CHAPTER XXITHE BLIZZARDWith the coming of November, bitter winds and cold rains began to beat across the prairies, and the thoughts of the pioneers were turned with deep concern toward providing for the winter.On an expedition up the river one day Joe and Lige came upon a quantity of wild grapes and plums, and directly after the first frost the whole family made a day's excursion to the place and returned laden with bushels of fruit, a most precious commodity on the prairies, where other fruits were not to be had. Mrs. Peniman set to work the next day and made it up into jelly, jam, and preserves, which constituted a most welcome addition to their meals throughout the winter.The pressing work at hand kept the whole family busy from daylight until dark, and December was upon them before they were aware.Early in the month there came a break in the bad weather, followed by a series of mild, warm days.Joshua Peniman, who had been carefully going through his stores and feeling some uneasiness in regard to the condition of their winter supplies, hailed this weather with joy, and determined to take advantage of it to make a trip to Omaha, then the nearest point at which they could obtain the needed commodities.When Mrs. Peniman was told of the project she looked much troubled. "It has to be done, Hannah," he said, answering her look. "When the winter storms set in we are liable to be blockaded here for months, and we must be provided with sufficient supplies for our needs. Besides," he added with a smile, "you know Christmas is coming. Santa Claus must not fail to visit us this year—even if we are away out on the prairies.""Dear man," she replied, patting his arm, "thee never fails to think of everything, does thee? Of course Santa Claus must come this year. But it chills my heart to think of thee crossing those dreadful prairies. Of course Joe must go with thee——""No, Joe and Lige must stay here to guard you and the little ones. But I will take Sam. He is a bright boy, and will be great help and company for me. Come now, let us make out our lists, for I would like to start this morning while the weather is bright and clear."Before ten o'clock he was on his way, a long list of necessities in his pocket and Sam by his side, driving Jim and Charley, now sleek and fat and in fine condition from grazing on the rich grass of the prairies.Joe and Lige were somewhat disappointed when they learned that they were to be left behind, but when their father told them that he was leaving them to take his place and act as the head of the house during his absence the pride they felt in the trust he reposed in them almost made up for the disappointment.Sam, however, was jubilant. The prospect of the trip across the prairies with his father, of again seeing a town, thrilled him, and he chattered away gleefully as tucked cozily under the buffalo robes (made from the hides of the animals Joe and Lige had killed in a great buffalo hunt they had gone upon with Pashepaho), as they clattered away over the prairies.The first night they put up at Lancaster, the little settlement on Salt Creek at which they had stopped on their way out, and the third day reached Omaha, after a rather wearisome and uneventful journey.They put up at the American House, and his father gave him three dollars, and suggested that he might like to buy some things to bring to the folks at home, and also to purchase some Christmas presents for the family.This was the first time that the thought of Christmas had come to him, and it brought with it something of a shock.Christmas!This would be a queer Christmas, away out there on the plains all by themselves!He thought of the Christmases at home, of the comfortable old house wreathed with greens and holly, of the great Christmas tree in the parlor, the Christmas dinner, the stacks of presents, and the jolly crowd of aunts and uncles and grandmother and cousins and other relatives gathered about the board.A wave of homesickness went over him, then the exciting thought of three whole dollars to spend took possession of him and he forgot his homesick feelings in planning what he should buy.When his father set forth in the morning to make his purchases Sam, with his three dollars locked firmly in his hand, ran from store to store.He bought candy and peanuts and apples and popcorn, a lace scarf for his mother, ties for Joe and Lige, ribbons for Nina, Ruth and Sara, a top for Paul, a doll for Mary, and a hobby-horse and a large candy cane for little David.The candy cane took his last penny, and, in fact, he was obliged, greatly to his embarrassment, to change his order from a larger to a smaller candy cane, because the one he had selected cost three cents more than he possessed.Well satisfied with his purchases he returned to the American House, where he found his father with the wagon loaded waiting for him, a fine new heating-stove for the living-room standing up grandly behind the seat."Jump in, son," he said quickly, "I have been waiting for thee. I want to get on the way. I'm afraid from the looks of the sky we are going to have a change in the weather."They drove fast, and reached Lancaster by about six o'clock in the evening, by which time it had grown much colder. They awoke the next morning to find a grey sky and a high northwest wind blowing.His father had bought an ear-cap and a pair of warm mittens for him in Omaha, and these he was glad to put on, and he noticed when he took his place in the wagon that hot bricks had been tucked away in the bottom under the buffalo robes.As they drove he noticed that his father was unusually quiet and kept casting glances at the sky. He urged the team forward as fast as they could go, even using the whip, a thing he would never do except in extremities.By ten o'clock the wind had risen and scattering snowflakes had begun to fall. By noon the sky had changed to a deeper grey and the wind had increased to a biting gale.It was shortly after one o'clock, and they were clattering fast across the prairies, when a sudden blackness, almost as of night, seemed to fall upon them. For a moment the wind died down and a hush fell over all the earth that was like the hush of death. All about them over the vast, lonesome prairies came a tense, ominous silence, as if all nature were holding its breath. Then, with a whoop and a shriek that was like all the demons of the Inferno let loose, the blizzard was down upon them.Its onslaught was so fierce and sudden that it staggered the horses and almost upset the wagon. The snow that came on the breath of the terrific gale did not fall in flakes, but in solid whirlingsheets, which blinded, smothered, and utterly bewildered them. It stopped their breath, it stung their eyes, it slashed and beat in their faces like the beating of nettles.All about them was a blackness almost like that of midnight, and the eddying wall of swirling, blinding snow, driven by a ninety-mile gale, caught them in its embrace, drove the breath from their lungs, froze on their mouths and nostrils, and buffeted them with a fury that almost left them senseless.The horses, covered with snow almost as solidly as if it had been spread over them with a trowel, stood with drooped tails and heads, dazed and shivering, not knowing which way to go.Through the demoniac shrieking of the wind Sam heard his father's voice."Get down in the bottom of the wagon under the robes," Joshua Peniman shouted, and tried to urge the terrified horses forward against the blast.He knew that he dared not let them stop now. He knew that come what would he must keep them going as long as they could stand. He could not see a step before him. All about them was a maze, a stinging, dazzling, whirling wall of white, that blown on the breath of the fierce northwest wind pelted and buffeted the very breath from his body.In a shorter time than would have been believed possible the prairies were covered with snow, all traces of the wagon-trail blotted out, and no indication anywhere which way to go.The horses seemed utterly bewildered. Finding it impossible to keep them headed against the blast, and fearing that if they once swerved from the direction in which they had been traveling that he would lose his sense of direction and become lost on the prairies, he leaped out of the wagon, and grasping the terrified team by the bits led them forward, resolutely keeping his face toward the west. He knew that the wind was blowing from the northwest. If he kept it on his right cheek he knew that he was keeping in the right direction.The breath of the horses froze on their mouths and noses, and walking beside them he had to continually wipe it away so that they could breathe. Stumbling along, now protecting his own face and ears, now the faces of the horses, he prayed continually for guidance and help.Down in the bottom of the wagon against the hot bricks and under the buffalo robes Sam gradually recovered his breath and began getting warm. But fear and anxiety for his father made it impossible for him to keep still.He wiggled out of the robes and suddenly appeared at his father's elbow."You get in and get warm now, Father," he shouted above the shrieking of the blizzard. "I'm warm now; let me walk by the team."The temperature had fallen to thirty degrees below zero by this time, and warning prickings of his face, ears and feet told Joshua Peniman that he must take every precaution against freezing."Can you stand it for a few minutes?" he yelled, with his mouth close to Sam's ear. "I'm afraid my feet are freezing. I'll get on some more clothes and warm up a little, then I'll take them again. Keep the wind on your right cheek all the time. The horses don't seem to know which way to go."Sam took the bits and his father climbed into the wagon. He rubbed his face and ears with snow, took off his boots and rubbed his feet, then warmed them against the hot bricks, put on his boots and wrapped his feet in pieces torn from the blanket. With another strip of the blanket he wrapped his head about, leaving only his eyes exposed. He knew that the one hope of their getting through this storm alive was for him to keep from freezing and able to direct their movements. When he had protected himself as well as he was able he again sprang to the heads of the floundering horses and sent Sam back into the wagon to rest and get warm.In this way they kept their blood circulating, and relieved one another. He thanked his precaution of bringing the hot bricks many times. Under the buffalo robes in the straw in the bottom of the wagon they could escape the fury of the freezing gale, and by taking refuge there at short intervals they were able to keep from freezing.Every moment the blizzard seemed to increase. They could scarcely see the struggling horses from the wagon now, and the snow, drifting on the biting wind, was growing deeper and deeper all about them.Sam, protected like his father with strips of the blanket tied around his feet and wound about his head up to his eyes, was struggling at the horses' heads when suddenly the wagon gave a lurch, tilted perilously, then stopped.The horses, up to their middles in snow, plunged and struggled, and Joshua Peniman leaped out, looked, and uttered a deep groan. One of the front wheels was broken at the hub.For a single terrible moment the father and son stood gazing at the damage, and hope almost vanished from their breasts. Then Joshua Peniman set to work to liberate the plunging horses."We'll have to leave it," he shouted, struggling with his half-frozen fingers at the traces. "We'll have to trust to the horses.""But our wagon—the supplies—our Christmas presents——" Sam shouted back, trying to raise his voice above the howling and shrieking of the storm."Can't think of them now," gasped Joshua Peniman; "we'll be lucky if we save ourselves!" And having got poor Charley loose from the disabled wagon he lifted Sam up on his back, and wrapped him about with blankets and one of the buffalo robes. Then taking the other robe from the wagon he mounted Jim, and wrapping himself up as best he could led the way straight into the teeth of the roaring, stinging vortex, that hissed and shrieked like ten thousand demons about their heads."Keep close!" he shouted to the boy, "keep Charley's head right up against Jim's tail! Don't lag, don't get out of my tracks or we're lost!"The drifts were now up to the bellies of the horses, and growing deeper every moment. The wind had increased to a degree against which they could scarcely stand, and the snow came down in such solid sheets of blinding, dazzling white that they could not see a foot before them, could not keep their eyes open against its pelting fury, might almost as well have been stone blind, as they beat their way, struggling, stumbling, floundering, against the storm.After a few moments of frantic struggling the horses stood still, shaking and trembling, instinct urging them to turn tail to the storm, yet kept facing its cruel onslaught by the firm hand upon the reins. Again and again one or the other of them stumbled and fell, and each time they got to their feet with greater difficulty.Joshua Peniman had given up trying to ride, and was again walking at their heads, urging them on, patting, encouraging, helping them all he could. He knew that none of them could last long. He knew that the horses must soon fall and perish, and that no human creature could hold out long against the cold that seemed to grow more intense with every passing hour.With all the strength, all the faith that was in him he prayed for help.CHAPTER XXIITO THE RESCUEIn the sod house on the prairies meanwhile there was fearful suspense and anxiety.From the moment of the departure of her husband and son Hannah Peniman had watched the weather with an anxious eye. When the wind rose and the snow began to fall fear took hold upon her. With eyes scanning the horizon she went from door to window and window to door, hoping every moment to see the wagon approaching over the prairie.But the hours passed on and they did not come. As the temperature fell and the wind rose her fears increased; and when the pall of darkness fell, and with a whoop and shriek and roar that she could never forget the blizzard swept down upon them, her heart almost died in her breast."A blizzard, ablizzard!" she moaned. "Oh, God, help them; God have mercy on them out there on those plains in this storm!"The children, terrified at the blackness, almost like that of night, that had fallen over the prairies, and at the shrieking and howling of the wind, gathered close about her. She concealed her own fears to comfort them.At the first approach of the storm the boys had put the cow and horses in the dugout and closed the doors. At five o'clock when they started out to feed them the door of the dugout was drifted half-way up to its top with snow, and the wind was so terrific and the whirl of the wall of snow so blinding and bewildering that they were unable to make their way from the house to the dugout.Lige, who had started out ahead of Joe, became lost almost before he had left the shelter of the house, and were Joe not close behind him he might have wandered away and perished on the plains.Battling their way back to the house, holding to one another, they sought the shelter of the kitchen, beaten, breathless, even in those few moments almost frozen. When they made another attempt to get to the dugout they were obliged to tie a rope to the handle of the door and clinging to it grope their way to the dugout, where they made the line fast, and when they had fed and attended to the stock were able to guide themselves by it back to the house.As the hours passed on and the travelers did not return the anxiety of the family became almost unbearable. At last Joe drew his mother aside. "I can't stay still any longer, Mother," he said. "It is getting dark. Father and Sam ought to have been here long ago; they must have lost their way in this blizzard. Let Lige and me go out to meet them."Hannah Peniman turned her white face upon him."What good would that do?" she asked. "You could not find them—perhaps you too would get lost—perhaps none of you would ever come home. Oh, God, have I not given enough, enough!"Joe took her hands. "But, Mother," he said firmly, "we can't stay here and let Father and Sam perish in this storm without trying to save them! Lige and I are strong—we can take ropes—we'll tie ourselves to the house so we can always get back. We must go, Mother! They must have got nearly home before the blizzard struck them. They may be out there—not far away—lost and fighting their way through this storm——"Hannah Peniman cried out and covered her face with her hands. A moment later she turned to the boy and said quickly, "Yes, you must go. It is thy duty—I would not keep thee from it. Go—go quickly! Thy father may be needing thee!"It was bitterly hard for Hannah Peniman to send her two oldest boys—all that she and the little ones had to depend upon now—out into the howling blizzard. As she gazed out into the whirling, blinding, shrieking tempest it seemed to her almost like giving them up to inevitable destruction. But her husband, another child, were out there somewhere on those prairies in the blizzard. It was the duty of these boys to go to their rescue. All her life Duty had been her guide. So with prayers upon her lips and in her heart she wrapped them up and let them go, fighting their way into the storm inch by inch, unwinding as they went a great coil of rope that had been provided for a well-rope, but which, fortunately, had not been put in use.As the two lads emerged from the shelter of the sod house the storm caught them in its icy embrace and almost drove the breath from their bodies. They had the wind to their backs, so fortunately were not obliged to head their way into it, but the cold was so intense that it froze the breath in their nostrils, the lashes of their eyes, and the wind so fierce that it fairly lifted them off their feet, causing them to stagger and stumble in the great drifts of snow.They were warmly clad and well protected, but they had not gone many yards from the house when they began to realize how slight were the chances that their father and brother, caught out upon the prairies in this storm, could ever reach home. In twenty minutes their feet were like chunks of lead, their hands numb and aching, their faces, in the small space left exposed, tingling and freezing. Their breath was gone, their limbs numb and lifeless, and an exhaustion so great upon them that they were scarcely able to forge ahead and keep firm hold upon the rope.As they stumbled and staggered forward, Joe, far in advance of his brother, stopped abruptly, while a muffled cry came from his numb lips. Spotty, whom they had taken with them, gave vent to a sharp, yelping bark and leaped forward in the snow. Under a drift, with something black protruding from its edges, lay a humped-up form.Joe sprang to it with an agonized cry.He bent and with his hands began to scrape away the snow, while Spotty, whimpering loudly, aided him by digging at the drift with his sharp claws. A body, lying face downward, was soon uncovered. Joe turned it over quickly, then gave a choked, quivering sob of relief. The body was that of an Indian.Lige, fighting his way through the drifts with head bent almost to his knees, heard Spotty's whining bark and stopped."What's the matter?" he called out. Then seeing the body, "My Lord,what is that?""It's an Indian." Joe rose from his inspection shaking and trembling in every limb. "It scared me almost to death. I—I thought at first it might be—be—Father—or Sam.""Who is it? Anybody we know?" Lige shouted above the howling of the blizzard."No, never saw him before. Poor fellow, I suppose he lost his way in the storm.""I don't wonder," panted Lige; "I never saw such a storm. Lord, I wish we knew where Father and Sam were! They can't live long in a storm like this."As they started forward there was a new fear, a new horror in their hearts. The sight of the Indian, young, strong, inured to the hardships of the plains, yet stark and dead in the drift, brought to them a hideous picture of what at that very moment might be happening to their father, older and not so agile and strong—and to Sam—their chum, playmate and brother—little more than a child!Lige had not approached the Indian, but with a shuddering glance had pushed on. As Joe started forward his foot struck something imbedded in the snow. At another time he would have stopped to see what it was, but all his thoughts, all his fears were with his father out there in that whirling, blinding, shrieking blizzard, and his one thought to reach him if that was possible.At the metallic click Lige turned and looked back."What was that?" he asked."I dunno, a tin can, I guess," answered Joe, and could not guess as he plunged forward through the blizzard that the solution of the mystery about which he had puzzled so much lay close at his feet.When the two boys reached the utmost length of their rope they stood still, not knowing what to do next. They knew to abandon it and go forward would probably mean death, that they would soon become lost in the tempest, in which they could tell neither location nor direction, and probably perish in the storm.They stood side by side, holding on to the rope and one another, their backs to the wind, gasping, panting, exhausted, half-frozen from the stinging blast that beat about them, half blinded by the snow that was almost waist-deep where they stood, and which covered them from head to foot while they stood still.Spotty, crouched up close against them, whined and looked up in their faces as if trying to ask why they should be out in that storm."Do you suppose we'd have any chance of finding them out there, Joe?" Lige asked between chattering teeth."Not much," Joe answered huskily. "I don't believe anybody could live long in this.""I wonder if we shouted——""They'd never hear us through this blizzard.""Let's try it anyhow. The wind is blowing that way. They might hear—and if they were lost——"Presently the two young voices were joined in a shout as loud as they could force from their aching chests. Spotty hearing it seemed to get some inkling that there was trouble and set up a loud barking. He ran round and round them in circles, nosing in the snow, and when Joe pointed off ahead into the reeling wall of the blizzard and cried "Go get Sam, Spotty, go get Father!" he looked up in his face, whined, barked, ran forward into the snow, then back to leap and bark about them.Again and again they shouted, calling upon their father's name, upon Sam's, with all the strength that was in them.After each shout they listened, straining their ears for a reply. But all that came to them was the wild roaring of the blizzard, the shrieking of the wind as it whipped up the snow and tossed it in blinding clouds over the plains.For long they stood, the cold eating into their very vitals.At last Lige spoke. "I can't stand it any longer, Joe, I'm freezing to death. Let's go on. They can't be very far——""If we ever get away from the rope we'll never get back home," answered Joe. "And you know we've got to think of Mother and the girls. If Father never comes back——"His voice faltered and stopped."We'll have to go back then," gasped Lige; "we can't stand here any longer. We'll both freeze to death."They stood, the two young, strained faces turned toward the cruel storm, their eyes trying to penetrate the reeling, swirling wall of white that eddied and whirled about them.At this moment, when all hope was dead in their hearts, when they had both abandoned the last expectation of ever seeing their father and brother alive again, there came to their ears a far, faint cry.They clutched each other."What was that?" whispered Lige, trembling like an aspen leaf.Joe's only answer was to draw in his breath and send forth a shout so strong, so thrilling with the hope that awoke in his breast that even the tempest seemed to heed it. For a second the wind seemed to ease, and in that second they both called and shouted at the top of their lungs again and again.Spotty too had heard the call. He seemed to know now what the trouble was, and what was expected of him. Barking loudly he plunged forward through the drifts, constantly looking back and stopping to bark and whine, as if begging the boys to follow him.Only for a moment was he visible, then the storm closed about him and he passed out of their sight.Presently the call came again."It's them—it's Father—it's Sam!" the boys shouted in chorus."It's them, it's them! They're alive! They're out there somewhere. Oh, Joe, let's go after them!" panted Lige.For a moment Joe hesitated. All his heart was urging him to rush on into the blinding tempest toward the point from whence the faint calls came. But the judgment with which nature had gifted him, that judgment that was to mean so much to so many people in his after life, restrained him."No, we'd better stay here," he answered. "If we get away from the rope we might get lost ourselves, and make things worse. We'll do them more good by staying right here and shouting to them so we will guide them to us. I believe by the sound they're coming nearer. Listen!"Again they sent forth a great shout.For a moment there was no sound other than the roaring of the blizzard, then more distinctly than before came the answer."There!" shouted Joe, "it is nearer! They are coming this way. Listen! That's Spotty barking! I believe he sees them! All we've got to do now is to keep shouting."With hope renewed they redoubled their shouts and yells. Nearer, and yet nearer came the answer, and at last, staggering out of the wall of white they could make out two huge shapeless bulks, which as they came nearer gradually developed into two floundering, staggering horses, with heads down and nostrils clogged and caked with ice and snow, and on their backs two shapeless creatures, which they at last saw, with a joy too great for expression, were their father and Sam, wrapped up in the buffalo robes and blankets.Behind them, before them, around and about them leaped Spotty, barking and leaping upon them as if he could not express his joy. He it was who had reached them in their bewilderment and guided them back to the rope. They were hopelessly lost, had neither sense of location nor direction left, and had been wandering about for hours in circles when they heard, faint and far away, the sound of shouts. They answered, with all the strength that was left in them, but even then so paralyzed and bewildered had they become by cold and exhaustion that they should never have been able to follow it, but that Spotty came bursting through the storm like a guiding angel and barking and leaping about them had guided them on.With the blizzard at its height the worn and weakened party would never have reached home but for the rope that anchored them to safety. Holding tight to it and leading the way Joe and Lige beat their way forward leading the almost dying horses, whose knees were fairly giving way beneath them from exhaustion, while the man and boy upon their backs were almost insensible from numbness and cold.It seemed an endless fight against the tempest, but the rope held, and step by step they fought their way back by its aid, until suddenly out of the impalpable shroud that wrapped them in its icy embrace they fairly bunted into the walls of the dugout."The dugout!" gasped Joe, "thank God, oh, thank God! I began to fear we would none of us live to get home!"Seizing Jim's bridle he led him up to the wall and lifted his father down in his strong young arms. Lige was already lifting Sam from Charley's back, so weak, so numb and exhausted that he could neither move nor speak.As Joe was staggering toward the house with his father in his arms the door was burst open and Mrs. Peniman rushed out into the storm."Thank God, thank God!" she sobbed over and over, as together they lifted the wayfarers into the house, rubbed snow on their frozen faces and ears, got them into hot blankets, poured hot drinks and nourishment into them, and worked over them until life began to revive. Then they got them into bed with hot irons about them, and with a gratitude and thankfulness too great for words saw them gradually fall into a natural and healthy sleep.Sam had a badly frozen ear, two frost-bitten toes, and a frosted finger, and Mr. Peniman's left foot was so badly frozen that it was many weeks before he could walk again. But these injuries were as nothing compared to the fact that they had come out of the most terrible blizzard ever known in the territory alive, and the thought that the lost was found, the dear ones given up as dead restored to life again, was joy enough to overbalance any amount of pain.CHAPTER XXIIICHRISTMAS ON THE PRAIRIESThe blizzard which so nearly cost Joshua Peniman and Sam their lives raged unabated for three days. When it was over the prairies lay a vast wilderness of unbroken white from horizon to horizon, the snow lying five feet deep on the level.For several days Mr. Peniman was compelled to remain in bed, completely prostrated by the experience he had been through. But Sam, though somewhat frost-bitten in places, awoke the next morning as well as ever, and greatly exalted by the sense of being a hero.The blizzard was followed by a spell of bitterly cold weather, the thermometer going down to thirty-six below. While the family all felt great anxiety about the abandoned wagon and its precious contents it was impossible to go after it until the weather moderated. In the meantime they employed the hours of the long cold days by making runners, one pair of which they affixed to Joe's wagon, carrying the other pair with them when a day at last came when the weather had so far moderated that they dared face it without danger of freezing.They set out with all six horses, Jim and Charley drawing the wagon on runners, in which Mr. Peniman, Joe, Sam, and Lige rode, Joe leading his own team and Lige the Carroll horses, which had been rechristened Major and Nellie.There was a hard, solid crust over the deep drifts, that carried them safely, and the sun sparkled like diamonds over the vast unbroken expanse of spotless white. On their way they saw three grey wolves and ten elk, which came within two hundred yards of them, driven to forget fear by hunger.As the improvised sledge glided smoothly over the snow the thoughts of the whole party were busy with the dangers and terrors of the blizzard."It was just about here that we found that poor old Indian, Lige," said Joe, scanning the snow-covered prairies about them."Yes; I don't see any sign of him now though," replied Lige."What Indian?" asked Mr. Peniman."When we were coming out to meet you we came upon the body of an Indian, dead and half-covered by snow," answered Joe. "I thought after we'd got you safe home we'd come back and bury him; but I guess the snow has done that better than we could, poor fellow!""Did you know him?""No, I never saw him before.""Did you see any signs of any other Indians about?""No, he seemed to be all alone. And the funny thing to me was that we didn't see any signs of his pony. It seemed queer that an Indian should be way off here alone, on foot.""If you'd looked far enough you would probably have found his pony in some draw or ravine. The poor fellow probably got lost in the blizzard, and feeling himself freezing to death deserted his horse in a drift somewhere, perhaps, and was making for some place of shelter when cold and exhaustion overcame him.""Golly, it sure gave us a shock when we found him," broke in Lige; "I didn't see him, but Joe thought at first it was you or Sam.""Thank God it was not," said Joshua Peniman fervently. "I know what the poor fellow must have suffered. I thought at one time his fate would surely be ours."They found the wagon exactly where they had left it, completely covered over by a drift, its contents undisturbed, and practically uninjured by the storm.When it was unloaded they removed the wheels and affixed to the bottom the extra pair of runners. They then replaced the contents, harnessed Kit, Billy, and black Major to it, while Jim, Charley, and Nellie were put to the other wagon. It was well for them that they had six powerful horses to pull the load, for weighted as the wagons now were they continually broke through the crust, and the journey back to the homestead required constant use of picks and shovels, and all the strength, initiative, and energy of both drivers and horses.They reached home at last, and as soon as they had warmed, eaten, and rested a little immediately set to work to install the new heating-stove.That night the family did not shiver about the stove in the kitchen, but clustered about in the warm glow of the new heater, cozy and comfortable, and thankful from the bottoms of their hearts, they enjoyed with the relish of appetites long denied the candy and popcorn and peanuts that Sam had brought to them.That winter—the winter of 1856-7—will long be remembered on the prairies. From December until March storm followed storm, blizzard followed blizzard, the time between filled in with the coldest weather ever known in the west.The young Penimans, who had run as free as wild antelopes over the plains ever since their arrival, were now compelled to stay in the house, which, small and circumscribed as it was, was sometimes almost too small to hold them.One morning when the snow drove against the windows and a bitter wind howled across the prairies Mrs. Peniman looked across the breakfast table at her husband with a smile."Father," she said, "does thee not think that the time has come for us to begin our school?""I certainly do, my dear," replied Joshua Peniman. "I was thinking of suggesting it this morning. The children have been out of school too long now, but with all the work we had to do to make living conditions possible for the winter we have not had time to get our school started before. But now is the time to do it. They cannot be outdoors, there is little work about the place that can be done in this weather, and it will occupy their time and attention.""But we haven't any school to go to, Father," cried Ruth, "nor any books or teachers!"Mrs. Peniman laughed. "Just wait and see," she said. "Your school is going to be right here, and Father and I will be the teachers. Didn't you know that Father used to be a teacher in the Friends' School at home? And the books are right in the trunk over there.""I don't want to go to school," grumbled Sam, "I want to play outdoors.""I do," cried Joe. "I want to study. Can you teach us history and language and algebra, Father?"Mr. Peniman smiled. "I have taught older and wiser boys than you, Joe, and I think I can teach you any branches that you will need to take up now.""All right then, I'm all for it," declared Lige; "let's get our school started this morning."It was quite a game after all, and they all entered gaily into the spirit of it, everybody helping to push the furniture about and arrange boxes and tables and chairs for the "school."Mrs. Peniman took Sara, Paul, Mary, and David into the rear part of the sod house and drew the curtains between, and Mr. Peniman got out the school-books they had brought with them from Ohio and set Joe, Lige, Sam, Nina, and Ruth at work.The program was so arranged that while some of the more advanced pupils, as Joe and Lige, were studying, the less advanced, as Sam and Ruth, were reciting. As Sam and Ruth had always kept pretty well together in their classes they were a great help to one another, but Nina was a problem. While far in advance of Sam and Ruth in English, geography, reading, and spelling, she was hopelessly behind them in grammar and mathematics. Indeed her whole curriculum of studies had been so superficially and sketchily acquired that Mr. Peniman scarcely knew what to do with her."I think I'll have to put you up a grade, Nina," he told her jokingly. "You are far and away beyond Ruth and Sam, yet I hardly think that on account of your arithmetic you could keep up with Lige and Joe.""Oh, please do put me up with Lige and Joe, Father Peniman," begged Nina; "I have never really studied in my life, but I believe that I could keep up if I studied with Joe."At first she made sad work of her lessons. Her work was brilliant but superficial, and Mr. Peniman, who insisted on thoroughness, was completely discouraged with her. On one occasion when she had signally failed in a recitation and had retired to her seat in tears Joe came to her side to comfort her."You don't know how to study, that's what's the matter with you, Princess," he told her. "Let me help you. We'll get our lessons together this evening."Nina smiled up at him through her tears. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Joesy," she whispered. "I know I don't know how to study. I never really went to school, I always had governesses and tutors and never had to. But I can learn—I know I can—if you will teach me." And after that Joe and Nina always studied together, Joe's thorough, methodical mind acting as a balance as well as an incentive to the more brilliant but less logical mind of Nina.Mrs. Peniman meanwhile with her little flock gathered about her knees had various and sundry milestones on the road of knowledge to start from. While Paul read and spelled well, wrote a fine large hand and had been initiated into the mysteries of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, Sara was only staggering through simple addition, stumbled sadly in reading, and was still scrawling huge hieroglyphics that only by the greatest courtesy could be called writing, Mary knew her letters and was in the c-a-t, cat, and r-a-t, rat, stage of development, and little David was still at sea in an ocean of letters, from which he could pick out a round O or a crooked S on occasion.It was not easy teaching, but the parents had given up their home and friends and all the comforts of life to obtain for these young people greater and better opportunities, and were not to be balked by small difficulties. Day after day while the snow fell and the wind howled across the prairies the little school went on, and soon began to grow accustomed to the conditions, and the pupils to make rapid strides.They rose early, and while Mr. Peniman and the older boys went outside to do the necessary work, Mrs. Peniman with Ruth, Nina, and Mary got the breakfast, washed up the dishes, made the beds, put the house in order, and arranged the two rooms for the "school" by nine o'clock, when the father and boys came in to begin the morning session.At noon Mrs. Peniman dismissed her little pupils, with orders to play quietly and not disturb the students in the front part of the house, while she prepared dinner. At twelve-thirty Mr. Peniman closed the morning session, and they all ran out for a tussle with the wind or a frolic in the snow before dinner. When the meal had been eaten and cleared away the afternoon session was begun, and until four o'clock the little sod house was a very hive of activity, after which time they were all free, and while Mr. Peniman and the boys went out to do the evening chores and other outside work the younger children romped about until supper time, soon after which they all went to bed.On the morning of December 24th Mr. Peniman announced at the breakfast table that they were to have a half holiday."As this is the day before Christmas," he continued, "I think we will have to go out and see if we can't find some mistletoe and greens of some kind, and a tree that might serve for a Christmas tree.""A Christmas tree?" the children all shouted in a breath. "Are we going to have aChristmas tree?""Why, of course," smiled Mrs. Peniman. "Santa Claus has never failed to visit us yet, has he, Ruthie? And I don't believe he'll forget us this year, even if we are away off out here on the prairies."Nina looked up with beaming eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad! I thought maybe we weren't going to have any Christmas. I've been thinking and thinking about it, but I didn't like to say anything, 'fraid it would make you feel badly.""We'll have some kind of a Christmas, my dear," said Mr. Peniman. "It may not be the kind of a Christmas that you have always been accustomed to, but we will celebrate the dear day in some way."Directly after dinner they all set off down the river bank, the boys in high boots, ear-caps, big coats, and mittens, the girls muffled to the eyes in coats, furs, scarfs, big Alaska overshoes, and leggings, and Mrs. Peniman looking very fat and pudgy in a pair of Mr. Peniman's trousers, over which she wore a huge woolly coat and hood, with scarf and mittens, and was bundled up so she looked like the Little Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe.They all set out in high spirits, and slid, slipped, coasted, snowballed and indulged in wild frolics over the snow, while Mr. and Mrs. Peniman took turns riding on the sled, which their wild young chargers took delight in upsetting as often as possible.After long search they at last found a young pine tree which came to a fine apex at the height of about five feet, and in the woods they found bright red berries, mistletoe in the tops of some trees, which Lige and Sam were only too pleased to climb, and deep under the snow some kinnikinick, which with its dainty green leaves and red berries made wonderful decorations.They returned home with the sled laden and in high glee.The tree was set up in a corner of the soddy that evening after supper, and when pop-corn was strung from limb to limb, apples and oranges hung from the branches, small sacks of candy tied on, and the candles, which Mr. Peniman had thoughtfully provided on his almost fatal trip to Omaha, carefully disposed among the branches and lighted, it was a gorgeous sight. Beneath it on the floor were a great heap of queer-looking bumpy bundles, to which each one brought his or her contribution with great secrecy, and which were not one of them opened until the next morning.It was scarcely light on Christmas morning when a great jingling outside (whichof courseno one recognized as the notes of the dinner-bell) announced the arrival of Santa Claus.There was a great hemming and hawing, a great stamping of feet in the snow, and then the door opened, and Santa Claus, in a marvelous wig and whiskers (made out of the wool of a pair of old grey woolen stockings) and a wonderful costume (which of course no one recognized as a suit of red flannel underwear elegantly trimmed in strips of white cotton flannel), came prancing in with a sack on his back and began dispensing presents with a generous hand.There were dolls for Mary and Sara, writing paper and ribbons and pretty handkerchiefs for Nina and Ruth, books and neckties for Joe, ties, handkerchiefs and a handsome muffler for Lige, balls and bats and tops and gloves for Sam and Paul, and a great lot of toys, including the remarkable hobby-horse that Sam had bought him, for little David.But if the children had been remembered well neither Mr. nor Mrs. Peniman had been forgotten. Mrs. Peniman's heart was deeply touched by the gift of a beautiful white apron, made from one of her own pretty white dresses with infinite pains and secrecy by Nina, who gave Ruth a beautiful sash-ribbon with hair ribbons to match out of her own little store, Sara ribbons, a sash ribbon and a pretty white dress, and Lige and Sam her own gold pencil and a box of drawing crayons. But to Joe she gave her dearest treasure, a pretty red morocco book of verses, which her father had given to her on her last birthday, with an inscription written on the inside which deeply touched Joe's heart. For Mr. Peniman she had made a penwiper out of one of her own little felt shoes.Joe and Lige had nothing to give their father and mother but their kisses and love, but for each of the children they had made or contrived in secret some little toy that added to the merriment of the day, and fully as welcome and as much appreciated as if they had come from a city store. Mrs. Peniman delighted her husband by bringing forth from one of the knobby bundles under the tree three fine new shirts, made at night and in secret with the labor of her own tired hands, and Mr. Peniman handed to her a bundle from beneath the tree, that had come all the way from Omaha the day of the blizzard, and had lain out in the wagon under the snow for more than a week. It contained a handsome new dress, which everybody praised and admired tremendously, and was as delighted over as if it had been given to themselves.Altogether it was a most wonderful Christmas.The dinner, at which a wild turkey took the place of the usual tame one, and at which the wild grape jelly and the plum preserves and a real plum pudding (made weeks before and hidden away for the occasion), was pronounced a grand success.The afternoon was spent in games, winding up with a great snow-frolic, and snow-cream for supper. But when the evening came and the younger children had gone to bed the others gathered close about the fire and quiet gradually settled down upon them.It had been a happy day, but now as the evening shadows gathered memories of other Christmases came out of the dusk and lingered about them.To Mr. and Mrs. Peniman the memory of the little one they had lost, the tiny grave left behind there on the desolate loneliness of the prairies, was seldom out of their thoughts. And now as their thoughts traveled back over the past, bringing up to them the memories of Christmas at the old home, and the dear ones they were perhaps never to see again, there came a deep sadness that neither of them would permit themselves to express.To Joe and Lige and Sam and Ruth this Christmas evening was also bringing memories. They could never forget the old home they had loved so well in the Muskingum Valley, nor the dear grandmother, the aunts and cousins and friends whom they had left behind.But to Nina, sitting with her chin cupped in her hand and her lovely violet eyes gazing into the fire, came the saddest memories. She thought of her last Christmas, and of that dear father and mother whom she had so loved and who had always done so much to make her life a happy one, and the tears brimmed her eyes. She thought of her father's illness, the strange cloud that always seemed to be hanging over them, of their journey westward, and of the tragic death of both her parents on the plains. She remembered as if she had seen it yesterday the two long graves, side by side, with the wooden cross at the head and the morning sunlight shining down upon the fresh earth and newly-turned sod. Then her thoughts went forward over the months since, with all the mystery and terror that had surrounded her, and a great wonder and terror grew in her mind. Wonder of that mystery that hung about her; terror of that menace that seemed to so darkly pursue her; fear of what the years might have in store for her, who knew so little of who she was or where she belonged.As the recollection of her lonely state came over her she heaved a deep, quivering sigh. The room was in darkness except for the firelight that threw its flickering light upon their faces, and as tears welled into her eyes she felt a hand slipped into her own and turned to see Joe sitting on a box at her feet and looking up at her with an expression of such deep tenderness and sympathy in his eyes that she knew he understood what was passing in her mind."It's all right, Joesy," she whispered, blinking the tear-drops from her lashes; "I was only thinking—and you know——""I know, Princess," he said, pressing her hand tenderly, "I know."That was all. But it was enough for Nina. The pressure of that warm, strong young hand in hers, the sympathy in those honest grey eyes, banished the shadows that had been creeping round her as if by magic. Somehow the knowledge that Joe was near, that Joe understood, chased away the feeling of loneliness and mystery, and made her feel safe and happy again.
CHAPTER XXI
THE BLIZZARD
With the coming of November, bitter winds and cold rains began to beat across the prairies, and the thoughts of the pioneers were turned with deep concern toward providing for the winter.
On an expedition up the river one day Joe and Lige came upon a quantity of wild grapes and plums, and directly after the first frost the whole family made a day's excursion to the place and returned laden with bushels of fruit, a most precious commodity on the prairies, where other fruits were not to be had. Mrs. Peniman set to work the next day and made it up into jelly, jam, and preserves, which constituted a most welcome addition to their meals throughout the winter.
The pressing work at hand kept the whole family busy from daylight until dark, and December was upon them before they were aware.
Early in the month there came a break in the bad weather, followed by a series of mild, warm days.
Joshua Peniman, who had been carefully going through his stores and feeling some uneasiness in regard to the condition of their winter supplies, hailed this weather with joy, and determined to take advantage of it to make a trip to Omaha, then the nearest point at which they could obtain the needed commodities.
When Mrs. Peniman was told of the project she looked much troubled. "It has to be done, Hannah," he said, answering her look. "When the winter storms set in we are liable to be blockaded here for months, and we must be provided with sufficient supplies for our needs. Besides," he added with a smile, "you know Christmas is coming. Santa Claus must not fail to visit us this year—even if we are away out on the prairies."
"Dear man," she replied, patting his arm, "thee never fails to think of everything, does thee? Of course Santa Claus must come this year. But it chills my heart to think of thee crossing those dreadful prairies. Of course Joe must go with thee——"
"No, Joe and Lige must stay here to guard you and the little ones. But I will take Sam. He is a bright boy, and will be great help and company for me. Come now, let us make out our lists, for I would like to start this morning while the weather is bright and clear."
Before ten o'clock he was on his way, a long list of necessities in his pocket and Sam by his side, driving Jim and Charley, now sleek and fat and in fine condition from grazing on the rich grass of the prairies.
Joe and Lige were somewhat disappointed when they learned that they were to be left behind, but when their father told them that he was leaving them to take his place and act as the head of the house during his absence the pride they felt in the trust he reposed in them almost made up for the disappointment.
Sam, however, was jubilant. The prospect of the trip across the prairies with his father, of again seeing a town, thrilled him, and he chattered away gleefully as tucked cozily under the buffalo robes (made from the hides of the animals Joe and Lige had killed in a great buffalo hunt they had gone upon with Pashepaho), as they clattered away over the prairies.
The first night they put up at Lancaster, the little settlement on Salt Creek at which they had stopped on their way out, and the third day reached Omaha, after a rather wearisome and uneventful journey.
They put up at the American House, and his father gave him three dollars, and suggested that he might like to buy some things to bring to the folks at home, and also to purchase some Christmas presents for the family.
This was the first time that the thought of Christmas had come to him, and it brought with it something of a shock.
Christmas!
This would be a queer Christmas, away out there on the plains all by themselves!
He thought of the Christmases at home, of the comfortable old house wreathed with greens and holly, of the great Christmas tree in the parlor, the Christmas dinner, the stacks of presents, and the jolly crowd of aunts and uncles and grandmother and cousins and other relatives gathered about the board.
A wave of homesickness went over him, then the exciting thought of three whole dollars to spend took possession of him and he forgot his homesick feelings in planning what he should buy.
When his father set forth in the morning to make his purchases Sam, with his three dollars locked firmly in his hand, ran from store to store.
He bought candy and peanuts and apples and popcorn, a lace scarf for his mother, ties for Joe and Lige, ribbons for Nina, Ruth and Sara, a top for Paul, a doll for Mary, and a hobby-horse and a large candy cane for little David.
The candy cane took his last penny, and, in fact, he was obliged, greatly to his embarrassment, to change his order from a larger to a smaller candy cane, because the one he had selected cost three cents more than he possessed.
Well satisfied with his purchases he returned to the American House, where he found his father with the wagon loaded waiting for him, a fine new heating-stove for the living-room standing up grandly behind the seat.
"Jump in, son," he said quickly, "I have been waiting for thee. I want to get on the way. I'm afraid from the looks of the sky we are going to have a change in the weather."
They drove fast, and reached Lancaster by about six o'clock in the evening, by which time it had grown much colder. They awoke the next morning to find a grey sky and a high northwest wind blowing.
His father had bought an ear-cap and a pair of warm mittens for him in Omaha, and these he was glad to put on, and he noticed when he took his place in the wagon that hot bricks had been tucked away in the bottom under the buffalo robes.
As they drove he noticed that his father was unusually quiet and kept casting glances at the sky. He urged the team forward as fast as they could go, even using the whip, a thing he would never do except in extremities.
By ten o'clock the wind had risen and scattering snowflakes had begun to fall. By noon the sky had changed to a deeper grey and the wind had increased to a biting gale.
It was shortly after one o'clock, and they were clattering fast across the prairies, when a sudden blackness, almost as of night, seemed to fall upon them. For a moment the wind died down and a hush fell over all the earth that was like the hush of death. All about them over the vast, lonesome prairies came a tense, ominous silence, as if all nature were holding its breath. Then, with a whoop and a shriek that was like all the demons of the Inferno let loose, the blizzard was down upon them.
Its onslaught was so fierce and sudden that it staggered the horses and almost upset the wagon. The snow that came on the breath of the terrific gale did not fall in flakes, but in solid whirlingsheets, which blinded, smothered, and utterly bewildered them. It stopped their breath, it stung their eyes, it slashed and beat in their faces like the beating of nettles.
All about them was a blackness almost like that of midnight, and the eddying wall of swirling, blinding snow, driven by a ninety-mile gale, caught them in its embrace, drove the breath from their lungs, froze on their mouths and nostrils, and buffeted them with a fury that almost left them senseless.
The horses, covered with snow almost as solidly as if it had been spread over them with a trowel, stood with drooped tails and heads, dazed and shivering, not knowing which way to go.
Through the demoniac shrieking of the wind Sam heard his father's voice.
"Get down in the bottom of the wagon under the robes," Joshua Peniman shouted, and tried to urge the terrified horses forward against the blast.
He knew that he dared not let them stop now. He knew that come what would he must keep them going as long as they could stand. He could not see a step before him. All about them was a maze, a stinging, dazzling, whirling wall of white, that blown on the breath of the fierce northwest wind pelted and buffeted the very breath from his body.
In a shorter time than would have been believed possible the prairies were covered with snow, all traces of the wagon-trail blotted out, and no indication anywhere which way to go.
The horses seemed utterly bewildered. Finding it impossible to keep them headed against the blast, and fearing that if they once swerved from the direction in which they had been traveling that he would lose his sense of direction and become lost on the prairies, he leaped out of the wagon, and grasping the terrified team by the bits led them forward, resolutely keeping his face toward the west. He knew that the wind was blowing from the northwest. If he kept it on his right cheek he knew that he was keeping in the right direction.
The breath of the horses froze on their mouths and noses, and walking beside them he had to continually wipe it away so that they could breathe. Stumbling along, now protecting his own face and ears, now the faces of the horses, he prayed continually for guidance and help.
Down in the bottom of the wagon against the hot bricks and under the buffalo robes Sam gradually recovered his breath and began getting warm. But fear and anxiety for his father made it impossible for him to keep still.
He wiggled out of the robes and suddenly appeared at his father's elbow.
"You get in and get warm now, Father," he shouted above the shrieking of the blizzard. "I'm warm now; let me walk by the team."
The temperature had fallen to thirty degrees below zero by this time, and warning prickings of his face, ears and feet told Joshua Peniman that he must take every precaution against freezing.
"Can you stand it for a few minutes?" he yelled, with his mouth close to Sam's ear. "I'm afraid my feet are freezing. I'll get on some more clothes and warm up a little, then I'll take them again. Keep the wind on your right cheek all the time. The horses don't seem to know which way to go."
Sam took the bits and his father climbed into the wagon. He rubbed his face and ears with snow, took off his boots and rubbed his feet, then warmed them against the hot bricks, put on his boots and wrapped his feet in pieces torn from the blanket. With another strip of the blanket he wrapped his head about, leaving only his eyes exposed. He knew that the one hope of their getting through this storm alive was for him to keep from freezing and able to direct their movements. When he had protected himself as well as he was able he again sprang to the heads of the floundering horses and sent Sam back into the wagon to rest and get warm.
In this way they kept their blood circulating, and relieved one another. He thanked his precaution of bringing the hot bricks many times. Under the buffalo robes in the straw in the bottom of the wagon they could escape the fury of the freezing gale, and by taking refuge there at short intervals they were able to keep from freezing.
Every moment the blizzard seemed to increase. They could scarcely see the struggling horses from the wagon now, and the snow, drifting on the biting wind, was growing deeper and deeper all about them.
Sam, protected like his father with strips of the blanket tied around his feet and wound about his head up to his eyes, was struggling at the horses' heads when suddenly the wagon gave a lurch, tilted perilously, then stopped.
The horses, up to their middles in snow, plunged and struggled, and Joshua Peniman leaped out, looked, and uttered a deep groan. One of the front wheels was broken at the hub.
For a single terrible moment the father and son stood gazing at the damage, and hope almost vanished from their breasts. Then Joshua Peniman set to work to liberate the plunging horses.
"We'll have to leave it," he shouted, struggling with his half-frozen fingers at the traces. "We'll have to trust to the horses."
"But our wagon—the supplies—our Christmas presents——" Sam shouted back, trying to raise his voice above the howling and shrieking of the storm.
"Can't think of them now," gasped Joshua Peniman; "we'll be lucky if we save ourselves!" And having got poor Charley loose from the disabled wagon he lifted Sam up on his back, and wrapped him about with blankets and one of the buffalo robes. Then taking the other robe from the wagon he mounted Jim, and wrapping himself up as best he could led the way straight into the teeth of the roaring, stinging vortex, that hissed and shrieked like ten thousand demons about their heads.
"Keep close!" he shouted to the boy, "keep Charley's head right up against Jim's tail! Don't lag, don't get out of my tracks or we're lost!"
The drifts were now up to the bellies of the horses, and growing deeper every moment. The wind had increased to a degree against which they could scarcely stand, and the snow came down in such solid sheets of blinding, dazzling white that they could not see a foot before them, could not keep their eyes open against its pelting fury, might almost as well have been stone blind, as they beat their way, struggling, stumbling, floundering, against the storm.
After a few moments of frantic struggling the horses stood still, shaking and trembling, instinct urging them to turn tail to the storm, yet kept facing its cruel onslaught by the firm hand upon the reins. Again and again one or the other of them stumbled and fell, and each time they got to their feet with greater difficulty.
Joshua Peniman had given up trying to ride, and was again walking at their heads, urging them on, patting, encouraging, helping them all he could. He knew that none of them could last long. He knew that the horses must soon fall and perish, and that no human creature could hold out long against the cold that seemed to grow more intense with every passing hour.
With all the strength, all the faith that was in him he prayed for help.
CHAPTER XXII
TO THE RESCUE
In the sod house on the prairies meanwhile there was fearful suspense and anxiety.
From the moment of the departure of her husband and son Hannah Peniman had watched the weather with an anxious eye. When the wind rose and the snow began to fall fear took hold upon her. With eyes scanning the horizon she went from door to window and window to door, hoping every moment to see the wagon approaching over the prairie.
But the hours passed on and they did not come. As the temperature fell and the wind rose her fears increased; and when the pall of darkness fell, and with a whoop and shriek and roar that she could never forget the blizzard swept down upon them, her heart almost died in her breast.
"A blizzard, ablizzard!" she moaned. "Oh, God, help them; God have mercy on them out there on those plains in this storm!"
The children, terrified at the blackness, almost like that of night, that had fallen over the prairies, and at the shrieking and howling of the wind, gathered close about her. She concealed her own fears to comfort them.
At the first approach of the storm the boys had put the cow and horses in the dugout and closed the doors. At five o'clock when they started out to feed them the door of the dugout was drifted half-way up to its top with snow, and the wind was so terrific and the whirl of the wall of snow so blinding and bewildering that they were unable to make their way from the house to the dugout.
Lige, who had started out ahead of Joe, became lost almost before he had left the shelter of the house, and were Joe not close behind him he might have wandered away and perished on the plains.
Battling their way back to the house, holding to one another, they sought the shelter of the kitchen, beaten, breathless, even in those few moments almost frozen. When they made another attempt to get to the dugout they were obliged to tie a rope to the handle of the door and clinging to it grope their way to the dugout, where they made the line fast, and when they had fed and attended to the stock were able to guide themselves by it back to the house.
As the hours passed on and the travelers did not return the anxiety of the family became almost unbearable. At last Joe drew his mother aside. "I can't stay still any longer, Mother," he said. "It is getting dark. Father and Sam ought to have been here long ago; they must have lost their way in this blizzard. Let Lige and me go out to meet them."
Hannah Peniman turned her white face upon him.
"What good would that do?" she asked. "You could not find them—perhaps you too would get lost—perhaps none of you would ever come home. Oh, God, have I not given enough, enough!"
Joe took her hands. "But, Mother," he said firmly, "we can't stay here and let Father and Sam perish in this storm without trying to save them! Lige and I are strong—we can take ropes—we'll tie ourselves to the house so we can always get back. We must go, Mother! They must have got nearly home before the blizzard struck them. They may be out there—not far away—lost and fighting their way through this storm——"
Hannah Peniman cried out and covered her face with her hands. A moment later she turned to the boy and said quickly, "Yes, you must go. It is thy duty—I would not keep thee from it. Go—go quickly! Thy father may be needing thee!"
It was bitterly hard for Hannah Peniman to send her two oldest boys—all that she and the little ones had to depend upon now—out into the howling blizzard. As she gazed out into the whirling, blinding, shrieking tempest it seemed to her almost like giving them up to inevitable destruction. But her husband, another child, were out there somewhere on those prairies in the blizzard. It was the duty of these boys to go to their rescue. All her life Duty had been her guide. So with prayers upon her lips and in her heart she wrapped them up and let them go, fighting their way into the storm inch by inch, unwinding as they went a great coil of rope that had been provided for a well-rope, but which, fortunately, had not been put in use.
As the two lads emerged from the shelter of the sod house the storm caught them in its icy embrace and almost drove the breath from their bodies. They had the wind to their backs, so fortunately were not obliged to head their way into it, but the cold was so intense that it froze the breath in their nostrils, the lashes of their eyes, and the wind so fierce that it fairly lifted them off their feet, causing them to stagger and stumble in the great drifts of snow.
They were warmly clad and well protected, but they had not gone many yards from the house when they began to realize how slight were the chances that their father and brother, caught out upon the prairies in this storm, could ever reach home. In twenty minutes their feet were like chunks of lead, their hands numb and aching, their faces, in the small space left exposed, tingling and freezing. Their breath was gone, their limbs numb and lifeless, and an exhaustion so great upon them that they were scarcely able to forge ahead and keep firm hold upon the rope.
As they stumbled and staggered forward, Joe, far in advance of his brother, stopped abruptly, while a muffled cry came from his numb lips. Spotty, whom they had taken with them, gave vent to a sharp, yelping bark and leaped forward in the snow. Under a drift, with something black protruding from its edges, lay a humped-up form.
Joe sprang to it with an agonized cry.
He bent and with his hands began to scrape away the snow, while Spotty, whimpering loudly, aided him by digging at the drift with his sharp claws. A body, lying face downward, was soon uncovered. Joe turned it over quickly, then gave a choked, quivering sob of relief. The body was that of an Indian.
Lige, fighting his way through the drifts with head bent almost to his knees, heard Spotty's whining bark and stopped.
"What's the matter?" he called out. Then seeing the body, "My Lord,what is that?"
"It's an Indian." Joe rose from his inspection shaking and trembling in every limb. "It scared me almost to death. I—I thought at first it might be—be—Father—or Sam."
"Who is it? Anybody we know?" Lige shouted above the howling of the blizzard.
"No, never saw him before. Poor fellow, I suppose he lost his way in the storm."
"I don't wonder," panted Lige; "I never saw such a storm. Lord, I wish we knew where Father and Sam were! They can't live long in a storm like this."
As they started forward there was a new fear, a new horror in their hearts. The sight of the Indian, young, strong, inured to the hardships of the plains, yet stark and dead in the drift, brought to them a hideous picture of what at that very moment might be happening to their father, older and not so agile and strong—and to Sam—their chum, playmate and brother—little more than a child!
Lige had not approached the Indian, but with a shuddering glance had pushed on. As Joe started forward his foot struck something imbedded in the snow. At another time he would have stopped to see what it was, but all his thoughts, all his fears were with his father out there in that whirling, blinding, shrieking blizzard, and his one thought to reach him if that was possible.
At the metallic click Lige turned and looked back.
"What was that?" he asked.
"I dunno, a tin can, I guess," answered Joe, and could not guess as he plunged forward through the blizzard that the solution of the mystery about which he had puzzled so much lay close at his feet.
When the two boys reached the utmost length of their rope they stood still, not knowing what to do next. They knew to abandon it and go forward would probably mean death, that they would soon become lost in the tempest, in which they could tell neither location nor direction, and probably perish in the storm.
They stood side by side, holding on to the rope and one another, their backs to the wind, gasping, panting, exhausted, half-frozen from the stinging blast that beat about them, half blinded by the snow that was almost waist-deep where they stood, and which covered them from head to foot while they stood still.
Spotty, crouched up close against them, whined and looked up in their faces as if trying to ask why they should be out in that storm.
"Do you suppose we'd have any chance of finding them out there, Joe?" Lige asked between chattering teeth.
"Not much," Joe answered huskily. "I don't believe anybody could live long in this."
"I wonder if we shouted——"
"They'd never hear us through this blizzard."
"Let's try it anyhow. The wind is blowing that way. They might hear—and if they were lost——"
Presently the two young voices were joined in a shout as loud as they could force from their aching chests. Spotty hearing it seemed to get some inkling that there was trouble and set up a loud barking. He ran round and round them in circles, nosing in the snow, and when Joe pointed off ahead into the reeling wall of the blizzard and cried "Go get Sam, Spotty, go get Father!" he looked up in his face, whined, barked, ran forward into the snow, then back to leap and bark about them.
Again and again they shouted, calling upon their father's name, upon Sam's, with all the strength that was in them.
After each shout they listened, straining their ears for a reply. But all that came to them was the wild roaring of the blizzard, the shrieking of the wind as it whipped up the snow and tossed it in blinding clouds over the plains.
For long they stood, the cold eating into their very vitals.
At last Lige spoke. "I can't stand it any longer, Joe, I'm freezing to death. Let's go on. They can't be very far——"
"If we ever get away from the rope we'll never get back home," answered Joe. "And you know we've got to think of Mother and the girls. If Father never comes back——"
His voice faltered and stopped.
"We'll have to go back then," gasped Lige; "we can't stand here any longer. We'll both freeze to death."
They stood, the two young, strained faces turned toward the cruel storm, their eyes trying to penetrate the reeling, swirling wall of white that eddied and whirled about them.
At this moment, when all hope was dead in their hearts, when they had both abandoned the last expectation of ever seeing their father and brother alive again, there came to their ears a far, faint cry.
They clutched each other.
"What was that?" whispered Lige, trembling like an aspen leaf.
Joe's only answer was to draw in his breath and send forth a shout so strong, so thrilling with the hope that awoke in his breast that even the tempest seemed to heed it. For a second the wind seemed to ease, and in that second they both called and shouted at the top of their lungs again and again.
Spotty too had heard the call. He seemed to know now what the trouble was, and what was expected of him. Barking loudly he plunged forward through the drifts, constantly looking back and stopping to bark and whine, as if begging the boys to follow him.
Only for a moment was he visible, then the storm closed about him and he passed out of their sight.
Presently the call came again.
"It's them—it's Father—it's Sam!" the boys shouted in chorus.
"It's them, it's them! They're alive! They're out there somewhere. Oh, Joe, let's go after them!" panted Lige.
For a moment Joe hesitated. All his heart was urging him to rush on into the blinding tempest toward the point from whence the faint calls came. But the judgment with which nature had gifted him, that judgment that was to mean so much to so many people in his after life, restrained him.
"No, we'd better stay here," he answered. "If we get away from the rope we might get lost ourselves, and make things worse. We'll do them more good by staying right here and shouting to them so we will guide them to us. I believe by the sound they're coming nearer. Listen!"
Again they sent forth a great shout.
For a moment there was no sound other than the roaring of the blizzard, then more distinctly than before came the answer.
"There!" shouted Joe, "it is nearer! They are coming this way. Listen! That's Spotty barking! I believe he sees them! All we've got to do now is to keep shouting."
With hope renewed they redoubled their shouts and yells. Nearer, and yet nearer came the answer, and at last, staggering out of the wall of white they could make out two huge shapeless bulks, which as they came nearer gradually developed into two floundering, staggering horses, with heads down and nostrils clogged and caked with ice and snow, and on their backs two shapeless creatures, which they at last saw, with a joy too great for expression, were their father and Sam, wrapped up in the buffalo robes and blankets.
Behind them, before them, around and about them leaped Spotty, barking and leaping upon them as if he could not express his joy. He it was who had reached them in their bewilderment and guided them back to the rope. They were hopelessly lost, had neither sense of location nor direction left, and had been wandering about for hours in circles when they heard, faint and far away, the sound of shouts. They answered, with all the strength that was left in them, but even then so paralyzed and bewildered had they become by cold and exhaustion that they should never have been able to follow it, but that Spotty came bursting through the storm like a guiding angel and barking and leaping about them had guided them on.
With the blizzard at its height the worn and weakened party would never have reached home but for the rope that anchored them to safety. Holding tight to it and leading the way Joe and Lige beat their way forward leading the almost dying horses, whose knees were fairly giving way beneath them from exhaustion, while the man and boy upon their backs were almost insensible from numbness and cold.
It seemed an endless fight against the tempest, but the rope held, and step by step they fought their way back by its aid, until suddenly out of the impalpable shroud that wrapped them in its icy embrace they fairly bunted into the walls of the dugout.
"The dugout!" gasped Joe, "thank God, oh, thank God! I began to fear we would none of us live to get home!"
Seizing Jim's bridle he led him up to the wall and lifted his father down in his strong young arms. Lige was already lifting Sam from Charley's back, so weak, so numb and exhausted that he could neither move nor speak.
As Joe was staggering toward the house with his father in his arms the door was burst open and Mrs. Peniman rushed out into the storm.
"Thank God, thank God!" she sobbed over and over, as together they lifted the wayfarers into the house, rubbed snow on their frozen faces and ears, got them into hot blankets, poured hot drinks and nourishment into them, and worked over them until life began to revive. Then they got them into bed with hot irons about them, and with a gratitude and thankfulness too great for words saw them gradually fall into a natural and healthy sleep.
Sam had a badly frozen ear, two frost-bitten toes, and a frosted finger, and Mr. Peniman's left foot was so badly frozen that it was many weeks before he could walk again. But these injuries were as nothing compared to the fact that they had come out of the most terrible blizzard ever known in the territory alive, and the thought that the lost was found, the dear ones given up as dead restored to life again, was joy enough to overbalance any amount of pain.
CHAPTER XXIII
CHRISTMAS ON THE PRAIRIES
The blizzard which so nearly cost Joshua Peniman and Sam their lives raged unabated for three days. When it was over the prairies lay a vast wilderness of unbroken white from horizon to horizon, the snow lying five feet deep on the level.
For several days Mr. Peniman was compelled to remain in bed, completely prostrated by the experience he had been through. But Sam, though somewhat frost-bitten in places, awoke the next morning as well as ever, and greatly exalted by the sense of being a hero.
The blizzard was followed by a spell of bitterly cold weather, the thermometer going down to thirty-six below. While the family all felt great anxiety about the abandoned wagon and its precious contents it was impossible to go after it until the weather moderated. In the meantime they employed the hours of the long cold days by making runners, one pair of which they affixed to Joe's wagon, carrying the other pair with them when a day at last came when the weather had so far moderated that they dared face it without danger of freezing.
They set out with all six horses, Jim and Charley drawing the wagon on runners, in which Mr. Peniman, Joe, Sam, and Lige rode, Joe leading his own team and Lige the Carroll horses, which had been rechristened Major and Nellie.
There was a hard, solid crust over the deep drifts, that carried them safely, and the sun sparkled like diamonds over the vast unbroken expanse of spotless white. On their way they saw three grey wolves and ten elk, which came within two hundred yards of them, driven to forget fear by hunger.
As the improvised sledge glided smoothly over the snow the thoughts of the whole party were busy with the dangers and terrors of the blizzard.
"It was just about here that we found that poor old Indian, Lige," said Joe, scanning the snow-covered prairies about them.
"Yes; I don't see any sign of him now though," replied Lige.
"What Indian?" asked Mr. Peniman.
"When we were coming out to meet you we came upon the body of an Indian, dead and half-covered by snow," answered Joe. "I thought after we'd got you safe home we'd come back and bury him; but I guess the snow has done that better than we could, poor fellow!"
"Did you know him?"
"No, I never saw him before."
"Did you see any signs of any other Indians about?"
"No, he seemed to be all alone. And the funny thing to me was that we didn't see any signs of his pony. It seemed queer that an Indian should be way off here alone, on foot."
"If you'd looked far enough you would probably have found his pony in some draw or ravine. The poor fellow probably got lost in the blizzard, and feeling himself freezing to death deserted his horse in a drift somewhere, perhaps, and was making for some place of shelter when cold and exhaustion overcame him."
"Golly, it sure gave us a shock when we found him," broke in Lige; "I didn't see him, but Joe thought at first it was you or Sam."
"Thank God it was not," said Joshua Peniman fervently. "I know what the poor fellow must have suffered. I thought at one time his fate would surely be ours."
They found the wagon exactly where they had left it, completely covered over by a drift, its contents undisturbed, and practically uninjured by the storm.
When it was unloaded they removed the wheels and affixed to the bottom the extra pair of runners. They then replaced the contents, harnessed Kit, Billy, and black Major to it, while Jim, Charley, and Nellie were put to the other wagon. It was well for them that they had six powerful horses to pull the load, for weighted as the wagons now were they continually broke through the crust, and the journey back to the homestead required constant use of picks and shovels, and all the strength, initiative, and energy of both drivers and horses.
They reached home at last, and as soon as they had warmed, eaten, and rested a little immediately set to work to install the new heating-stove.
That night the family did not shiver about the stove in the kitchen, but clustered about in the warm glow of the new heater, cozy and comfortable, and thankful from the bottoms of their hearts, they enjoyed with the relish of appetites long denied the candy and popcorn and peanuts that Sam had brought to them.
That winter—the winter of 1856-7—will long be remembered on the prairies. From December until March storm followed storm, blizzard followed blizzard, the time between filled in with the coldest weather ever known in the west.
The young Penimans, who had run as free as wild antelopes over the plains ever since their arrival, were now compelled to stay in the house, which, small and circumscribed as it was, was sometimes almost too small to hold them.
One morning when the snow drove against the windows and a bitter wind howled across the prairies Mrs. Peniman looked across the breakfast table at her husband with a smile.
"Father," she said, "does thee not think that the time has come for us to begin our school?"
"I certainly do, my dear," replied Joshua Peniman. "I was thinking of suggesting it this morning. The children have been out of school too long now, but with all the work we had to do to make living conditions possible for the winter we have not had time to get our school started before. But now is the time to do it. They cannot be outdoors, there is little work about the place that can be done in this weather, and it will occupy their time and attention."
"But we haven't any school to go to, Father," cried Ruth, "nor any books or teachers!"
Mrs. Peniman laughed. "Just wait and see," she said. "Your school is going to be right here, and Father and I will be the teachers. Didn't you know that Father used to be a teacher in the Friends' School at home? And the books are right in the trunk over there."
"I don't want to go to school," grumbled Sam, "I want to play outdoors."
"I do," cried Joe. "I want to study. Can you teach us history and language and algebra, Father?"
Mr. Peniman smiled. "I have taught older and wiser boys than you, Joe, and I think I can teach you any branches that you will need to take up now."
"All right then, I'm all for it," declared Lige; "let's get our school started this morning."
It was quite a game after all, and they all entered gaily into the spirit of it, everybody helping to push the furniture about and arrange boxes and tables and chairs for the "school."
Mrs. Peniman took Sara, Paul, Mary, and David into the rear part of the sod house and drew the curtains between, and Mr. Peniman got out the school-books they had brought with them from Ohio and set Joe, Lige, Sam, Nina, and Ruth at work.
The program was so arranged that while some of the more advanced pupils, as Joe and Lige, were studying, the less advanced, as Sam and Ruth, were reciting. As Sam and Ruth had always kept pretty well together in their classes they were a great help to one another, but Nina was a problem. While far in advance of Sam and Ruth in English, geography, reading, and spelling, she was hopelessly behind them in grammar and mathematics. Indeed her whole curriculum of studies had been so superficially and sketchily acquired that Mr. Peniman scarcely knew what to do with her.
"I think I'll have to put you up a grade, Nina," he told her jokingly. "You are far and away beyond Ruth and Sam, yet I hardly think that on account of your arithmetic you could keep up with Lige and Joe."
"Oh, please do put me up with Lige and Joe, Father Peniman," begged Nina; "I have never really studied in my life, but I believe that I could keep up if I studied with Joe."
At first she made sad work of her lessons. Her work was brilliant but superficial, and Mr. Peniman, who insisted on thoroughness, was completely discouraged with her. On one occasion when she had signally failed in a recitation and had retired to her seat in tears Joe came to her side to comfort her.
"You don't know how to study, that's what's the matter with you, Princess," he told her. "Let me help you. We'll get our lessons together this evening."
Nina smiled up at him through her tears. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Joesy," she whispered. "I know I don't know how to study. I never really went to school, I always had governesses and tutors and never had to. But I can learn—I know I can—if you will teach me." And after that Joe and Nina always studied together, Joe's thorough, methodical mind acting as a balance as well as an incentive to the more brilliant but less logical mind of Nina.
Mrs. Peniman meanwhile with her little flock gathered about her knees had various and sundry milestones on the road of knowledge to start from. While Paul read and spelled well, wrote a fine large hand and had been initiated into the mysteries of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, Sara was only staggering through simple addition, stumbled sadly in reading, and was still scrawling huge hieroglyphics that only by the greatest courtesy could be called writing, Mary knew her letters and was in the c-a-t, cat, and r-a-t, rat, stage of development, and little David was still at sea in an ocean of letters, from which he could pick out a round O or a crooked S on occasion.
It was not easy teaching, but the parents had given up their home and friends and all the comforts of life to obtain for these young people greater and better opportunities, and were not to be balked by small difficulties. Day after day while the snow fell and the wind howled across the prairies the little school went on, and soon began to grow accustomed to the conditions, and the pupils to make rapid strides.
They rose early, and while Mr. Peniman and the older boys went outside to do the necessary work, Mrs. Peniman with Ruth, Nina, and Mary got the breakfast, washed up the dishes, made the beds, put the house in order, and arranged the two rooms for the "school" by nine o'clock, when the father and boys came in to begin the morning session.
At noon Mrs. Peniman dismissed her little pupils, with orders to play quietly and not disturb the students in the front part of the house, while she prepared dinner. At twelve-thirty Mr. Peniman closed the morning session, and they all ran out for a tussle with the wind or a frolic in the snow before dinner. When the meal had been eaten and cleared away the afternoon session was begun, and until four o'clock the little sod house was a very hive of activity, after which time they were all free, and while Mr. Peniman and the boys went out to do the evening chores and other outside work the younger children romped about until supper time, soon after which they all went to bed.
On the morning of December 24th Mr. Peniman announced at the breakfast table that they were to have a half holiday.
"As this is the day before Christmas," he continued, "I think we will have to go out and see if we can't find some mistletoe and greens of some kind, and a tree that might serve for a Christmas tree."
"A Christmas tree?" the children all shouted in a breath. "Are we going to have aChristmas tree?"
"Why, of course," smiled Mrs. Peniman. "Santa Claus has never failed to visit us yet, has he, Ruthie? And I don't believe he'll forget us this year, even if we are away off out here on the prairies."
Nina looked up with beaming eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad! I thought maybe we weren't going to have any Christmas. I've been thinking and thinking about it, but I didn't like to say anything, 'fraid it would make you feel badly."
"We'll have some kind of a Christmas, my dear," said Mr. Peniman. "It may not be the kind of a Christmas that you have always been accustomed to, but we will celebrate the dear day in some way."
Directly after dinner they all set off down the river bank, the boys in high boots, ear-caps, big coats, and mittens, the girls muffled to the eyes in coats, furs, scarfs, big Alaska overshoes, and leggings, and Mrs. Peniman looking very fat and pudgy in a pair of Mr. Peniman's trousers, over which she wore a huge woolly coat and hood, with scarf and mittens, and was bundled up so she looked like the Little Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe.
They all set out in high spirits, and slid, slipped, coasted, snowballed and indulged in wild frolics over the snow, while Mr. and Mrs. Peniman took turns riding on the sled, which their wild young chargers took delight in upsetting as often as possible.
After long search they at last found a young pine tree which came to a fine apex at the height of about five feet, and in the woods they found bright red berries, mistletoe in the tops of some trees, which Lige and Sam were only too pleased to climb, and deep under the snow some kinnikinick, which with its dainty green leaves and red berries made wonderful decorations.
They returned home with the sled laden and in high glee.
The tree was set up in a corner of the soddy that evening after supper, and when pop-corn was strung from limb to limb, apples and oranges hung from the branches, small sacks of candy tied on, and the candles, which Mr. Peniman had thoughtfully provided on his almost fatal trip to Omaha, carefully disposed among the branches and lighted, it was a gorgeous sight. Beneath it on the floor were a great heap of queer-looking bumpy bundles, to which each one brought his or her contribution with great secrecy, and which were not one of them opened until the next morning.
It was scarcely light on Christmas morning when a great jingling outside (whichof courseno one recognized as the notes of the dinner-bell) announced the arrival of Santa Claus.
There was a great hemming and hawing, a great stamping of feet in the snow, and then the door opened, and Santa Claus, in a marvelous wig and whiskers (made out of the wool of a pair of old grey woolen stockings) and a wonderful costume (which of course no one recognized as a suit of red flannel underwear elegantly trimmed in strips of white cotton flannel), came prancing in with a sack on his back and began dispensing presents with a generous hand.
There were dolls for Mary and Sara, writing paper and ribbons and pretty handkerchiefs for Nina and Ruth, books and neckties for Joe, ties, handkerchiefs and a handsome muffler for Lige, balls and bats and tops and gloves for Sam and Paul, and a great lot of toys, including the remarkable hobby-horse that Sam had bought him, for little David.
But if the children had been remembered well neither Mr. nor Mrs. Peniman had been forgotten. Mrs. Peniman's heart was deeply touched by the gift of a beautiful white apron, made from one of her own pretty white dresses with infinite pains and secrecy by Nina, who gave Ruth a beautiful sash-ribbon with hair ribbons to match out of her own little store, Sara ribbons, a sash ribbon and a pretty white dress, and Lige and Sam her own gold pencil and a box of drawing crayons. But to Joe she gave her dearest treasure, a pretty red morocco book of verses, which her father had given to her on her last birthday, with an inscription written on the inside which deeply touched Joe's heart. For Mr. Peniman she had made a penwiper out of one of her own little felt shoes.
Joe and Lige had nothing to give their father and mother but their kisses and love, but for each of the children they had made or contrived in secret some little toy that added to the merriment of the day, and fully as welcome and as much appreciated as if they had come from a city store. Mrs. Peniman delighted her husband by bringing forth from one of the knobby bundles under the tree three fine new shirts, made at night and in secret with the labor of her own tired hands, and Mr. Peniman handed to her a bundle from beneath the tree, that had come all the way from Omaha the day of the blizzard, and had lain out in the wagon under the snow for more than a week. It contained a handsome new dress, which everybody praised and admired tremendously, and was as delighted over as if it had been given to themselves.
Altogether it was a most wonderful Christmas.
The dinner, at which a wild turkey took the place of the usual tame one, and at which the wild grape jelly and the plum preserves and a real plum pudding (made weeks before and hidden away for the occasion), was pronounced a grand success.
The afternoon was spent in games, winding up with a great snow-frolic, and snow-cream for supper. But when the evening came and the younger children had gone to bed the others gathered close about the fire and quiet gradually settled down upon them.
It had been a happy day, but now as the evening shadows gathered memories of other Christmases came out of the dusk and lingered about them.
To Mr. and Mrs. Peniman the memory of the little one they had lost, the tiny grave left behind there on the desolate loneliness of the prairies, was seldom out of their thoughts. And now as their thoughts traveled back over the past, bringing up to them the memories of Christmas at the old home, and the dear ones they were perhaps never to see again, there came a deep sadness that neither of them would permit themselves to express.
To Joe and Lige and Sam and Ruth this Christmas evening was also bringing memories. They could never forget the old home they had loved so well in the Muskingum Valley, nor the dear grandmother, the aunts and cousins and friends whom they had left behind.
But to Nina, sitting with her chin cupped in her hand and her lovely violet eyes gazing into the fire, came the saddest memories. She thought of her last Christmas, and of that dear father and mother whom she had so loved and who had always done so much to make her life a happy one, and the tears brimmed her eyes. She thought of her father's illness, the strange cloud that always seemed to be hanging over them, of their journey westward, and of the tragic death of both her parents on the plains. She remembered as if she had seen it yesterday the two long graves, side by side, with the wooden cross at the head and the morning sunlight shining down upon the fresh earth and newly-turned sod. Then her thoughts went forward over the months since, with all the mystery and terror that had surrounded her, and a great wonder and terror grew in her mind. Wonder of that mystery that hung about her; terror of that menace that seemed to so darkly pursue her; fear of what the years might have in store for her, who knew so little of who she was or where she belonged.
As the recollection of her lonely state came over her she heaved a deep, quivering sigh. The room was in darkness except for the firelight that threw its flickering light upon their faces, and as tears welled into her eyes she felt a hand slipped into her own and turned to see Joe sitting on a box at her feet and looking up at her with an expression of such deep tenderness and sympathy in his eyes that she knew he understood what was passing in her mind.
"It's all right, Joesy," she whispered, blinking the tear-drops from her lashes; "I was only thinking—and you know——"
"I know, Princess," he said, pressing her hand tenderly, "I know."
That was all. But it was enough for Nina. The pressure of that warm, strong young hand in hers, the sympathy in those honest grey eyes, banished the shadows that had been creeping round her as if by magic. Somehow the knowledge that Joe was near, that Joe understood, chased away the feeling of loneliness and mystery, and made her feel safe and happy again.