AND MRS.
    THOMPSON ARE DEAD--GENERAL CUSTER AND COLONEL KEOGH ARE
    KILLED--ERROLSTRATH BELONGS TO JOE AND ROB


TWENTY-NINE years have elapsed since the events related in this story.
The Indians, buffalo, and antelope have all disappeared. There is no
longer any frontier. Granite monuments mark the dividing line between
great states. The children of this generation will never know by
experience the hardships, the perils, and the amusements which so
conspicuously characterized the life of Joe, Rob, Gertrude, and Kate at
Errolstrath.

General Custer, Colonel Keogh, and nearly all of the famous cavalry
regiment commanded by the great Indian fighter went down to their death
in the awful massacre at the battle of the Little Bighorn, or Rosebud,
as it is sometimes called.

The old trapper, Mr. Tucker, who was such a warm friend of the family,
has long since passed away. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson are buried in the
quiet cemetery on the hill, near the ranche. Kate and her sister have
been married for many years and still live in Kansas, but not at the
dear old home. Errolstrath belongs to Joe and Rob. It is now a large
ranche, comprising many thousand acres. Where the buffalo and the
antelope used to roam in such vast herds are to be seen, peacefully
grazing, hundreds of mild-eyed Jerseys and the broad-backed Durhams. A
new house with all modern improvements has been erected on the site of
the old one. On its broad veranda may be seen every evening in summer
the children of the two brothers, to whom, as the shadows lengthen, they
tell of their own early experiences when they too were children and when
the ranche was far out in the wilderness of the great central plains.

The shrill whistle of the locomotive may be heard at the ranche as the
palace trains with their load of living freight dash along the bank of
the Smoky Hill, toward the Rocky Mountains. Ellsworth has grown to be a
beautiful town with electric lights and all the appliances of our
wonderful nineteenth century civilization.

The moon shines as brightly and the birds sing as sweetly as of yore
around Errolstrath, but of all the familiar faces that knew it so many
years ago, only those of Joe and Rob may be seen. Even they are bearded,
their hair is slightly mixed with gray. They are growing old; but the
laughter of their merry children serves to keep green the memory of
their own happy childhood.




       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's note:

Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.

Page 127, "lighting" changed to "lightning" (like lightning and forced)

Page 225, "lightedl" changed to "lighted" (prairie was lighted)

Page 225, "th" changed to "that" (and mellow that)

Page 226, "n" removed from text at start of new paragraph. Original read
(n When the leader of the)

Page 226, on the line below the previous note, "hu" changed to "the"
(the spot where his)



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