He was a young chief endeavoring to earn the approval of his tribe and the consequent advancement and influence, according to the custom of the Sioux. Down the hill he came with a rush right into the thick of the fire, and yet, though the bullets whistled on all sides of him, he was unharmed. Nearer and nearer he drew, until he reached a point within two hundred yards of the white man's guns. Then he stopped, turned his pony half-way round and flourished his revolver derisively, yelling imprecations at the garrison the while. He then fired a shot which came so close to John, that he was sure he could feel the wind of it—the sound was unmistakable.
After this reckless feat, the young chief trotted slowly back to his own people, but kept his face always towards his enemies. The daring of the deed took both sides by surprise, and for a time hardly a shot was fired by white man or red. It was a tribute to the young brave's courage and bravado.
It would not do, however, to let him escape unharmed. Other warriors might be inspired toemulate the rash act, and if they took it into their heads to rush the stockade there would certainly be much loss of life.
The Indians now began firing again, covering as well as possible their comrade's retreat. Those behind the barricade also woke up.
"Shoot that fellow, boys," cried Big Bill. "He mustn't get away unhurt. We've got to discourage that sort of thing."
Every man aimed at the fleeing Indian, but still he rode with his face towards his foe, gesturing defiance. The feathers in his war-bonnet fluttered in the wind, and the quirt hung on his upraised right wrist swayed with the motion of his pony.
Of a sudden a single rifle spoke from the white man's intrenchments, and, in an instant, the young chief was changed from a superb living bronze statue to a lump. He fell, clawing at his saddle and yelling shrilly. His well-trained war pony slowed down and circled back to where his master lay.
All this occupied much less time than it takes to tell it.
During this distraction, half a dozen Indians, who had been unhorsed, rose from their brush coverts and ran for their lives to gain the more substantial refuge which the ridge afforded.Four escaped, but two were dropped in their tracks before they could reach the shelter.
Though bullets had dropped all around the white men, none had been hit.
"Had enough?" said the sheriff. "Found the camp stronger than you thought, eh?"
Such seemed to be the case, for, after a long parley, which was held discreetly out of range, the band disappeared, leaving their dead on the prairie.
An attempt had been made to rescue the fallen, but the risk was too great, and it was given up.
The Indians had been gone some time before the little garrison crept carefully from under cover, for the Sioux were notoriously tricky and their apparent departure might simply be a ruse to put their enemies off their guard.
Finally, however, the sheriff turned to his men. "Casino," said he, "you, Singing Jim, and Calamity Jake follow their trail and see what becomes of them. If they start to come back you hump yourselves and let us know. You'd better go along, Hodson, and look after your stock."
The men appointed saddled up and started out without delay. The good wishes of those remaining went with them. It was a perilousundertaking, for there was no telling where the war party might be or what they might do.
After the scouts had left, guards were set to keep watch and prevent a surprise, though it was thought that there was little danger of an attack by daylight.
The sheriff and the rest of the men began to count noses, not only of men but of stock, for it might be that in the excitement some one or some animal had been hit unknown to the others. In fact, it would be a marvel if one bullet had not reached its mark, since, at times, they had dropped around like hail.
All were found intact, but several of the wagons had been pretty badly riddled.
A barrel of molasses which rested in one of the wagons was punctured by a 45-calibre bullet, and the sticky stuff leaked down on and in a trunk marked "Charles R. Green, Boston."
"Belongs to a tenderfoot who got stalled with the rest of his outfit near the railroad," Casino had explained, when some one remarked on the strange object.
Certainly the "tenderfoot" was having rather a novel introduction to the hardships of frontier life. As Charley Green said afterwards, "he was stuck on himself for fair."
Mr. Worth and John now thought of the familyat the Sebells', and at the first lull they made their way back between wagons, around and through bunches of cattle, mules, and horses to the house. It was hard to tell which was most glad to see the other, but a stranger coming in would not have realized that this was the return of a father and son after several hours' exposure to all the perils of Indian warfare. There were no tears of joy, no outward demonstration of happiness. The frontiersman had learned, perhaps from the Indian, perhaps from stern nature herself, to keep his feelings to himself. Even John and Ben were not demonstrative.
"I suppose you did 'em up?" said the latter to his more fortunate brother. "How many were there in the party?"
John dropped to the floor, for the experience of the night before was, at least, trying. "Sure we did," he answered. "They didn't come till daylight and so were in plain sight, while we were under cover, see? Same bunch we saw the other day, I guess. Phew! I'm tired."
He had hardly got the words out of his mouth before he was sound asleep, and, not long after, his father was also in the land where none but phantom enemies are seen.
The Indians evidently had enough, for they disappeared, taking with them, however, some ofthe N bar N stock. The two herders accepted the situation, each in his own fashion.
"I told you so," groaned Calamity Jake. "These pesky Indians ought to be wiped off the face of the earth."
Singing Jim, however, merely grinned, and said as he ran his fingers through his hair: "Well, I'm glad this thatch is not decorating some Sioux tepee. I think it looks better on me than it would on a lodge pole."
After this, things went on in much the same old way in the little frontier town, for the Indians did not venture another attack.
In spite of its small size, Bismarck was a busy place and was the distributing point for a large unsettled territory.
Freighters came in from points on the distant railroad with provisions for the cattlemen, trappers, and miners, and the constantly changing population of the town. Their wagons were in long trains, one hitched to the other, the whole drawn by many teams of mules and driven by one man, who rode the near mule next the first wagon, controlling his team by a single "jerk line," which ran to the front near animal. This mule, who was picked for his intelligence, knew that one pull on the line meant turn left, and two short jerks indicated that a right turn waswanted; moreover, he knew just how wide a sweep to make to clear an obstruction.
When the trapper came to town to bring in his pelts for shipment East, and to get a supply of pork, beans, and coffee—-his standbys in the matter of diet—-and when the cowboy raced in with a couple of pack ponies to get supplies for his outfit, the rare opportunity was always taken advantage of to enjoy what pleasures the town afforded. The gamblers and saloon keepers did a thriving business, though a perilous one, for, on the slightest provocation, the frontiersman was ever ready with his shooting irons.
It was only a few weeks after the Indian attack described before the parching heat of summer began to give way before the dreaded wintry breath of the North.
John and Ben, when they went out to guard their father's stock, gave up their daily swimming in the river and took up horse racing instead; and many a race was hotly contested. The boy, however, who rode Baldy, the big bay, always won.
Mr. Worth, as has been noted before, was a freighter; he was also a miner, opening up mines of coal in the deep-cut river banks, the coal so obtained being sold to the government for the fort garrisons.
GLANCING OVER SAW AN INDIAN VILLAGE. (Page 37.)
On these coal-prospecting trips he usually went alone, carrying on his back the bare necessaries of life: a blanket, perhaps a string of bacon, a bag of beans, and a little coffee, besides the never-absent rifle and revolver.
Late in the fall, Mr. Worth set out on a prospecting trip. The garrisons of Fort Lincoln and other outposts situated up the river were clamoring for more fuel, and no time must be lost if they were to be supplied before the heavy snows set in.
John went with his father a half day's journey, helping to carry his equipment. They started out afoot, and the mother, holding the baby in her arms, watched them.
"So long," called back Mr. Worth, as he started out.
"So long," returned his wife.
At dark, John returned and, in his self-sufficient way, began to prepare for the night. He and Ben each saddled a horse, of which there were several tied to a pole, and set out to round up the "saddle band" (as the ponies which were reserved for riding were called), and the work stock of mules and pack horses. They were not far off, nibbling the tufted buffalo grass, and soon were turned toward the corral, the boys riding on either side, ready to head off anyanimal that showed a disposition to separate or lead the "bunch" astray.
The stock safely disposed of, John and Ben went back to the shack, but were promptly sent out again for wood and water.
"Let's get a lot of wood," said Ben, "for it's colder than blazes. Hope the governor will find a good place to turn in to-night."
"Oh, he's all right," replied John, between grunts, for the load of wood he was carrying was both heavy and bulky.
An hour or so later, the windows and door were barred, the embers of the fire scattered, and all hands turned in for the night. The beds were really bunks built into the wall, and were not exactly luxurious, spring mattresses being quite unknown; but the boys found them comfortable, and in a minute or two were rolled in their blankets like great cocoons and fast asleep.
Mr. Worth was not expected back for several weeks, for his journey was to be a long one and subject to many delays on account of bad weather and, worse, Indians.
It was about a week after he had left that Charley Green came up to where the boys sat on the door-step braiding whips or quirts.
"Hullo, kids," he said, "Mr. Mackenzie wants—whatare you doing?" His curiosity made him forget his errand.
"Braidin' a rope to hang a couple of horse thieves," said John, facetiously. "What did you think we were doing, branding calves?"
Even the kids made fun of the "tenderfoot," who was really a good fellow, just out from an Eastern college, but densely ignorant as far as Western ways went. He saw he was being laughed at, and so hastened to come back to his errand.
"Mr. Mackenzie wants some old clothes, blankets, and other warm things for a man who turned up just now, half-dressed. He's almost frozen. White man, too," he added.
In a few minutes John and Tenderfoot Green reached the sheriff's shack, bearing clothes and blankets. The crowd that stood before the door parted and allowed them to pass.
In the far corner of the room, leaning over the fire, sat a man who turned his head as John and Green came in.
"Why, it's my father!" cried John.
The boy rushed forward and asked what had happened.
The small, rough living-room in the sheriff's shack was soon crowded with men who pressed forward eager to hear the story.
When Mr. Worth was rested somewhat and thoroughly warmed through, he began:
"After leaving home, I travelled for two days and nothing happened. There were plenty of Indian signs about, marks of moccasined feet and prints of unshod horses' hoofs."
"Where were you bound?" asked some one.
"Up the river near Fort Stevenson. Got a coal mine up there, you know," the narrator answered. "Well, I kept a pretty sharp lookout for hostiles—and all the Indians are hostile around Fort Stevenson—but up to the time I'm going to tell you about I didn't see any. I followed the old trails made by the buffalo and deer across the prairie, and did my best to cover upmy own tracks—wore moccasins till the cacti cut 'em too much, then shifted to boots. Of course boots made a much clearer print and would give me away sure if they were seen."
"Why?" whispered Tenderfoot Green to Casino.
"Because, you chump," retorted Casino, "the Indians never wear boots, so they know right away when they see marks of heel and sole that a white man has been that way. See?"
Worth continued, without noticing this whispered colloquy: "I was getting nearer and nearer the river every minute, and I knew that when I got there my chances of getting through all right would be better, for the brush and banks would afford the cover that the prairie lacked."
His hearers nodded their heads understandingly, and even Tenderfoot Green seemed to take in the situation.
"The wind was getting pretty keen, and I was afraid it would snow; if it did, I knew my trail would be as plain as a column of smoke in a clear sky, so I hustled for the river at a good pace. In spite of my hurry, though, I managed to keep a sharp lookout for Indians. As I topped every rise I took a good survey of everything in view, and it was well I did, for about dusk I reached the crest of a low hill, and on glancing over saw an Indianvillage. It lay directly in my path, not far from the river. It was still too light to attempt to go round it, so I lay down behind some sage brush and watched what was going on. The village, which contained about fifty tepees, was placed within easy distance of the river and was well supplied with cottonwood."
"Used the cottonwood for fuel, I suppose?" broke in Green.
"Yes, and the green bark to feed the horses on in heavy snowy weather," volunteered Mackenzie.
"Excuse me, Mr. Worth," apologized Tenderfoot, "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"That's all right," said Worth. "A lot of squaws were busy doing men's work, as is the way of the poor things, scraping hides that were staked on the ground, mending buffalo-skin tepees, pounding berries, carrying wood and water. Some were busy with easier jobs, such as making deerskin clothes and ornamenting moccasins with beads. I could see only a few bucks; the others were probably off on a hunt.There was danger in that, for if they found my trail on their way back to camp they would of course follow it, and then—well, I should be lucky to come out of it alive."
The listening men began to show signs of impatience. All this was an old story to them; they wanted to hear the end of the tale, and how he came to be in such a plight.
"Well, to make a long story short," said Worth, beginning to realize that he was telling much that was obvious to most of his hearers, "while I lay there, planning and idly watching the Indian camp, the hunting party was actually returning. Suddenly I felt the weight of a man on my back. I struggled and fought, and finally threw him off. Jumping to my feet, I faced two savages who had come in advance of the main party and had stolen on me unawares. Both now rushed at me, but I dodged one and tripped the other. Before I could finish the man I had thrown, the first was at me again. Loaded as I was by my pack, I was soon fagged. My gun had been taken by the redskin when he fell on me. Why he didn't use it on me I cannot understand—perhaps I didn't give him time. Now both of them jumped for me, and try as I might I could not dodge or disable them. I had already begun to fear that the game was up, whenI saw a whole bunch of Indians, the rest of the hunting party, coming along the trail.
"There wasn't any use fighting a mob like that, so I stopped struggling, let my captors hold me, and waited for whatever might come.
"The redskins crowded around me, and I thought that my time had come.
"'Stev'son, you come in,' says one brave. 'Hoss, pony, you got 'em?' calls out another big scowling savage. I shook my head.
"Then I caught sight of a face I knew—old Chief Looking Glass. (I warmed him up with coffee once when he was near frozen to death. Indians will do most anything for a cup of coffee.) He pushed forward through the crowd and shook hands with me. I could see he was trying to get his men to separate and leave us, but it wasn't any sort of use; they pressed around, and it was very evident that they wanted my pack. Looking Glass finally started alone towards the camp, calling to his braves to come along, but this plan didn't work at all; for the minute he got out of sight over the brow of the hill the thieving gang began to strip me. There was no use resisting; they were too many for me. Before I knew where I was I was stark naked, except for a few rags. Even my boots were yanked off. We were almost in the village bythis time, for I had been pulled and pushed over the crest and down the slope of the hill. My tormentors then left me and began to divide my outfit, so I crawled off, shivering and sore, anxious to get out of sight as soon as possible."
"Wasn't it cold?" said Tenderfoot Green.
"Rather," said Mr. Worth, a grim smile showing on his weather-beaten face. "A man does not go tramping across the bare prairie in weather like this dressed in a few rags, bare-footed, and feel as if he was in a hot spring. It was fully as cold as it is now, and this is a pretty sharp day." He shivered at the mere remembrance, while his listeners gave a general laugh at the simplicity of the question.
"Where did you get your blanket and moccasins?" asked Green, anxious to divert the crowd's attention.
He pointed at the articles that Worth seemed to be guarding with unnecessary care.
"These here blanket and moccasins saved my life," continued the latter. "As I was pushing along I heard a woman's voice calling. I turned and saw a squaw running after me with a blanket and a pair of moccasins in her hands. 'Looking Glass blanket and moccasins,' she said, as she handed them to me. Then she turned timidly and ran back to the camp.
"It was almost dark now, and growing colder every minute. I put on the moccasins, wrapped the blanket around me, though it smelled strong of Indian, and set out at a dog-trot in the direction of a wagon trail. If I could reach that I might be lucky enough to strike a white man's camp or a freighter's outfit, and then I should be all right.
"I travelled all that night, keeping in the right direction by a sort of instinct that my knowledge of the lay of the land gave me. It was a pretty tough journey though, I can tell you. I had to fight hard to keep off the sleepy feeling that comes before freezing, and for hour after hour I dragged myself along numb and aching with the cold, but hoping against all reason and probability that I might run across some of the boys before it was too late. Toward daybreak I must have got kinder lonely, for I lost track of things, and only came to myself in the freighters' camp that I had run into half asleep."
He paused here, and John saw that his eyes were half closed and his head nodding. The ordeal had told on even his sturdy health.
In a thick, sleepy voice he added: "Ask Jim White; he knows the rest—he brought me in."
Jim White could add little to the story. Worth came into his camp, he explained, more deadthan alive and "clean out of his head." He and his partner had cared for him and brought him to town as fast as the teams could go.
John's father was taken over to his own shack, where his wife greeted him like one come back from the dead. Under her good nursing he recovered from his terrible experience in a marvellously short time and became again his own sturdy self. The frontiersman must of necessity be possessed of an iron constitution, for he must be able to endure hardships of all kinds—intense heat and piercing cold, hunger and thirst, fatigue and pain, that would either kill an ordinary man outright or cripple him for life.
It was with inward dread that the little family watched its head start off again, after a few weeks' stay in town. Outwardly, however, cheerfulness, almost indifference, was manifested. This time he went with a party which was going in the same direction; the danger was, consequently, not so great. Then, too, the cold weather kept the Indians pretty close to their own camps, and as the locations of these were generally known, they could be easily avoided.
The boys' hearts were gladdened by the news that, perhaps, the home shack would be abandoned in the spring, when their father returned.If so, the whole family would "hit the trail" to the north and west.
Up to this time the Worth boys had been town dwellers, though in these days Bismarck could hardly be dignified even by the name of village. John and Ben, in common with the few other boys, had enjoyed the comparatively tame pleasures afforded by the town and the surrounding prairie. All large game had been driven west, and only prairie dogs, gophers, coyotes, and occasionally wolves remained; these and the birds the boys used to shoot at day after day with their ever-ready revolvers. The sport in the river was not all that could be wished for either, for the water was muddy and the bottom was full of quicksands. And if summer lacked diversions, winter was a still more uninteresting season, in that the pleasures were fewer and the discomforts greater.
It was therefore with great glee that John and Ben looked forward to this pilgrimage. A hilly country was to be visited, where game of all sorts abounded, where clear streams were plenty, and where new sports of all kinds were in prospect. Marvellous tales of trapping beaver, and hunting antelope, bear, and even buffalo, were brought in by hunters, so the boys were wild to enjoy these new pleasures.
The Government was trying to confine the Indians to the reservations that had been set apart for them, but the redskins had been accustomed to roam over the country at will, to follow the game wherever it went, to make war upon each other whenever they felt like it or needed horses; so they resented any attempt to interfere with their entire freedom, and turned fiercely on their white foes wherever they found them, singly or in camps and settlements. The Government, in order to better protect its citizens, erected at intervals outposts garrisoned by troops.
There being no railroads across the continent at this time, goods of all kinds had to be carried in wagons from the nearest railroad station to the fort or point of distribution. The supply of fuel, too, was a matter of great importance. It was in the main a treeless country and wood was scarce. The early prospectors and pioneers had noticed the outcroppings of coal from the deep-cut river banks, but little advantage was taken of this store of fuel till the forts were established and the little steamboats began to ply up and down the Missouri loaded deep with skins and buffalo hides.
Mr. Worth was one of the first to see the value of these coal veins, and he was a leader in developing the mineral resources of the section. Heopened and worked mines as near the different outposts as possible and at convenient points for the supply of coal to the river boats.
The Eastern railroads were stretching their long steel arms westward, and they also needed to be supplied with food for their furnaces.
Mr. Worth had contracted with these coal consumers to open mines which, when in good running order, were to be turned over to them to work. In order to do this it was necessary to travel from place to place, starting the work at intervals along the proposed line so as to be ready when the "steel trail" actually reached them. It was this contract that made it necessary for them to give up the home shack at Bismarck and to journey into hostile country. Mr. Worth could not return to the settlement to his family; the family must therefore come to him in the wilds.
Much of the long winter was spent by the boys in talking over the good times they were going to have when they reached the new country. At times a trapper would come in to get a stock of supplies, and John and Ben listened eagerly to every word he said about his experiences. These tales were old stories to most of the men of the little town, who paid no attention to such commonplace matters, but Charley Green, like theboys, was seeking information, and he drank in every word as eagerly as they.
Much of Green's ignorance had disappeared, though "Tenderfoot" was still his nickname, and by that he would be called as long as he lived there. He had changed outwardly as well. The Eastern pallor had given place to a good, healthy, bronzed tint, his eye was clear and his hand steady; he had lost weight but had gained in endurance. His gay, expensive outfit of clothes had been succeeded by the more sober and serviceable apparel of the plains: wide, heavy felt hat, flannel shirt, rough trousers with protecting leather overalls or chaps, and high boots. He had learned enough about Western ways to avoid making many blunders, and took a joke at his expense good naturedly when he did occasionally betray himself.
It was not considered polite in Bismarck to inquire anything about a man's past—that was his own business. It was not necessary for a man to give his pedigree and family name in order to be received into the society of his fellows. It was not his past that concerned them, but his present. "Lariat Bill" was quite as good for all practical purposes as his real name, perhaps better, for it was descriptive and identified him at once. In accordance with this unwritten law, no one askedwhat Charley Green's idea was in leaving the civilization and culture of Boston for the wild, free, albeit rough, life of the plains; but rumor had it that he came there with the intention of going into ranching. If so, he was wise beyond his generation, for unlike most of his fellows he looked before he leaped.
Tenderfoot and the two boys had struck up quite a friendship. It was quite natural, therefore, knowing as he did the Worths' plans, for him to say one day, towards the end of the winter: "Do you suppose, John, that your dad would take me along on his mining expedition?"
"I dunno," said John, "you'll have to ask the governor when he comes back. I guess he would."
"You see," continued Tenderfoot, "I'm about as tired of this place as you are, and I want to see a little of the country. I guess I could earn my salt as a mule-wrangler anyway."
So it was decided that the young Easterner was to go with the Worths if the head of the house consented.
The dreary winter was beginning to give way to the soft south winds. The snow was fast disappearing and buffalo grass was showing brightly green here and there. The boys had an unusually bad attack of spring fever, for the long-looked-fortime of the pilgrimage was drawing near.
Their father might be expected any day, and then—their delight and anticipation could not be put into words.
Mr. Worth at length came in, loaded down with his pack, his arms, and his heavy winter furs.
Keen and bitter disappointment was in store for the impatient boys. They were told that it would not be safe to move away from the town, for the whole country was full of hostile, well-armed, well-fed Sioux.
The Black Hills of southwestern Dakota had been found to contain gold in paying quantities. This region was considered almost sacred by the Indians and jealously guarded. It was now aggressively penetrated by the bold miners, and this naturally created much bad feeling between them and the original owners. In order to allay this feeling the Government made a treaty with the Indians by which it was agreed that the encroaching miners should be driven out. The disregarding of this treaty or its ineffective enforcement roused the Sioux to open warfare.
The tribes were collecting under the leadership of Sitting Bull and Rain-in-the-Face. Several small skirmishes had been fought and numbersof men on both sides had been killed. Small outfits, too, had been wiped out completely by the savage red foe.
It would have been suicidal, therefore, for the Worth family to venture within the enemy's country, as had been previously planned.
Indeed, while there was probably little danger of an attack at this time on Bismarck, the centre of hostilities being many hundred miles to the westward, great precautions were taken even there every night to guard against surprise, and the people, especially the children, never went far afield.
The spring passed and another summer's scorching heat began. Occasionally accounts came in of battles fought and victories won, sometimes by one side, sometimes by the other. It was a time of uncertainty; business enterprise was at a standstill, and, since there was little to do in the frontier town, diversion of any kind was hailed with delight. So the Fourth of July celebration that was to be held at Black Jack's dance hall was looked forward to with great expectations by old and young.
Custer's command. (Page 53.)
Independence Day at length arrived, and was greeted at the first showing of light in the east by a volley of revolver shots. The celebration was kept up with enthusiasm all day. Tenderfoot made a patriotic speech that took the crowd by storm—he was no tenderfoot in that line, for his college debating society experience served him in good stead.
At sundown the guests began to arrive at Black Jack's, and before an hour had passed the ball was in full swing. It could hardly be called a fashionable assemblage: the men, of whom there were three or four to every woman, were dressed much as usual, spurs and all, except that in compliance with the request placarded prominently, their "guns" were laid aside.
A single fiddler served for an orchestra, and also acted as master of ceremonies, calling out the figures of the dances.
The violin was squeaking merrily and the feet of the dancers thumped the rough boards vigorously, while the lamp lights silhouetted the uncouth figures as they passed between them and the open window.
John and Ben, who were watching from the outer darkness, were suddenly startled by hearing the long, deep whistle of the little steamboat.
"What's that?" exclaimed Ben. "Sounds like theWill o' the Wisp, but she hasn't been along the river for a long time."
"Let's go and see," said John. "Must be something doing to bring her down at this time."
The two boys mounted their horses, which stood already saddled, and galloped down to the landing. In a few minutes the boat steamed up out of the darkness, slowed down and made fast to a cottonwood stump.
Hardly had it come to a stop when a man made a running leap to the platform and dashed toward the boys, who were the only persons at the place.
"Where's all the people?" he cried excitedly. "Let me take that horse a minute, sonny."
"Up at Black Jack's," said John, sliding off Baldy's back without delay, for it was evident that the newcomer brought important news.
The stranger mounted and set off at a hard gallop for Main Street. Reaching the brightly lighted place, he jumped off and stumbled through the doorway into the centre of the room.
The fiddler stopped in the middle of a bar, the dancers, who were in the full swing of "all hands around," stood still in wonder, and every eye was fixed upon the intruder. He looked like the bearer of bad news.
His clothes showed that he had travelled far and fast, and his manner evidenced anything but peace of mind. For an instant all was still. Then Black Jack broke the silence: "Speak out, man! What's up?"
"I've been travelling two days and nights tobring the news," he panted. "Custer——" he paused for breath.
"Well, hurry up, will you!" exclaimed Mackenzie, shaking his arm.
"Custer and his party have been wiped out by the Indians on the Little Big Horn!"
The Custer massacre threw the whole country into a spasm of fear.
The killing of three hundred trained fighters and a general, all renowned for their daring and knowledge of Indian warfare, must give the enemy a confidence that would be hard to overcome.
Every one wondered where the next blow would be struck and who would be the next victim. All enterprises were checked, all peaceful journeys postponed. Not till the autumn of the following year was it deemed safe for the Worth family to carry out their plan of "pulling up stakes" and leaving Bismarck.
During the year which had elapsed John and Ben had grown in mind and body. They were sturdy, strong boys, and were a great help totheir father. Perfectly able to take care of the stock, they could ride like centaurs and shoot with their "guns" (as the Westerner calls his revolver) with astonishing accuracy. They used to practice at tomato cans fifty yards away and soon became so expert that for nearly every shot a neat round hole appeared in the tin. If you think this easy, try it. One can will probably last you a long while.
Long before, Charley Green had made a formal request to be included in the migrating party and had been accepted. He was really quite a valuable man now, for he had been tried in a number of ticklish places and had shown a solid strength and coolness in the face of danger.
One bright autumn day the pilgrimage began.
Several men were to accompany the family to a mine that had already been located fifty miles away. Here the winter was to be spent, and then, if all went well, another mine might be opened further westward.
The final preparations for moving were soon complete. The household goods were packed into the great lumbering prairie wagons, canvas-topped and wide of beam; the little log-built shack was left intact, its rough, heavy door swinging open.
The frontiersman's household outfit was verysimple. The bedding consisted of blankets; cooking utensils of iron and tin, dining-table furniture of the same materials, a few chairs, a table or two, and the baby's crib completed the list. The Worth family had the largest library in town. It contained their great, brass-bound Bible, "Pilgrim's Progress," the Catechism (and how the boys dreaded it!), "Robinson Crusoe," "Scott's Poems," and the "Arabian Nights." These precious books were of course taken along, for though the boys' father read little and lacked even the rudiments of education, he had the pride of ownership.
It can be seen at once that this simple collection of necessaries would not take long to pack and load. Charley Green remarked that "the whole outfit wouldn't be considered security enough for a week's board in Boston."
"That's true," answered Mr. Worth, as he lifted the sewing machine (the only one for miles and miles around) tenderly into the wagon. "But our household stuff is considered very fine, and people come from long distances to use this sewing machine."
"The first of May can't have any terrors for you," persisted the ex-collegian.
Mr. Worth frowned a little, for although Charley's fun was good-natured, he had a keendislike to being ridiculed, and had always been accustomed to considering his equipment as something rather grand—as indeed it was, compared with his less fortunate neighbors.
After a final glance around to see that nothing had been left, the head of the family put his wife and baby into the first wagon, but before climbing in himself he called out to John and Ben to go back to the corral, saddle two of the horses, and drive the remaining ones after the wagon train.
The two boys were soon busy catching and saddling the horses. As John was "cinching" up Baldy, he heard the snap of his father's long black-snake whip and the creak of the heavy wheels. Then for the first time he realized that the only home he had ever known was to be left permanently. The old place suddenly became very dear to him, and the thought of leaving it was hard to bear; in fact, he had to bury his face in Baldy's rough, unkempt side to hide the tears that would come despite his efforts.
Ben, on the contrary, was very cheerful and whistled between the sentences of talk he flung at his brother. The two years' difference in their ages showed very plainly in this matter.
"Here, get a move on you, John," he shouted, "my horse's all ready."
The older boy bestirred himself, and in therush and hurry that followed he soon forgot his momentary regret.
When they caught up with the wagons they found the procession headed toward the centre of the settlement and almost in its outskirts.
The town had grown considerably both in population and area since we first saw it, and ordinarily the departure of a freighter's outfit would excite but little remark. The exodus of the Worths, however—one of the few families, and one of the very first settlers—was quite an event. Many of their friends were on hand to wish them good speed. The boys felt like "lords of creation" indeed. Were they not bound on a journey of unknown duration, liable to have all sorts of delightful adventures? They held their heads up and pitied their boy friends who were to be left behind—and it must be confessed that the stay-at-homes pitied themselves.
The wagon train made its way slowly down to the river, where the sheriff bade them good-by.
"I'm sorry to have you go," he said, nodding to Mr. and Mrs. Worth. "And those kids of yours," he added, "I wish you could leave them behind; it will be pretty tough on them, and besides, I'm fond of the little beggars. However," he went on, as the boys' father shook his head,"I suppose you know what you're doing. Well, good luck. So long."
"So long," replied the travellers in chorus.
The whole outfit was ferried over the river, passed through the little village of Mandan clustered around the fort, and then struck out across the open prairie. It made quite a procession, the light wagon in front, drawn by two horses and driven by Worth, then a long string of mule teams hitched to the first of a train of prairie schooners, whose white canvas-hooped tops shone in the sun. The cooking utensils in the vehicles and hung under them banged and clattered, the wheels creaked, the teamsters' long whips, which took two hands to wield, cracked and snapped.
At the head of the party rode Charley Green, with his long-eared charges, busy at his self-imposed task of "mule-wrangling." He was new to the business, and it seemed as if the beasts he was herding were aware of this. For a while all would go smoothly, the animals closely bunched, heads down, ears drooped forward, the picture of innocence and dejection; then suddenly a lanky brute would start out from one side as if propelled from a gun, and no sooner had Charley dug the spurs into his pony in his efforts to head it off than another mule wouldstart off on the other side. Then the whole bunch would scatter, radiating from a common centre like the spokes of a wheel. John, Ben, and one of the men (called Tongue-Tied Ted, because of his few words) took a hand in the game at last, and together they rounded up the stock into a compact bunch again.
All this was very amusing for the old hands, but Charley did not seem to enjoy it.
"Mule-wrangling is no snap," he grumbled. "Why, it's easier to stop a whole rush line than to take care of that gang of long-eared, rail-backed, dirt-colored, knock-kneed horse imitators."
He had to tackle the job alone, however, for only by experience could he learn, and experience is a hard and thorough teacher.
The boys trotted alongside, now riding far ahead, now making their ponies show off near the wagons. Excursions were made from time to time to shoot at prairie dogs, rabbits, and coyotes. But even this grew monotonous after a while, and they began to cast about in their minds for amusement. "Let's go to the river where it makes a bend over there and take a swim," said Ben, at last.
It was no sooner said than done. They were left to look out for themselves much of the time,so they went off without saying a word to any one.
Soon the caravan was lost to view, and after a few minutes' more riding even the shouts of the men and the barking of the dogs could not be heard.
The boys had that delightful feeling of entire freedom and half fear which comes to the inexperienced thrown upon their own resources. The prairie was perfectly still and the heat was scorching, for the sun was still high. It was a little awesome, and for a minute John and Ben wished they were back with their friends. The thought of a cool dip was very enticing, however, and they would both have been ashamed to turn back now, so they cantered along, keeping up each other's courage by shouting and laughing. Reaching the river, they scrambled down the steep slope, leaving their horses to graze on the level, and in a jiffy were enjoying a swim in the "Big Muddy." The bottom was free from quicksands, so the brothers enjoyed themselves to their hearts' content.
They swam, ducked, and dug in the mud, as full of glee as could be. For an hour or more they revelled in their sport; then John dropped the handful of dirt he was about to throw and looked around, half scared. "Hallo," he said,"it's getting dark. We'd better get a move on." They slid into their clothes as only boys can, and in a few seconds had regained the top of the bank.
The sun, a fiery red ball, was low down in the western sky and almost ready to drop out of sight altogether.
"Why!" exclaimed Ben. "Where are the horses?"
They looked hurriedly around and then scanned the rolling prairie and sage bushes in every direction.
But the horses were not to be seen. Nor was the wagon train in sight. Not a living thing was visible on the horizon; not a sound could be heard anywhere. On every side there were only monotonous clumps of sage, and the sun was getting lower and lower every moment.
They rushed to a knoll and searched again. All around stretched the prairie—bare, still, hopeless. Then they looked at each other for the first time. Ben began to whimper.
"Come, brace up," said John, taking the elder brother's part. "I know the trail; we'll catch up to them in no time."
His tone was cheerful, but he appeared more at ease than he really was. It was not a pleasant situation for even a full-grown man, one well versed in the signs of the plains, its landmarks, and deceptions.