Chapter 4

Atlast we came to the Missouri. Indians chose generally the time of crossing that river to fall upon caravans; defence is most difficult when some wagons are on one bank, and some in the river; when the draught-beasts are stubborn and balky, and disorder rises among the people. Indeed, I noticed, before our arrival at the river, that Indian spies had for two days been following us; I took every precaution therefore, and led the train in complete military order. I did not permit wagons toloiter on the prairie, as in the eastern districts of Iowa; the men had to stay together and be in perfect readiness for battle.When we had come to the bank and found a ford, I ordered two divisions, of sixty men each, to intrench themselves on both banks, so as to secure the passage under cover of small forts and the muzzles of rifles. The remaining hundred and twenty emigrants had to take the train over. I did not send in more than a few wagons at once, so as to avoid confusion. With such an arrangement everything took place in the greatest order, and attack became impossible, for the attackers would have had to carry one or the other intrenchment before they could fall upon those who were crossing the river.How far these precautions were not superfluous the future made evident, for two years later four hundred Germans were cut to pieces by the Kiowas, at the place where Omaha stands at this moment. I had this advantagebesides: my men, who previously had heard more than once narratives, which went to the East, of the terrible danger of crossing the yellow waters of the Missouri, seeing the firmness and ease with which I had solved the problem, gained blind confidence, and began to look on me as some ruling spirit of the plains.Daily did those praises and that enthusiasm reach Lillian, in whose loving eyes I grew to be a legendary hero. Aunt Atkins said to her: “While your Pole is with you, you may sleep out in the rain, for he won’t let the drops fall on you.” And the heart rose in my maiden from those praises. During the whole time of crossing I could give her hardly a moment, and could only say hurriedly with my eyes what my lips could not utter. All day I was on horseback, now on one bank, now on the other, now in the water. I was in a hurry to advance as soon as possible from those thick yellow waters, which were bearing down withthem rotten trees, bunches of leaves, grass, and malodorous mud from Dakota, infectious with fever.Besides this, the people were wearied immensely, from continual watching; the horses grew sick from unwholesome water, which we could not use until we had kept it in charcoal a number of hours.At last, after eight days’ time, we found ourselves on the right bank of the river without having broken a wagon, and with the loss of only seven head of mules and horses. That day, however, the first arrows fell, for my men killed, and afterward, according to the repulsive habit of the plains, scalped three Indians, who had been trying to push in among the mules. In consequence of this deed an embassy of six leading warriors of the Bloody Tracks, belonging to the Pawnee stock, visited us on the following day. They sat down at our fire with tremendous importance, demanding horses and mules in return for the dead men, declaringthat, in case of refusal, five hundred warriors would attack us immediately. I made no great account of those five hundred warriors, since I had the train in order and defended with intrenchments. I saw well that that embassy had been sent merely because those wild people had caught at the first opportunity to extort something without an attack, in the success of which they had lost faith. I should have driven them away in one moment, had I not wished to exhibit them to Lillian. In fact, while they were sitting at the council-fire motionless, with eyes fixed on the flame, she, concealed in the wagon, was looking with alarm and curiosity at their dress trimmed at the seams with human hair, their tomahawks adorned with feathers on the handles, and at their faces painted black and red, which meant war. In spite of these preparations, however, I refused their demand sharply, and, passing from a defensive to an offensive rôle, declared that if even one mule disappeared from the train, I would go to theirtribe myself and scatter the bones of their five hundred warriors over the prairie.They went away, repressing their rage with difficulty, but when going they brandished their tomahawks over their heads in sign of war. However, my words sank in their memory; for at the time of their departure two hundred of my men, prepared purposely, rose up with threatening aspect, rattling their weapons, and gave forth a shout of battle. That readiness made a deep impression on the wild warriors.Some hours later Henry Simpson, who at his own instance had gone out to observe the embassy, returned, all panting, with news that a considerable division of Indians was approaching us.I, knowing Indian ways perfectly, knew that those were mere threats, for the Indians, armed with bows made of hickory, were not in numbers sufficient to meet Kentucky rifles of long range. I said that to Lillian, wishing to quiet her, for she was trembling like a leaf; but allthe others were sure that a battle was coming; the younger ones, whose warlike spirit was roused, wished for it eagerly.In fact, we heard the howling of the redskins soon after; still, they kept at the distance of some gun-shots, as if seeking a favorable moment.In our camp immense fires, replenished with cottonwood and willows, were burning all night; the men stood guard around the wagons; the women were singing psalms from fear; the mules, not driven out as usual to the night pasture, but confined behind the wagons, were braying and biting one another; the dogs, feeling the nearness of the Indians, were howling,—in a word, it was noisy and threatening throughout the camp. In brief moments of silence we heard the mournful and ominous howling of the Indian outposts, calling with the voices of coyotes.About midnight the Indians tried to set fire to the prairie, but the damp grass of springwould not burn, though for some days not a raindrop had fallen on that region.When riding around the camp-ground before daybreak I had a chance of seeing Lillian for a moment. I found her sleeping from weariness, with her head resting on the knees of Aunt Atkins, who, armed with a bowie-knife, had sworn to destroy the whole tribe, if one of them dared to come near her darling. As to me, I looked on that fair sleeping face with the love not only of a man, but almost of a mother, and I felt equally with Aunt Atkins that I would tear into pieces any one who would threaten my beloved. In her was my joy, in her my delight; beyond her I had nothing but endless wandering, tramping, and mishaps. Before my eyes I had the best proof of this: in the distance were the prairie, the rattle of weapons, the night on horseback, the struggle with predatory redskin murderers; nearer, right there before my face, was the quiet sleep of that dear one, so full of faith and trust in me, that my wordalone had convinced her that there could be no attack, and she had fallen asleep as full of confidence as if under her father’s roof.When I looked at those two pictures, I felt for the first time how that adventurous life without a morrow had wearied me, and I saw at once that I should find rest and satisfaction with her alone. “If only to California!” thought I, “if only to California! But the toils of the journey—merely one-half of which, and that half the easiest, is over—are evident already on that pallid face; but a beautiful rich country is waiting for us there, with its warm sky and eternal spring.” Thus meditating, I covered the feet of the sleeper with my buffalo-robe, so that the night cold might not harm her, and returned to the end of the camp.It was time, for a thick mist had begun to rise from the river; the Indians might really take advantage of it and try their fortune. The fires were dimmed more and more, and grew pale. An hour later one man could not see another iften paces distant. I gave command then to cry on the square every minute, and soon nothing was heard in that camp but the prolonged “All’s well!” which passed from mouth to mouth like the words of a litany.But the Indian camp had grown perfectly still, as if its occupants were dumb. This began to alarm me. At the first dawn an immense weariness mastered us; God knows how many nights the majority of the men had passed without sleep,—besides, the fog, wonderfully penetrating, sent a chill and a shiver through all.Would it not be better, thought I, instead of standing on one place and waiting for what may please the Indians, to attack and scatter them to the four winds? This was not simply the whim of an Uhlan, but an absolute need; for a daring and lucky attack might gain us great glory, which, spreading among the wild tribes, would give us safety for a long stretch of road.Leaving behind me one hundred and thirtymen, under the lead of the old prairie wolf, Smith, I commanded a hundred others to mount their horses, and we moved forward somewhat cautiously, but gladly, for the cold had become more annoying, and in this way it was possible to warm ourselves at least. At twice the distance of a gunshot we raced forward at a gallop with shouting, and in the midst of a musket-fire rushed, like a storm, on the savages. A ball, sent from our side by some awkward marksman, whistled right at my ear, but only tore my cap.Meanwhile, we were on the necks of the Indians, who expected anything rather than an attack, for this was surely the first time that emigrants had charged the besiegers. Great alarm so blinded them, therefore, that they fled in every direction, howling from fright like wild beasts, and perishing without resistance. A smaller division of these people, pushed to the river and, deprived of retreat, defended themselves so sternly and stubbornly that theychose to rush into the water rather than beg for life.Their spears pointed with sharpened deer-horns and tomahawks made of hard flint were not very dangerous, but they used them with wonderful skill. We burst through these, however, in the twinkling of an eye. I took one prisoner, a sturdy rascal, whose hatchet and arm I broke in the moment of fighting with hatchets.We seized a few tens of horses, but so wild and vicious that there was no use in them. We made a few prisoners, all wounded. I gave command to care for these most attentively, and set them free afterward at Lillian’s request, having given them blankets, arms, and horses, necessary for men seriously wounded. These poor fellows, believing that we would tie them to stakes for torture, had begun to chant their monotonous death-songs, and were simply terrified at first by what had happened. They thought that we would liberate only to huntthem in Indian fashion; but seeing that no danger threatened, they went away, exalting our bravery and the goodness of “Pale Flower,” which name they had given Lillian.That day ended, however, with a sad event, which cast a shade on our delight at such a considerable victory, and its foreseen results. Among my men there were none killed; a number, nevertheless, had received wounds more or less serious; the most grievously wounded was Henry Simpson, whose eagerness had borne him away during battle. In the evening his condition grew so much worse, that he was dying; he wished to make some confession to me, but, poor fellow, he could not speak, for his jaw had been broken by a tomahawk. He merely muttered: “Pardon, my captain!” Immediately convulsions seized him. I divined what he wanted, remembering the bullet which in the morning had whistled at my ear, and I forgave him, as becomes a Christian. I knew that he carried with him to the grave a deep,though unacknowledged feeling for Lillian, and supposed that he might have sought death.He died about midnight; we buried him under an immense cottonwood, on the bark of which I carved out a cross with my knife.Onthe following day we moved on. Before us was a prairie still more extensive, more level, wilder, a region which the foot of a white man had hardly touched at that time,—in a word, we were in Nebraska.During the first days we moved quickly enough over treeless expanses, but not without difficulty, for there was an utter lack of wood for fuel. The banks of the Platte River, which cuts the whole length of those measureless plains, were, it is true, covered with a dense growth ofosier and willow; but that river having a shallow bed, had overflowed, as is usual in spring, and we had to keep far away. Meanwhile we passed the nights at smouldering fires of buffalo dung, which, not dried yet sufficiently by the sun, rather smouldered with a blue flame than burnt. We hurried on then with every effort toward Big Blue River, where we could find abundance of fuel.The country around us bore every mark of a primitive land. Time after time, before the train, which extended now in a very loose line, rushed herds of antelopes with ruddy hair and with white under the belly; at times there appeared in the waves of grass the immense shaggy heads of buffaloes, with bloodshot eyes and steaming nostrils; then again these beasts were seen in crowds, like black moving patches on the distant prairie.In places we passed near whole towns formed of mounds raised by prairie dogs. The Indians did not show themselves at first, and only a number of days later did we see three wild horsemen,ornamented with feathers; but they vanished before our eyes in an instant, like phantoms. I convinced myself afterward that the bloody lesson which I had given them on the Missouri, made the name of “Big Ara” (for thus they had modified Big Ralph) terrible among the many tribes of prairie robbers; the kindness shown the prisoners had captivated those people, wild and revengeful, though not devoid of knightly feeling.When we had come to Big Blue River, I resolved to halt ten days at its woody banks. The second half of the road, which lay before us, was more difficult than the first, for beyond the prairie were the Rocky Mountains, and farther on the “Bad Lands” of Utah and Nevada. Meanwhile, our mules and horses, in spite of abundant pasture, had become lean and road-weary; hence it was needful to recruit their strength with a considerable rest. For this purpose we halted in the triangle formed by the Big Blue River and Beaver Creek.It was a strong position, which, secured on two sides by the rivers and on the third by the wagons, had become almost impregnable, especially since wood and water were found on the spot. Of camp labor there was scarcely any, excessive watching was not needed, and the emigrants could use their leisure with perfect freedom. The days, too, were the most beautiful of our journey. The weather continued to be marvellous, and the nights grew so warm that one might sleep in the open air.The people went out in the morning to hunt, and returned at midday, weighed down with antelopes and prairie birds, which lived in millions in the country about; the rest of the day they spent eating, sleeping, singing, or shooting for amusement at wild geese, which flew in whole flocks above the camp.In my life there has never been anything better or happier than those ten days between the rivers. From morning till evening I didnot part from Lillian, and that beginning not of passing visits, but, as it were, of life, convinced me more and more that I had loved once and forever her, the mild and gentle. I became acquainted with Lillian in those days more nearly and more deeply. At night, instead of sleeping, I thought frequently of what she was, and that she had become to me as dear and as needful in life as air is for breathing. God sees that I loved greatly her beautiful face, her long tresses, and her eyes,—as blue as that sky bending over Nebraska,—and her form, lithe and slender, which seemed to say: “Support and defend me forever; without thee I cannot help myself in the world!” God sees that I loved everything that was in her, every poor bit of clothing of hers, and she attracted me with such force that I could not resist; but there was another charm in her for me, and that was her sweetness and sensitiveness.Many women have I met in life, but never have I met and never shall I meet another such,and I feel endless grief when I think of her. The soul in Lillian Morris was as sensitive as that flower whose leaves nestle in when you draw near to it. Sensitive to every word of mine, she comprehended everything and reflected every thought, just as deep, transparent water reflects all that passes by the brink of it. At the same time that pure heart yielded itself to feeling with such timidity that I felt how great her love must be when she weakened and gave herself in sacrifice. And then everything honorable in my soul was changed into one feeling of gratitude to her. She was simply my one, my dearest in the world; so modest, that I had to persuade her that to love is not a sin, and I was breaking my head continually over this: how can I persuade her? In such emotions time passed for us at the meeting of the rivers, till at last my supreme happiness was accomplished.One morning at daybreak we started to walk up Beaver Creek; I wanted to show her thebeavers; a whole kingdom of them was flourishing not farther than half a mile from our wagons. Walking along the bank carefully, near the bushes, we came soon to our object. There was a little bay as it were, or a lakelet, formed by the creek, at the brink of which stood two great hickory-trees; at the very bank grew weeping-willows, half their branches in the water. The beaver-dam, a little higher up in the creek, stopped its flow, and kept the water ever at one height in the lakelet, above whose clear surface rose the round cupola-shaped houses of these very clever animals.Probably the foot of man had never stood before in that retreat, hidden on all sides by trees. Pushing apart cautiously the slender limbs of the willows, we looked at the water, which was as smooth as a mirror, and blue. The beavers were not at their work yet; the little water-town slumbered in visible quiet; and such silence reigned on the lake that I heard Lillian’s breath when she thrust hergolden head through the opening in the branches with mine and our temples touched. I caught her waist with my arm to hold her on the slope of the bank, and we waited patiently, delighted with what our eyes were taking in.Accustomed to life in wild places, I loved Nature as my own mother, though simply; but I felt that something like God’s delight in Creation was present.It was early morning; the light had barely come, and was reddening among the branches of the hickories; the dew was dropping from the leaves of the willows, and the world was growing brighter each instant. Later on, there came to the other shore prairie chickens, gray, with black throats, pretty crests on their heads, and they drank water, raising their bills as they swallowed.“Ah, Ralph! how good it is here,” whispered Lillian.There was nothing in my head then but acottage in some lonely canyon, she with me, and such a rosary of peaceful days, flowing calmly into eternity and endless rest. It seemed to us that we had brought to that wedding of Nature our own wedding, to that calm our calm, and to that bright light the bright light of happiness within us.Now the smooth surface described itself in a circle, and from the water came up slowly the bearded face of a beaver, wet and rosy from the gleam of the morning; then a second, and the two little beasts swam toward the lake, pushing apart with their noses blue lines, puffing and muttering. They climbed the dam, and, sitting on their haunches, began to call; at that signal heads, larger and smaller, rose up as if by enchantment; a plashing was heard in the lake. The herd appeared at first to be playing,—simply diving and screaming in its own fashion from delight; but the first pair, looking from the dam, gave a sudden, prolonged whistle from their nostrils, and in atwinkle half of the beavers were on the dam, and the other half had swum to the banks and vanished under the willows, where the water began to boil, and a sound as it were of sawing indicated that the little beasts were working there, cutting branches and bark.Lillian and I looked long, very long, at these acts, and at the pleasures of animal life until man disturbs it. Wishing to change her position, she moved a branch accidentally, and in the twinkle of an eye every beaver had vanished; only the disturbed water indicated that something was beneath; but after a while the water became smooth, and silence surrounded us again, interrupted only by the woodpeckers striking the firm bark of the hickories.Meanwhile the sun had risen above the trees and began to heat powerfully. Since Lillian did not feel tired yet, we resolved to go around the little lake. On the way we came to a small stream which intersected the woodand fell into the lake from the opposite side. Lillian could not cross it, so I had to carry her; and despite her resistance, I took her like a child in my arms and walked into the water. But that stream was a stream of temptations. Fear lest I should fall made her seize my neck with both arms, hold to me with all her strength, and hide her shamed face behind my shoulder; but I began straightway to press my lips to her temple, whispering: “Lillian! my Lillian!” And in that way I carried her over the water.When I reached the other bank I wished to carry her farther, but she tore herself from me almost rudely. A certain disquiet seized both of us; she began to look around as if in fear, and now pallor and now ruddiness struck her face in turn. We went on. I took her hand and pressed it to my heart. At moments fear of myself seized me. The day became sultry; heat flowed down from the sky to the earth; the wind was not blowing, theleaves on the hickories hung motionless, the only sound was from woodpeckers striking the bark as before; all seemed to be growing languid from heat and falling asleep. I thought that some enchantment was in the air, in that forest, and then I thought only that Lillian was with me and that we were alone.Meanwhile weariness began to come on Lillian; her breathing grew shorter and more audible, and on her face, usually pale, fiery blushes beat forth. I asked if she was not tired, and if she would not rest.“Oh, no, no!” answered she quickly, as if defending herself from even the thought; but after a few tens of steps she tottered suddenly and whispered,—“I cannot, indeed, I cannot go farther.”Then I took her again in my arms and carried that dear burden to the edge of the shore, where willows, hanging to the ground, formed a shady corridor. In this green alcove I placed her on the moss. I knelt down; and when Ilooked at her the heart in me was straitened. Her face was as pale as linen, and her staring eyes looked on me with fear.“Lillian, what is the matter?” cried I. “I am with you.” I bent to her feet then and covered them with kisses. “Lillian!” continued I, “my only, my chosen, my wife!”When I said these last words a shiver passed through her from head to foot; and suddenly she threw her arms around my neck with a certain unusual power, as in a fever repeating, “My dear! my dear! my husband!” Everything vanished from my eyes then, and it seemed to me that the whole globe of the earth was flying away with us.I know not to this day how it could be that when I recovered from that intoxication and came to my senses twilight was shining again among the dark branches of the hickories, but it was the twilight of evening. The woodpeckers had ceased to strike the trees; one twilight on the bottom of the lake was smilingat that other which was in the sky; the inhabitants of the water had gone to sleep; the evening was beautiful, calm, filled with a red light; it was time to return to the camp.When we had come out from beneath the weeping-willows, I looked at Lillian; there was not on her face either sadness or disquiet; in her upturned eyes was the light of calm resignation and, as it were, a bright aureole of sacrifice and dignity encircled her blessed head. When I gave her my hand, she inclined her head quietly to my shoulder, and, without turning her eyes from the heavens, she said to me:“Ralph, repeat to me that I am your wife, and repeat it to me often.”Since there was neither in the deserts, nor in the place to which we were going, any marriage save that of hearts, I knelt down, and when she had knelt at my side, I said: “Before God, earth, and heaven, I declare to thee, Lillian Morris, that I take thee as wife. Amen.”To this she answered: “Now I am thine forever and till death, thy wife, Ralph!”From that moment we were married; she was not my sweetheart, she was my lawful wife. That thought was pleasant to both of us,—and pleasant to me, for in my heart there rose a new feeling of a certain sacred respect for Lillian, and for myself, a certain honorableness and great dignity through which love became ennobled and blessed. Hand in hand, with heads erect and confident look, we returned to the camp, where the people were greatly alarmed about us. A number of tens of men had gone out in every direction to look for us; and with astonishment I learned afterward that some had passed around the lake, but could not discover us; we on our part had not heard their shouts.I summoned the people, and when they had assembled in a circle, I took Lillian by the hand, went into the centre of the circle, and said,—“Gentlemen, be witnesses, that in your presence I call this woman, who stands withme, my wife; and bear witness of this before justice, before law, and before every one whosoever may ask you, either in the East or the West.”“We will! and hurrah for you both!” answered the miners.Old Smith asked Lillian then, according to custom, if she agreed to take me as husband, and when she said “Yes,” we were legally married before the people.In the distant prairies of the West, and on all the frontiers where there are no towns, magistrates, or churches, marriages are not performed otherwise; and to this hour, if a man calls a woman with whom he lives under the same roof his wife, this declaration takes the place of all legal documents. No one of my men therefore wondered, or looked at my marriage otherwise than with the respect shown to custom; on the contrary, all were rejoiced, for, though I had held them more sternly than other leaders, they knew that Idid so honestly, and with each day they showed me more good will, and my wife was always the eye in the head of the caravan. Hence there began a holiday and amusements. The fires were stirred up; the Scots took from their wagons the pipes, whose music we both liked, since it was for us a pleasant reminiscence; the Americans took out their favorite ox-bones, and amid songs, shouts, and shooting, the wedding evening passed for us.Aunt Atkins embraced Lillian every little while, now laughing, now weeping, now lighting her pipe, which went out the next moment. But I was touched most by the following ceremony which is a custom in that movable portion of the American population which spends the greater part of its life in wagons. When the moon went down the men fastened on the ramrods of their guns branches of lighted osier, and a whole procession, under the lead of old Smith, conducted us from wagon to wagon, asking Lillian at each of them,“Is this your home?” My beautiful love answered, “No!” and we went on. At Aunt Atkins’ wagon a real tenderness took possession of us all, for in that one Lillian had ridden hitherto. When she said there also in a low voice, “No,” Aunt Atkins bellowed like a buffalo, and seizing Lillian in her embrace, began to repeat: “My little one! my sweet!” sobbing meanwhile, and carried away with weeping. Lillian sobbed too; and then all those hardened hearts grew tender for an instant, and there was no eye to which tears did not come.When we approached it, I barely recognized my wagon, it was decked with branches and flowers. Here the men raised the burning torches aloft, and Smith inquired in a louder and more solemn voice,—“Is this your home?”“That’s it! That’s it!” answered Lillian.Then all uncovered their heads, and there was such silence that I heard the hissing ofthe fire and the sound of the burnt twigs falling on the ground; the old white-haired miner, stretching out his sinewy hands over us, said,—“May God bless you both, and your house, Amen!”A triple hurrah answered that blessing. All separated then, leaving me and my loved one alone.When the last man had gone, she rested her head on my breast, whispering: “Forever! forever!” and at that moment the stars in our souls outnumbered the stars of the sky.Nextmorning early I left my wife sleeping and went to find flowers for her. While looking for them, I said to myself every moment: “You are married!” and the thought filled me with such delight, that I raised my eyes to the Lord of Hosts, thanking Him for having permitted me to live to the time in which a man becomes himself genuinely and rounds out his life with the life of another loved beyond all. I had something now of my own in the world, and though that canvas-coveredwagon was my only house and hearth, I felt richer at once, and looked at my previous wandering lot with pity, and with wonder that I could have lived in that manner hitherto. Formerly it had not even come to my head what happiness there is in that word “wife,”—happiness which called to my heart’s blood with that name, and to the best part of my own soul. For a long time I had so loved Lillian that I saw the whole world through her only, connected everything with her, and understood everything only as it related to her. And now when I said “wife,” that meant, mine, mine forever; and I thought that I should go wild with delight, for it could not find place in my head, that I, a poor man, should possess such a treasure. What then was lacking to me? Nothing. Had those prairies been warmer, had there been safety there for her, had it not been for the obligation to lead people to the place to which I had promised to lead them, I was ready not to go to California, but to settleeven in Nebraska, if with Lillian. I had been going to California to dig gold, but now I was ready to laugh at the idea. “What other riches can I find there, when I have her?” I asked myself. “What do we care for gold? See, I will choose some canyon, where there is spring all the year; I will cut down trees for a house, and live with her, and a plough and a gun will give us life. We shall not die of hunger—” These were my thoughts while gathering flowers, and when I had enough of them I returned to the camp. On the road I met Aunt Atkins.“Is the little one sleeping?” asked she, taking from her mouth for a moment the inseparable pipe.“She is sleeping,” answered I.To this Aunt Atkins, blinking with one eye, added,—“Ah, you rascal!”Meanwhile the “little one” was not sleeping, for we both saw her coming down from thewagon, and shielding her eyes against the sunlight with her hand, she began to look on every side. Seeing me, she ran up all rosy and fresh, as the morning. When I opened my arms, she fell into them panting, and putting up her mouth, began to repeat:—“Dzien dobry! dzien dobry! dzien dobry!”Then she stood on her toes, and looking into my eyes, asked with a roguish smile, “Am I your wife?”What was there to answer, except to kiss without end and fondle? And thus passed the whole time at that meeting of rivers, for old Smith had taken on himself all my duties till the resumption of our journey.We visited our beavers once more, and the stream, through which I carried her now without resistance. Once we went up Blue River in a little redwood canoe. At a bend of the stream I showed Lillian buffaloes near by, driving their horns into the bank, from which their whole heads were covered as if with armor of driedclay. But two days before starting, these expeditions ceased, for first the Indians had appeared in the neighborhood, and second my dear lady had begun to be weak somewhat. She grew pale and lost strength, and when I inquired what the trouble was, she answered only with a smile and the assurance that it was nothing. I watched over her sleep, I nursed her as well as I was able, almost preventing the breezes from blowing on her, and grew thin from anxiety. Aunt Atkins blinked mysteriously with her left eye when talking of Lillian’s illness, and sent forth such dense rolls of smoke that she grew invisible behind them. I was disturbed all the more, because sad thoughts came to Lillian at times. She had beaten it into her head that maybe it was not permitted to love so intensely as we were loving, and once, putting her finger on the Bible, which we read every day, she said sadly,—“Read, Ralph.”I looked, and a certain wonderful feelingseized my heart too, when I read, “Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever.” She said when I had finished reading, “But if God is angry at this, I know that with His goodness He will punish only me.”I pacified her by saying that love was simply an angel, who flies from the souls of two people to God and takes Him praise from the earth. After that there was no talk between us touching such things, since preparations for the journey had begun. The fitting up of wagons and beasts, and a thousand occupations, stole my time from me. When at last the hour came for departure we took tearful farewell of that river fork, which had witnessed so much of our happiness; but when I saw the train stretching out again on the prairie, the wagons one after another and lines of mules before the wagons, I felt a certain consolation at the thought that the end of the journey would be nearer eachday, that a few months more and we should see California, toward which we were striving with such toil.But the first days of the journey did not pass over-successfully. Beyond the Missouri, as far as the foot of the Rocky Mountains, the prairie rises continually over enormous expanses; therefore the beasts were easily wearied, and were often tired out. Besides, we could not approach the Platte River, for, though the flood had decreased, it was the time of the great spring hunts, and a multitude of Indians circled around the river, looking for herds of buffaloes moving northward. Night service became difficult and wearying; no night passed without alarms.On the fourth day after we had moved from the river fork, I broke up a considerable party of Indian plunderers at the moment when they were trying to stampede our mules. But worst of all were the nights without fire. We were unable to approach the Platte River, and frequentlyhad nothing to burn, and toward morning drizzling rain began to fall; buffalo dung, which in case of need took the place of wood, got wet, and would not burn.The buffaloes filled me with alarm also. Sometimes we saw herds of some thousands on the horizon, rushing forward like a storm, crushing everything before them. Were such a herd to strike the train, we should perish every one without rescue. To complete the evil, the prairie was swarming at that time with beasts of prey of all species; after the buffaloes and Indians, came terrible gray bears, cougars, big wolves from Kansas and the Indian Territory. At the small streams, where we stopped sometimes for the night, we saw at sunset whole menageries coming to drink after the heat of the day. Once a bear rushed at Wichita, our half-breed; and if I had not run up, with Smith and the other scout, Tom, to help him, he would have been torn to pieces. I opened the head of the monsterwith an axe, which I brought down with such force that the handle of tough hickory was broken; still, the beast rushed at me once more, and fell only when Smith and Tom shot him in the ear from rifles. Those savage brutes were so bold that at night they came up to the very train; and in the course of a week we killed two not more than a hundred yards from the wagons. In consequence of this, the dogs raised such an uproar from twilight till dawn that it was impossible to close an eye.Once I loved such a life; and when, a year before, I was in Arkansas, during the greatest heat, it was for me as in paradise. But now, when I remembered that in the wagon my beloved wife, instead of sleeping, was trembling about me, and ruining her health with anxiety, I wished all the Indians and bears and cougars in the lowest pit, and desired from my soul to secure as soon as possible the peace of that being so fragile, so delicate, and so worshipped,that I wished to bear her forever in my arms.A great weight fell from my heart when, after three weeks of such crossings, I saw at last the waters of a river white as if traced out with chalk; this stream is called now Republican River, but at that time it had no name in English. Broad belts of dark willows, stretching like a mourning trail along the white waters, could afford us fuel in plenty; and though that kind of willow crackles in the fire, and shoots sparks with great noise, still it burns better than wet buffalo dung. I appointed at this place another rest of two days, because the rocks, scattered here and there by the banks of the river, indicated the proximity of a hilly country, difficult to cross, lying on both sides of the back of the Rocky Mountains. We were already on a considerable elevation above the sea, as could be known by the cold nights.That inequality between day and night temperaturetroubled us greatly. Some people, among others old Smith, caught fevers, and had to go to their wagons. The seeds of the disease had clung to them, probably, at the unwholesome banks of the Missouri, and hardship caused the outbreak. The nearness of the mountains, however, gave hope of a speedy recovery; meanwhile, my wife nursed them with a devotion innate to gentle hearts only.But she grew thin herself. More than once, when I woke in the morning, my first look fell on her beautiful face, and my heart beat uneasily at its pallor and the blue half circles under her eyes. It would happen that while I was looking at her in that way she would wake, smile at me, and fall asleep again. Then I felt that I would have given half my health of oak if we were in California; but California was still far, far away.After two days we started again, and coming to the Republican River at noon, were soon moving along the fork of the White Mantoward the southern fork of the Platte, lying for the most part in Colorado. The country became more mountainous at every step, and we were really in the canyon along the banks of which rose up in the distance higher and higher granite cliffs, now standing alone, now stretching out continuously like walls, now closing more narrowly, now opening out on both sides. Wood was not lacking, for all the cracks and crannies of the cliffs were covered with dwarf pine and dwarf oak as well. Here and there springs were heard; along the rocky walls scampered the wolverine. The air was cool, pure, wholesome. After a week the fever ceased. But the mules and horses, forced to eat food in which heather predominated, instead of the juicy grass of Nebraska, grew thinner and thinner, and groaned more loudly as they pulled up the mountains our well filled and weighty wagons.At last on a certain afternoon we saw before us beacons, as it were, or crested clouds halfmelting in the distance, hazy, blue, azure, with white and gold on their crests, and immense in size, extending from the earth to the sky.At this sight a shout rose in the whole caravan; men climbed to the tops of the wagons to see better, from every side thundered shouts: “Rocky Mountains! Rocky Mountains!” Caps were waving in the air, and on all faces enthusiasm was evident.Thus the Americans greeted their Rocky Mountains, but I went to my wagon, and, pressing my wife to my breast, vowed faith to her once more in spirit before those heaven-touching altars, which expressed such solemn mysteriousness, majesty, unapproachableness, and immensity. The sun was just setting, and soon twilight covered the whole country; but those giants in the last rays seemed like measureless masses of burning coal and lava. Later on, that fiery redness passed into violet, ever darker, and at last all disappeared, and was merged into one darkness, through whichgazed at us from above the stars, the twinkling eyes of the night.But we were at least a hundred and fifty miles yet from the main chain; in fact, the mountains disappeared from our eyes next day, intercepted by cliffs; again they appeared and again they vanished, as our road went by turns.We advanced slowly, for new obstacles stood in our way; and though we kept as much as possible to the bed of the river, frequently, where the banks were too steep, we had to go around and seek a passage by neighboring valleys. The ground in these valleys was covered with gray heather and wild peas, not good even for mules, and forming no little hindrance to the journey, for the long and powerful stems, twisting around, made it difficult to pass through them.Sometimes we came upon openings and cracks in the earth, impassable and hundredsof yards long; these we had to go around also. Time after time the scouts, Wichita and Tom, returned with accounts of new obstacles. The land bristled with rocks, or broke away suddenly.On a certain day it seemed to us that we were going through a valley, when all at once the valley was missing; in place of it was a precipice so deep that the gaze went down with terror along the perpendicular wall, and the head became dizzy. Giant oaks, growing at the bottom of the abyss, seemed little black clumps, and the buffaloes pasturing among them like beetles. We entered more and more into the region of precipices, of stones, fragments, debris, and rocks thrown one on the other with a kind of wild disorder. The echo sent back twice and thrice from granite arches the curses of drivers and squealing of mules. On the prairie our wagons, rising high above the surface of the country, seemed lordly and immense; herebefore those perpendicular cliffs, the wagons became wonderfully small to the eye, and vanished in those gorges as if devoured by gigantic jaws. Little waterfalls, or as they are called by the Indians, “laughing waters,” stopped the road to us every few hundred yards; toil exhausted our strength and that of the animals. Meanwhile, when at times the real chain of mountains appeared on the horizon, it seemed as far away and hazy as ever. Happily curiosity overcame in us even weariness, and the continual change of views kept it in practice. None of my people, not excepting those who were born in the Alleghanies, had ever seen such wild regions; I myself gazed with wonder on those canyons, along the edges of which the unbridled fancy of Nature had reared as it were castles, fortresses, and stone cities. From time to time we met Indians, but these were different from those on the prairies, very straggling and very much wilder.The sight of white men roused in them fear mingled with a desire for blood. They seemed still more cruel than their brethren in Nebraska; their stature was loftier, their complexion much darker, their wide nostrils and quick glances gave them the expression of wild beasts caught in a trap. Their movements, too, had almost the quickness and timidity of beasts. While speaking, they put their thumbs to their cheeks, which were painted in white and blue stripes. Their weapons were tomahawks and bows, the latter made of a certain kind of firm mountain hawthorn, so rigid that my men could not bend them. These savages, who in considerable numbers might have been very dangerous, were distinguished by invincible thievishness; happily they were few, the largest party that we met not exceeding fifteen. They called themselves Tabeguachis, Winemucas, and Yampas. Our scout, Wichita, though expert in Indian dialects, could not understand theirlanguage; hence we could not make out in any way why all of them, pointing to the Rocky Mountains and then to us, closed and opened their palms, as if indicating some number.The road became so difficult, that with the greatest exertion, we made barely fifteen miles a day. At the same time our horses began to die, being less enduring than mules and more choice of food; men failed in strength too, for during whole days they had to draw wagons with the mules, or to hold them in dangerous places. By degrees unwillingness seized the weakest; some got the rheumatism, and one, through whose mouth blood came from exertion, died in three days, cursing the hour in which it came to his head to leave New York. We were then in the worst part of the road, near the little river called by the Indians Kiowa. There were no cliffs there as high as on the Eastern boundary of Colorado; but the whole country, as far asthe eye could reach, was bristling with fragments thrown in disorder one upon another. These fragments, some standing upright, others overturned, presented the appearance of ruined graveyards with fallen headstones. Those were really the “Bad Lands” of Colorado, answering to those which extended northward over Nebraska. With the greatest effort we escaped from them in the course of a week.

Atlast we came to the Missouri. Indians chose generally the time of crossing that river to fall upon caravans; defence is most difficult when some wagons are on one bank, and some in the river; when the draught-beasts are stubborn and balky, and disorder rises among the people. Indeed, I noticed, before our arrival at the river, that Indian spies had for two days been following us; I took every precaution therefore, and led the train in complete military order. I did not permit wagons toloiter on the prairie, as in the eastern districts of Iowa; the men had to stay together and be in perfect readiness for battle.When we had come to the bank and found a ford, I ordered two divisions, of sixty men each, to intrench themselves on both banks, so as to secure the passage under cover of small forts and the muzzles of rifles. The remaining hundred and twenty emigrants had to take the train over. I did not send in more than a few wagons at once, so as to avoid confusion. With such an arrangement everything took place in the greatest order, and attack became impossible, for the attackers would have had to carry one or the other intrenchment before they could fall upon those who were crossing the river.How far these precautions were not superfluous the future made evident, for two years later four hundred Germans were cut to pieces by the Kiowas, at the place where Omaha stands at this moment. I had this advantagebesides: my men, who previously had heard more than once narratives, which went to the East, of the terrible danger of crossing the yellow waters of the Missouri, seeing the firmness and ease with which I had solved the problem, gained blind confidence, and began to look on me as some ruling spirit of the plains.Daily did those praises and that enthusiasm reach Lillian, in whose loving eyes I grew to be a legendary hero. Aunt Atkins said to her: “While your Pole is with you, you may sleep out in the rain, for he won’t let the drops fall on you.” And the heart rose in my maiden from those praises. During the whole time of crossing I could give her hardly a moment, and could only say hurriedly with my eyes what my lips could not utter. All day I was on horseback, now on one bank, now on the other, now in the water. I was in a hurry to advance as soon as possible from those thick yellow waters, which were bearing down withthem rotten trees, bunches of leaves, grass, and malodorous mud from Dakota, infectious with fever.Besides this, the people were wearied immensely, from continual watching; the horses grew sick from unwholesome water, which we could not use until we had kept it in charcoal a number of hours.At last, after eight days’ time, we found ourselves on the right bank of the river without having broken a wagon, and with the loss of only seven head of mules and horses. That day, however, the first arrows fell, for my men killed, and afterward, according to the repulsive habit of the plains, scalped three Indians, who had been trying to push in among the mules. In consequence of this deed an embassy of six leading warriors of the Bloody Tracks, belonging to the Pawnee stock, visited us on the following day. They sat down at our fire with tremendous importance, demanding horses and mules in return for the dead men, declaringthat, in case of refusal, five hundred warriors would attack us immediately. I made no great account of those five hundred warriors, since I had the train in order and defended with intrenchments. I saw well that that embassy had been sent merely because those wild people had caught at the first opportunity to extort something without an attack, in the success of which they had lost faith. I should have driven them away in one moment, had I not wished to exhibit them to Lillian. In fact, while they were sitting at the council-fire motionless, with eyes fixed on the flame, she, concealed in the wagon, was looking with alarm and curiosity at their dress trimmed at the seams with human hair, their tomahawks adorned with feathers on the handles, and at their faces painted black and red, which meant war. In spite of these preparations, however, I refused their demand sharply, and, passing from a defensive to an offensive rôle, declared that if even one mule disappeared from the train, I would go to theirtribe myself and scatter the bones of their five hundred warriors over the prairie.They went away, repressing their rage with difficulty, but when going they brandished their tomahawks over their heads in sign of war. However, my words sank in their memory; for at the time of their departure two hundred of my men, prepared purposely, rose up with threatening aspect, rattling their weapons, and gave forth a shout of battle. That readiness made a deep impression on the wild warriors.Some hours later Henry Simpson, who at his own instance had gone out to observe the embassy, returned, all panting, with news that a considerable division of Indians was approaching us.I, knowing Indian ways perfectly, knew that those were mere threats, for the Indians, armed with bows made of hickory, were not in numbers sufficient to meet Kentucky rifles of long range. I said that to Lillian, wishing to quiet her, for she was trembling like a leaf; but allthe others were sure that a battle was coming; the younger ones, whose warlike spirit was roused, wished for it eagerly.In fact, we heard the howling of the redskins soon after; still, they kept at the distance of some gun-shots, as if seeking a favorable moment.In our camp immense fires, replenished with cottonwood and willows, were burning all night; the men stood guard around the wagons; the women were singing psalms from fear; the mules, not driven out as usual to the night pasture, but confined behind the wagons, were braying and biting one another; the dogs, feeling the nearness of the Indians, were howling,—in a word, it was noisy and threatening throughout the camp. In brief moments of silence we heard the mournful and ominous howling of the Indian outposts, calling with the voices of coyotes.About midnight the Indians tried to set fire to the prairie, but the damp grass of springwould not burn, though for some days not a raindrop had fallen on that region.When riding around the camp-ground before daybreak I had a chance of seeing Lillian for a moment. I found her sleeping from weariness, with her head resting on the knees of Aunt Atkins, who, armed with a bowie-knife, had sworn to destroy the whole tribe, if one of them dared to come near her darling. As to me, I looked on that fair sleeping face with the love not only of a man, but almost of a mother, and I felt equally with Aunt Atkins that I would tear into pieces any one who would threaten my beloved. In her was my joy, in her my delight; beyond her I had nothing but endless wandering, tramping, and mishaps. Before my eyes I had the best proof of this: in the distance were the prairie, the rattle of weapons, the night on horseback, the struggle with predatory redskin murderers; nearer, right there before my face, was the quiet sleep of that dear one, so full of faith and trust in me, that my wordalone had convinced her that there could be no attack, and she had fallen asleep as full of confidence as if under her father’s roof.When I looked at those two pictures, I felt for the first time how that adventurous life without a morrow had wearied me, and I saw at once that I should find rest and satisfaction with her alone. “If only to California!” thought I, “if only to California! But the toils of the journey—merely one-half of which, and that half the easiest, is over—are evident already on that pallid face; but a beautiful rich country is waiting for us there, with its warm sky and eternal spring.” Thus meditating, I covered the feet of the sleeper with my buffalo-robe, so that the night cold might not harm her, and returned to the end of the camp.It was time, for a thick mist had begun to rise from the river; the Indians might really take advantage of it and try their fortune. The fires were dimmed more and more, and grew pale. An hour later one man could not see another iften paces distant. I gave command then to cry on the square every minute, and soon nothing was heard in that camp but the prolonged “All’s well!” which passed from mouth to mouth like the words of a litany.But the Indian camp had grown perfectly still, as if its occupants were dumb. This began to alarm me. At the first dawn an immense weariness mastered us; God knows how many nights the majority of the men had passed without sleep,—besides, the fog, wonderfully penetrating, sent a chill and a shiver through all.Would it not be better, thought I, instead of standing on one place and waiting for what may please the Indians, to attack and scatter them to the four winds? This was not simply the whim of an Uhlan, but an absolute need; for a daring and lucky attack might gain us great glory, which, spreading among the wild tribes, would give us safety for a long stretch of road.Leaving behind me one hundred and thirtymen, under the lead of the old prairie wolf, Smith, I commanded a hundred others to mount their horses, and we moved forward somewhat cautiously, but gladly, for the cold had become more annoying, and in this way it was possible to warm ourselves at least. At twice the distance of a gunshot we raced forward at a gallop with shouting, and in the midst of a musket-fire rushed, like a storm, on the savages. A ball, sent from our side by some awkward marksman, whistled right at my ear, but only tore my cap.Meanwhile, we were on the necks of the Indians, who expected anything rather than an attack, for this was surely the first time that emigrants had charged the besiegers. Great alarm so blinded them, therefore, that they fled in every direction, howling from fright like wild beasts, and perishing without resistance. A smaller division of these people, pushed to the river and, deprived of retreat, defended themselves so sternly and stubbornly that theychose to rush into the water rather than beg for life.Their spears pointed with sharpened deer-horns and tomahawks made of hard flint were not very dangerous, but they used them with wonderful skill. We burst through these, however, in the twinkling of an eye. I took one prisoner, a sturdy rascal, whose hatchet and arm I broke in the moment of fighting with hatchets.We seized a few tens of horses, but so wild and vicious that there was no use in them. We made a few prisoners, all wounded. I gave command to care for these most attentively, and set them free afterward at Lillian’s request, having given them blankets, arms, and horses, necessary for men seriously wounded. These poor fellows, believing that we would tie them to stakes for torture, had begun to chant their monotonous death-songs, and were simply terrified at first by what had happened. They thought that we would liberate only to huntthem in Indian fashion; but seeing that no danger threatened, they went away, exalting our bravery and the goodness of “Pale Flower,” which name they had given Lillian.That day ended, however, with a sad event, which cast a shade on our delight at such a considerable victory, and its foreseen results. Among my men there were none killed; a number, nevertheless, had received wounds more or less serious; the most grievously wounded was Henry Simpson, whose eagerness had borne him away during battle. In the evening his condition grew so much worse, that he was dying; he wished to make some confession to me, but, poor fellow, he could not speak, for his jaw had been broken by a tomahawk. He merely muttered: “Pardon, my captain!” Immediately convulsions seized him. I divined what he wanted, remembering the bullet which in the morning had whistled at my ear, and I forgave him, as becomes a Christian. I knew that he carried with him to the grave a deep,though unacknowledged feeling for Lillian, and supposed that he might have sought death.He died about midnight; we buried him under an immense cottonwood, on the bark of which I carved out a cross with my knife.Onthe following day we moved on. Before us was a prairie still more extensive, more level, wilder, a region which the foot of a white man had hardly touched at that time,—in a word, we were in Nebraska.During the first days we moved quickly enough over treeless expanses, but not without difficulty, for there was an utter lack of wood for fuel. The banks of the Platte River, which cuts the whole length of those measureless plains, were, it is true, covered with a dense growth ofosier and willow; but that river having a shallow bed, had overflowed, as is usual in spring, and we had to keep far away. Meanwhile we passed the nights at smouldering fires of buffalo dung, which, not dried yet sufficiently by the sun, rather smouldered with a blue flame than burnt. We hurried on then with every effort toward Big Blue River, where we could find abundance of fuel.The country around us bore every mark of a primitive land. Time after time, before the train, which extended now in a very loose line, rushed herds of antelopes with ruddy hair and with white under the belly; at times there appeared in the waves of grass the immense shaggy heads of buffaloes, with bloodshot eyes and steaming nostrils; then again these beasts were seen in crowds, like black moving patches on the distant prairie.In places we passed near whole towns formed of mounds raised by prairie dogs. The Indians did not show themselves at first, and only a number of days later did we see three wild horsemen,ornamented with feathers; but they vanished before our eyes in an instant, like phantoms. I convinced myself afterward that the bloody lesson which I had given them on the Missouri, made the name of “Big Ara” (for thus they had modified Big Ralph) terrible among the many tribes of prairie robbers; the kindness shown the prisoners had captivated those people, wild and revengeful, though not devoid of knightly feeling.When we had come to Big Blue River, I resolved to halt ten days at its woody banks. The second half of the road, which lay before us, was more difficult than the first, for beyond the prairie were the Rocky Mountains, and farther on the “Bad Lands” of Utah and Nevada. Meanwhile, our mules and horses, in spite of abundant pasture, had become lean and road-weary; hence it was needful to recruit their strength with a considerable rest. For this purpose we halted in the triangle formed by the Big Blue River and Beaver Creek.It was a strong position, which, secured on two sides by the rivers and on the third by the wagons, had become almost impregnable, especially since wood and water were found on the spot. Of camp labor there was scarcely any, excessive watching was not needed, and the emigrants could use their leisure with perfect freedom. The days, too, were the most beautiful of our journey. The weather continued to be marvellous, and the nights grew so warm that one might sleep in the open air.The people went out in the morning to hunt, and returned at midday, weighed down with antelopes and prairie birds, which lived in millions in the country about; the rest of the day they spent eating, sleeping, singing, or shooting for amusement at wild geese, which flew in whole flocks above the camp.In my life there has never been anything better or happier than those ten days between the rivers. From morning till evening I didnot part from Lillian, and that beginning not of passing visits, but, as it were, of life, convinced me more and more that I had loved once and forever her, the mild and gentle. I became acquainted with Lillian in those days more nearly and more deeply. At night, instead of sleeping, I thought frequently of what she was, and that she had become to me as dear and as needful in life as air is for breathing. God sees that I loved greatly her beautiful face, her long tresses, and her eyes,—as blue as that sky bending over Nebraska,—and her form, lithe and slender, which seemed to say: “Support and defend me forever; without thee I cannot help myself in the world!” God sees that I loved everything that was in her, every poor bit of clothing of hers, and she attracted me with such force that I could not resist; but there was another charm in her for me, and that was her sweetness and sensitiveness.Many women have I met in life, but never have I met and never shall I meet another such,and I feel endless grief when I think of her. The soul in Lillian Morris was as sensitive as that flower whose leaves nestle in when you draw near to it. Sensitive to every word of mine, she comprehended everything and reflected every thought, just as deep, transparent water reflects all that passes by the brink of it. At the same time that pure heart yielded itself to feeling with such timidity that I felt how great her love must be when she weakened and gave herself in sacrifice. And then everything honorable in my soul was changed into one feeling of gratitude to her. She was simply my one, my dearest in the world; so modest, that I had to persuade her that to love is not a sin, and I was breaking my head continually over this: how can I persuade her? In such emotions time passed for us at the meeting of the rivers, till at last my supreme happiness was accomplished.One morning at daybreak we started to walk up Beaver Creek; I wanted to show her thebeavers; a whole kingdom of them was flourishing not farther than half a mile from our wagons. Walking along the bank carefully, near the bushes, we came soon to our object. There was a little bay as it were, or a lakelet, formed by the creek, at the brink of which stood two great hickory-trees; at the very bank grew weeping-willows, half their branches in the water. The beaver-dam, a little higher up in the creek, stopped its flow, and kept the water ever at one height in the lakelet, above whose clear surface rose the round cupola-shaped houses of these very clever animals.Probably the foot of man had never stood before in that retreat, hidden on all sides by trees. Pushing apart cautiously the slender limbs of the willows, we looked at the water, which was as smooth as a mirror, and blue. The beavers were not at their work yet; the little water-town slumbered in visible quiet; and such silence reigned on the lake that I heard Lillian’s breath when she thrust hergolden head through the opening in the branches with mine and our temples touched. I caught her waist with my arm to hold her on the slope of the bank, and we waited patiently, delighted with what our eyes were taking in.Accustomed to life in wild places, I loved Nature as my own mother, though simply; but I felt that something like God’s delight in Creation was present.It was early morning; the light had barely come, and was reddening among the branches of the hickories; the dew was dropping from the leaves of the willows, and the world was growing brighter each instant. Later on, there came to the other shore prairie chickens, gray, with black throats, pretty crests on their heads, and they drank water, raising their bills as they swallowed.“Ah, Ralph! how good it is here,” whispered Lillian.There was nothing in my head then but acottage in some lonely canyon, she with me, and such a rosary of peaceful days, flowing calmly into eternity and endless rest. It seemed to us that we had brought to that wedding of Nature our own wedding, to that calm our calm, and to that bright light the bright light of happiness within us.Now the smooth surface described itself in a circle, and from the water came up slowly the bearded face of a beaver, wet and rosy from the gleam of the morning; then a second, and the two little beasts swam toward the lake, pushing apart with their noses blue lines, puffing and muttering. They climbed the dam, and, sitting on their haunches, began to call; at that signal heads, larger and smaller, rose up as if by enchantment; a plashing was heard in the lake. The herd appeared at first to be playing,—simply diving and screaming in its own fashion from delight; but the first pair, looking from the dam, gave a sudden, prolonged whistle from their nostrils, and in atwinkle half of the beavers were on the dam, and the other half had swum to the banks and vanished under the willows, where the water began to boil, and a sound as it were of sawing indicated that the little beasts were working there, cutting branches and bark.Lillian and I looked long, very long, at these acts, and at the pleasures of animal life until man disturbs it. Wishing to change her position, she moved a branch accidentally, and in the twinkle of an eye every beaver had vanished; only the disturbed water indicated that something was beneath; but after a while the water became smooth, and silence surrounded us again, interrupted only by the woodpeckers striking the firm bark of the hickories.Meanwhile the sun had risen above the trees and began to heat powerfully. Since Lillian did not feel tired yet, we resolved to go around the little lake. On the way we came to a small stream which intersected the woodand fell into the lake from the opposite side. Lillian could not cross it, so I had to carry her; and despite her resistance, I took her like a child in my arms and walked into the water. But that stream was a stream of temptations. Fear lest I should fall made her seize my neck with both arms, hold to me with all her strength, and hide her shamed face behind my shoulder; but I began straightway to press my lips to her temple, whispering: “Lillian! my Lillian!” And in that way I carried her over the water.When I reached the other bank I wished to carry her farther, but she tore herself from me almost rudely. A certain disquiet seized both of us; she began to look around as if in fear, and now pallor and now ruddiness struck her face in turn. We went on. I took her hand and pressed it to my heart. At moments fear of myself seized me. The day became sultry; heat flowed down from the sky to the earth; the wind was not blowing, theleaves on the hickories hung motionless, the only sound was from woodpeckers striking the bark as before; all seemed to be growing languid from heat and falling asleep. I thought that some enchantment was in the air, in that forest, and then I thought only that Lillian was with me and that we were alone.Meanwhile weariness began to come on Lillian; her breathing grew shorter and more audible, and on her face, usually pale, fiery blushes beat forth. I asked if she was not tired, and if she would not rest.“Oh, no, no!” answered she quickly, as if defending herself from even the thought; but after a few tens of steps she tottered suddenly and whispered,—“I cannot, indeed, I cannot go farther.”Then I took her again in my arms and carried that dear burden to the edge of the shore, where willows, hanging to the ground, formed a shady corridor. In this green alcove I placed her on the moss. I knelt down; and when Ilooked at her the heart in me was straitened. Her face was as pale as linen, and her staring eyes looked on me with fear.“Lillian, what is the matter?” cried I. “I am with you.” I bent to her feet then and covered them with kisses. “Lillian!” continued I, “my only, my chosen, my wife!”When I said these last words a shiver passed through her from head to foot; and suddenly she threw her arms around my neck with a certain unusual power, as in a fever repeating, “My dear! my dear! my husband!” Everything vanished from my eyes then, and it seemed to me that the whole globe of the earth was flying away with us.I know not to this day how it could be that when I recovered from that intoxication and came to my senses twilight was shining again among the dark branches of the hickories, but it was the twilight of evening. The woodpeckers had ceased to strike the trees; one twilight on the bottom of the lake was smilingat that other which was in the sky; the inhabitants of the water had gone to sleep; the evening was beautiful, calm, filled with a red light; it was time to return to the camp.When we had come out from beneath the weeping-willows, I looked at Lillian; there was not on her face either sadness or disquiet; in her upturned eyes was the light of calm resignation and, as it were, a bright aureole of sacrifice and dignity encircled her blessed head. When I gave her my hand, she inclined her head quietly to my shoulder, and, without turning her eyes from the heavens, she said to me:“Ralph, repeat to me that I am your wife, and repeat it to me often.”Since there was neither in the deserts, nor in the place to which we were going, any marriage save that of hearts, I knelt down, and when she had knelt at my side, I said: “Before God, earth, and heaven, I declare to thee, Lillian Morris, that I take thee as wife. Amen.”To this she answered: “Now I am thine forever and till death, thy wife, Ralph!”From that moment we were married; she was not my sweetheart, she was my lawful wife. That thought was pleasant to both of us,—and pleasant to me, for in my heart there rose a new feeling of a certain sacred respect for Lillian, and for myself, a certain honorableness and great dignity through which love became ennobled and blessed. Hand in hand, with heads erect and confident look, we returned to the camp, where the people were greatly alarmed about us. A number of tens of men had gone out in every direction to look for us; and with astonishment I learned afterward that some had passed around the lake, but could not discover us; we on our part had not heard their shouts.I summoned the people, and when they had assembled in a circle, I took Lillian by the hand, went into the centre of the circle, and said,—“Gentlemen, be witnesses, that in your presence I call this woman, who stands withme, my wife; and bear witness of this before justice, before law, and before every one whosoever may ask you, either in the East or the West.”“We will! and hurrah for you both!” answered the miners.Old Smith asked Lillian then, according to custom, if she agreed to take me as husband, and when she said “Yes,” we were legally married before the people.In the distant prairies of the West, and on all the frontiers where there are no towns, magistrates, or churches, marriages are not performed otherwise; and to this hour, if a man calls a woman with whom he lives under the same roof his wife, this declaration takes the place of all legal documents. No one of my men therefore wondered, or looked at my marriage otherwise than with the respect shown to custom; on the contrary, all were rejoiced, for, though I had held them more sternly than other leaders, they knew that Idid so honestly, and with each day they showed me more good will, and my wife was always the eye in the head of the caravan. Hence there began a holiday and amusements. The fires were stirred up; the Scots took from their wagons the pipes, whose music we both liked, since it was for us a pleasant reminiscence; the Americans took out their favorite ox-bones, and amid songs, shouts, and shooting, the wedding evening passed for us.Aunt Atkins embraced Lillian every little while, now laughing, now weeping, now lighting her pipe, which went out the next moment. But I was touched most by the following ceremony which is a custom in that movable portion of the American population which spends the greater part of its life in wagons. When the moon went down the men fastened on the ramrods of their guns branches of lighted osier, and a whole procession, under the lead of old Smith, conducted us from wagon to wagon, asking Lillian at each of them,“Is this your home?” My beautiful love answered, “No!” and we went on. At Aunt Atkins’ wagon a real tenderness took possession of us all, for in that one Lillian had ridden hitherto. When she said there also in a low voice, “No,” Aunt Atkins bellowed like a buffalo, and seizing Lillian in her embrace, began to repeat: “My little one! my sweet!” sobbing meanwhile, and carried away with weeping. Lillian sobbed too; and then all those hardened hearts grew tender for an instant, and there was no eye to which tears did not come.When we approached it, I barely recognized my wagon, it was decked with branches and flowers. Here the men raised the burning torches aloft, and Smith inquired in a louder and more solemn voice,—“Is this your home?”“That’s it! That’s it!” answered Lillian.Then all uncovered their heads, and there was such silence that I heard the hissing ofthe fire and the sound of the burnt twigs falling on the ground; the old white-haired miner, stretching out his sinewy hands over us, said,—“May God bless you both, and your house, Amen!”A triple hurrah answered that blessing. All separated then, leaving me and my loved one alone.When the last man had gone, she rested her head on my breast, whispering: “Forever! forever!” and at that moment the stars in our souls outnumbered the stars of the sky.Nextmorning early I left my wife sleeping and went to find flowers for her. While looking for them, I said to myself every moment: “You are married!” and the thought filled me with such delight, that I raised my eyes to the Lord of Hosts, thanking Him for having permitted me to live to the time in which a man becomes himself genuinely and rounds out his life with the life of another loved beyond all. I had something now of my own in the world, and though that canvas-coveredwagon was my only house and hearth, I felt richer at once, and looked at my previous wandering lot with pity, and with wonder that I could have lived in that manner hitherto. Formerly it had not even come to my head what happiness there is in that word “wife,”—happiness which called to my heart’s blood with that name, and to the best part of my own soul. For a long time I had so loved Lillian that I saw the whole world through her only, connected everything with her, and understood everything only as it related to her. And now when I said “wife,” that meant, mine, mine forever; and I thought that I should go wild with delight, for it could not find place in my head, that I, a poor man, should possess such a treasure. What then was lacking to me? Nothing. Had those prairies been warmer, had there been safety there for her, had it not been for the obligation to lead people to the place to which I had promised to lead them, I was ready not to go to California, but to settleeven in Nebraska, if with Lillian. I had been going to California to dig gold, but now I was ready to laugh at the idea. “What other riches can I find there, when I have her?” I asked myself. “What do we care for gold? See, I will choose some canyon, where there is spring all the year; I will cut down trees for a house, and live with her, and a plough and a gun will give us life. We shall not die of hunger—” These were my thoughts while gathering flowers, and when I had enough of them I returned to the camp. On the road I met Aunt Atkins.“Is the little one sleeping?” asked she, taking from her mouth for a moment the inseparable pipe.“She is sleeping,” answered I.To this Aunt Atkins, blinking with one eye, added,—“Ah, you rascal!”Meanwhile the “little one” was not sleeping, for we both saw her coming down from thewagon, and shielding her eyes against the sunlight with her hand, she began to look on every side. Seeing me, she ran up all rosy and fresh, as the morning. When I opened my arms, she fell into them panting, and putting up her mouth, began to repeat:—“Dzien dobry! dzien dobry! dzien dobry!”Then she stood on her toes, and looking into my eyes, asked with a roguish smile, “Am I your wife?”What was there to answer, except to kiss without end and fondle? And thus passed the whole time at that meeting of rivers, for old Smith had taken on himself all my duties till the resumption of our journey.We visited our beavers once more, and the stream, through which I carried her now without resistance. Once we went up Blue River in a little redwood canoe. At a bend of the stream I showed Lillian buffaloes near by, driving their horns into the bank, from which their whole heads were covered as if with armor of driedclay. But two days before starting, these expeditions ceased, for first the Indians had appeared in the neighborhood, and second my dear lady had begun to be weak somewhat. She grew pale and lost strength, and when I inquired what the trouble was, she answered only with a smile and the assurance that it was nothing. I watched over her sleep, I nursed her as well as I was able, almost preventing the breezes from blowing on her, and grew thin from anxiety. Aunt Atkins blinked mysteriously with her left eye when talking of Lillian’s illness, and sent forth such dense rolls of smoke that she grew invisible behind them. I was disturbed all the more, because sad thoughts came to Lillian at times. She had beaten it into her head that maybe it was not permitted to love so intensely as we were loving, and once, putting her finger on the Bible, which we read every day, she said sadly,—“Read, Ralph.”I looked, and a certain wonderful feelingseized my heart too, when I read, “Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever.” She said when I had finished reading, “But if God is angry at this, I know that with His goodness He will punish only me.”I pacified her by saying that love was simply an angel, who flies from the souls of two people to God and takes Him praise from the earth. After that there was no talk between us touching such things, since preparations for the journey had begun. The fitting up of wagons and beasts, and a thousand occupations, stole my time from me. When at last the hour came for departure we took tearful farewell of that river fork, which had witnessed so much of our happiness; but when I saw the train stretching out again on the prairie, the wagons one after another and lines of mules before the wagons, I felt a certain consolation at the thought that the end of the journey would be nearer eachday, that a few months more and we should see California, toward which we were striving with such toil.But the first days of the journey did not pass over-successfully. Beyond the Missouri, as far as the foot of the Rocky Mountains, the prairie rises continually over enormous expanses; therefore the beasts were easily wearied, and were often tired out. Besides, we could not approach the Platte River, for, though the flood had decreased, it was the time of the great spring hunts, and a multitude of Indians circled around the river, looking for herds of buffaloes moving northward. Night service became difficult and wearying; no night passed without alarms.On the fourth day after we had moved from the river fork, I broke up a considerable party of Indian plunderers at the moment when they were trying to stampede our mules. But worst of all were the nights without fire. We were unable to approach the Platte River, and frequentlyhad nothing to burn, and toward morning drizzling rain began to fall; buffalo dung, which in case of need took the place of wood, got wet, and would not burn.The buffaloes filled me with alarm also. Sometimes we saw herds of some thousands on the horizon, rushing forward like a storm, crushing everything before them. Were such a herd to strike the train, we should perish every one without rescue. To complete the evil, the prairie was swarming at that time with beasts of prey of all species; after the buffaloes and Indians, came terrible gray bears, cougars, big wolves from Kansas and the Indian Territory. At the small streams, where we stopped sometimes for the night, we saw at sunset whole menageries coming to drink after the heat of the day. Once a bear rushed at Wichita, our half-breed; and if I had not run up, with Smith and the other scout, Tom, to help him, he would have been torn to pieces. I opened the head of the monsterwith an axe, which I brought down with such force that the handle of tough hickory was broken; still, the beast rushed at me once more, and fell only when Smith and Tom shot him in the ear from rifles. Those savage brutes were so bold that at night they came up to the very train; and in the course of a week we killed two not more than a hundred yards from the wagons. In consequence of this, the dogs raised such an uproar from twilight till dawn that it was impossible to close an eye.Once I loved such a life; and when, a year before, I was in Arkansas, during the greatest heat, it was for me as in paradise. But now, when I remembered that in the wagon my beloved wife, instead of sleeping, was trembling about me, and ruining her health with anxiety, I wished all the Indians and bears and cougars in the lowest pit, and desired from my soul to secure as soon as possible the peace of that being so fragile, so delicate, and so worshipped,that I wished to bear her forever in my arms.A great weight fell from my heart when, after three weeks of such crossings, I saw at last the waters of a river white as if traced out with chalk; this stream is called now Republican River, but at that time it had no name in English. Broad belts of dark willows, stretching like a mourning trail along the white waters, could afford us fuel in plenty; and though that kind of willow crackles in the fire, and shoots sparks with great noise, still it burns better than wet buffalo dung. I appointed at this place another rest of two days, because the rocks, scattered here and there by the banks of the river, indicated the proximity of a hilly country, difficult to cross, lying on both sides of the back of the Rocky Mountains. We were already on a considerable elevation above the sea, as could be known by the cold nights.That inequality between day and night temperaturetroubled us greatly. Some people, among others old Smith, caught fevers, and had to go to their wagons. The seeds of the disease had clung to them, probably, at the unwholesome banks of the Missouri, and hardship caused the outbreak. The nearness of the mountains, however, gave hope of a speedy recovery; meanwhile, my wife nursed them with a devotion innate to gentle hearts only.But she grew thin herself. More than once, when I woke in the morning, my first look fell on her beautiful face, and my heart beat uneasily at its pallor and the blue half circles under her eyes. It would happen that while I was looking at her in that way she would wake, smile at me, and fall asleep again. Then I felt that I would have given half my health of oak if we were in California; but California was still far, far away.After two days we started again, and coming to the Republican River at noon, were soon moving along the fork of the White Mantoward the southern fork of the Platte, lying for the most part in Colorado. The country became more mountainous at every step, and we were really in the canyon along the banks of which rose up in the distance higher and higher granite cliffs, now standing alone, now stretching out continuously like walls, now closing more narrowly, now opening out on both sides. Wood was not lacking, for all the cracks and crannies of the cliffs were covered with dwarf pine and dwarf oak as well. Here and there springs were heard; along the rocky walls scampered the wolverine. The air was cool, pure, wholesome. After a week the fever ceased. But the mules and horses, forced to eat food in which heather predominated, instead of the juicy grass of Nebraska, grew thinner and thinner, and groaned more loudly as they pulled up the mountains our well filled and weighty wagons.At last on a certain afternoon we saw before us beacons, as it were, or crested clouds halfmelting in the distance, hazy, blue, azure, with white and gold on their crests, and immense in size, extending from the earth to the sky.At this sight a shout rose in the whole caravan; men climbed to the tops of the wagons to see better, from every side thundered shouts: “Rocky Mountains! Rocky Mountains!” Caps were waving in the air, and on all faces enthusiasm was evident.Thus the Americans greeted their Rocky Mountains, but I went to my wagon, and, pressing my wife to my breast, vowed faith to her once more in spirit before those heaven-touching altars, which expressed such solemn mysteriousness, majesty, unapproachableness, and immensity. The sun was just setting, and soon twilight covered the whole country; but those giants in the last rays seemed like measureless masses of burning coal and lava. Later on, that fiery redness passed into violet, ever darker, and at last all disappeared, and was merged into one darkness, through whichgazed at us from above the stars, the twinkling eyes of the night.But we were at least a hundred and fifty miles yet from the main chain; in fact, the mountains disappeared from our eyes next day, intercepted by cliffs; again they appeared and again they vanished, as our road went by turns.We advanced slowly, for new obstacles stood in our way; and though we kept as much as possible to the bed of the river, frequently, where the banks were too steep, we had to go around and seek a passage by neighboring valleys. The ground in these valleys was covered with gray heather and wild peas, not good even for mules, and forming no little hindrance to the journey, for the long and powerful stems, twisting around, made it difficult to pass through them.Sometimes we came upon openings and cracks in the earth, impassable and hundredsof yards long; these we had to go around also. Time after time the scouts, Wichita and Tom, returned with accounts of new obstacles. The land bristled with rocks, or broke away suddenly.On a certain day it seemed to us that we were going through a valley, when all at once the valley was missing; in place of it was a precipice so deep that the gaze went down with terror along the perpendicular wall, and the head became dizzy. Giant oaks, growing at the bottom of the abyss, seemed little black clumps, and the buffaloes pasturing among them like beetles. We entered more and more into the region of precipices, of stones, fragments, debris, and rocks thrown one on the other with a kind of wild disorder. The echo sent back twice and thrice from granite arches the curses of drivers and squealing of mules. On the prairie our wagons, rising high above the surface of the country, seemed lordly and immense; herebefore those perpendicular cliffs, the wagons became wonderfully small to the eye, and vanished in those gorges as if devoured by gigantic jaws. Little waterfalls, or as they are called by the Indians, “laughing waters,” stopped the road to us every few hundred yards; toil exhausted our strength and that of the animals. Meanwhile, when at times the real chain of mountains appeared on the horizon, it seemed as far away and hazy as ever. Happily curiosity overcame in us even weariness, and the continual change of views kept it in practice. None of my people, not excepting those who were born in the Alleghanies, had ever seen such wild regions; I myself gazed with wonder on those canyons, along the edges of which the unbridled fancy of Nature had reared as it were castles, fortresses, and stone cities. From time to time we met Indians, but these were different from those on the prairies, very straggling and very much wilder.The sight of white men roused in them fear mingled with a desire for blood. They seemed still more cruel than their brethren in Nebraska; their stature was loftier, their complexion much darker, their wide nostrils and quick glances gave them the expression of wild beasts caught in a trap. Their movements, too, had almost the quickness and timidity of beasts. While speaking, they put their thumbs to their cheeks, which were painted in white and blue stripes. Their weapons were tomahawks and bows, the latter made of a certain kind of firm mountain hawthorn, so rigid that my men could not bend them. These savages, who in considerable numbers might have been very dangerous, were distinguished by invincible thievishness; happily they were few, the largest party that we met not exceeding fifteen. They called themselves Tabeguachis, Winemucas, and Yampas. Our scout, Wichita, though expert in Indian dialects, could not understand theirlanguage; hence we could not make out in any way why all of them, pointing to the Rocky Mountains and then to us, closed and opened their palms, as if indicating some number.The road became so difficult, that with the greatest exertion, we made barely fifteen miles a day. At the same time our horses began to die, being less enduring than mules and more choice of food; men failed in strength too, for during whole days they had to draw wagons with the mules, or to hold them in dangerous places. By degrees unwillingness seized the weakest; some got the rheumatism, and one, through whose mouth blood came from exertion, died in three days, cursing the hour in which it came to his head to leave New York. We were then in the worst part of the road, near the little river called by the Indians Kiowa. There were no cliffs there as high as on the Eastern boundary of Colorado; but the whole country, as far asthe eye could reach, was bristling with fragments thrown in disorder one upon another. These fragments, some standing upright, others overturned, presented the appearance of ruined graveyards with fallen headstones. Those were really the “Bad Lands” of Colorado, answering to those which extended northward over Nebraska. With the greatest effort we escaped from them in the course of a week.

Atlast we came to the Missouri. Indians chose generally the time of crossing that river to fall upon caravans; defence is most difficult when some wagons are on one bank, and some in the river; when the draught-beasts are stubborn and balky, and disorder rises among the people. Indeed, I noticed, before our arrival at the river, that Indian spies had for two days been following us; I took every precaution therefore, and led the train in complete military order. I did not permit wagons toloiter on the prairie, as in the eastern districts of Iowa; the men had to stay together and be in perfect readiness for battle.

When we had come to the bank and found a ford, I ordered two divisions, of sixty men each, to intrench themselves on both banks, so as to secure the passage under cover of small forts and the muzzles of rifles. The remaining hundred and twenty emigrants had to take the train over. I did not send in more than a few wagons at once, so as to avoid confusion. With such an arrangement everything took place in the greatest order, and attack became impossible, for the attackers would have had to carry one or the other intrenchment before they could fall upon those who were crossing the river.

How far these precautions were not superfluous the future made evident, for two years later four hundred Germans were cut to pieces by the Kiowas, at the place where Omaha stands at this moment. I had this advantagebesides: my men, who previously had heard more than once narratives, which went to the East, of the terrible danger of crossing the yellow waters of the Missouri, seeing the firmness and ease with which I had solved the problem, gained blind confidence, and began to look on me as some ruling spirit of the plains.

Daily did those praises and that enthusiasm reach Lillian, in whose loving eyes I grew to be a legendary hero. Aunt Atkins said to her: “While your Pole is with you, you may sleep out in the rain, for he won’t let the drops fall on you.” And the heart rose in my maiden from those praises. During the whole time of crossing I could give her hardly a moment, and could only say hurriedly with my eyes what my lips could not utter. All day I was on horseback, now on one bank, now on the other, now in the water. I was in a hurry to advance as soon as possible from those thick yellow waters, which were bearing down withthem rotten trees, bunches of leaves, grass, and malodorous mud from Dakota, infectious with fever.

Besides this, the people were wearied immensely, from continual watching; the horses grew sick from unwholesome water, which we could not use until we had kept it in charcoal a number of hours.

At last, after eight days’ time, we found ourselves on the right bank of the river without having broken a wagon, and with the loss of only seven head of mules and horses. That day, however, the first arrows fell, for my men killed, and afterward, according to the repulsive habit of the plains, scalped three Indians, who had been trying to push in among the mules. In consequence of this deed an embassy of six leading warriors of the Bloody Tracks, belonging to the Pawnee stock, visited us on the following day. They sat down at our fire with tremendous importance, demanding horses and mules in return for the dead men, declaringthat, in case of refusal, five hundred warriors would attack us immediately. I made no great account of those five hundred warriors, since I had the train in order and defended with intrenchments. I saw well that that embassy had been sent merely because those wild people had caught at the first opportunity to extort something without an attack, in the success of which they had lost faith. I should have driven them away in one moment, had I not wished to exhibit them to Lillian. In fact, while they were sitting at the council-fire motionless, with eyes fixed on the flame, she, concealed in the wagon, was looking with alarm and curiosity at their dress trimmed at the seams with human hair, their tomahawks adorned with feathers on the handles, and at their faces painted black and red, which meant war. In spite of these preparations, however, I refused their demand sharply, and, passing from a defensive to an offensive rôle, declared that if even one mule disappeared from the train, I would go to theirtribe myself and scatter the bones of their five hundred warriors over the prairie.

They went away, repressing their rage with difficulty, but when going they brandished their tomahawks over their heads in sign of war. However, my words sank in their memory; for at the time of their departure two hundred of my men, prepared purposely, rose up with threatening aspect, rattling their weapons, and gave forth a shout of battle. That readiness made a deep impression on the wild warriors.

Some hours later Henry Simpson, who at his own instance had gone out to observe the embassy, returned, all panting, with news that a considerable division of Indians was approaching us.

I, knowing Indian ways perfectly, knew that those were mere threats, for the Indians, armed with bows made of hickory, were not in numbers sufficient to meet Kentucky rifles of long range. I said that to Lillian, wishing to quiet her, for she was trembling like a leaf; but allthe others were sure that a battle was coming; the younger ones, whose warlike spirit was roused, wished for it eagerly.

In fact, we heard the howling of the redskins soon after; still, they kept at the distance of some gun-shots, as if seeking a favorable moment.

In our camp immense fires, replenished with cottonwood and willows, were burning all night; the men stood guard around the wagons; the women were singing psalms from fear; the mules, not driven out as usual to the night pasture, but confined behind the wagons, were braying and biting one another; the dogs, feeling the nearness of the Indians, were howling,—in a word, it was noisy and threatening throughout the camp. In brief moments of silence we heard the mournful and ominous howling of the Indian outposts, calling with the voices of coyotes.

About midnight the Indians tried to set fire to the prairie, but the damp grass of springwould not burn, though for some days not a raindrop had fallen on that region.

When riding around the camp-ground before daybreak I had a chance of seeing Lillian for a moment. I found her sleeping from weariness, with her head resting on the knees of Aunt Atkins, who, armed with a bowie-knife, had sworn to destroy the whole tribe, if one of them dared to come near her darling. As to me, I looked on that fair sleeping face with the love not only of a man, but almost of a mother, and I felt equally with Aunt Atkins that I would tear into pieces any one who would threaten my beloved. In her was my joy, in her my delight; beyond her I had nothing but endless wandering, tramping, and mishaps. Before my eyes I had the best proof of this: in the distance were the prairie, the rattle of weapons, the night on horseback, the struggle with predatory redskin murderers; nearer, right there before my face, was the quiet sleep of that dear one, so full of faith and trust in me, that my wordalone had convinced her that there could be no attack, and she had fallen asleep as full of confidence as if under her father’s roof.

When I looked at those two pictures, I felt for the first time how that adventurous life without a morrow had wearied me, and I saw at once that I should find rest and satisfaction with her alone. “If only to California!” thought I, “if only to California! But the toils of the journey—merely one-half of which, and that half the easiest, is over—are evident already on that pallid face; but a beautiful rich country is waiting for us there, with its warm sky and eternal spring.” Thus meditating, I covered the feet of the sleeper with my buffalo-robe, so that the night cold might not harm her, and returned to the end of the camp.

It was time, for a thick mist had begun to rise from the river; the Indians might really take advantage of it and try their fortune. The fires were dimmed more and more, and grew pale. An hour later one man could not see another iften paces distant. I gave command then to cry on the square every minute, and soon nothing was heard in that camp but the prolonged “All’s well!” which passed from mouth to mouth like the words of a litany.

But the Indian camp had grown perfectly still, as if its occupants were dumb. This began to alarm me. At the first dawn an immense weariness mastered us; God knows how many nights the majority of the men had passed without sleep,—besides, the fog, wonderfully penetrating, sent a chill and a shiver through all.

Would it not be better, thought I, instead of standing on one place and waiting for what may please the Indians, to attack and scatter them to the four winds? This was not simply the whim of an Uhlan, but an absolute need; for a daring and lucky attack might gain us great glory, which, spreading among the wild tribes, would give us safety for a long stretch of road.

Leaving behind me one hundred and thirtymen, under the lead of the old prairie wolf, Smith, I commanded a hundred others to mount their horses, and we moved forward somewhat cautiously, but gladly, for the cold had become more annoying, and in this way it was possible to warm ourselves at least. At twice the distance of a gunshot we raced forward at a gallop with shouting, and in the midst of a musket-fire rushed, like a storm, on the savages. A ball, sent from our side by some awkward marksman, whistled right at my ear, but only tore my cap.

Meanwhile, we were on the necks of the Indians, who expected anything rather than an attack, for this was surely the first time that emigrants had charged the besiegers. Great alarm so blinded them, therefore, that they fled in every direction, howling from fright like wild beasts, and perishing without resistance. A smaller division of these people, pushed to the river and, deprived of retreat, defended themselves so sternly and stubbornly that theychose to rush into the water rather than beg for life.

Their spears pointed with sharpened deer-horns and tomahawks made of hard flint were not very dangerous, but they used them with wonderful skill. We burst through these, however, in the twinkling of an eye. I took one prisoner, a sturdy rascal, whose hatchet and arm I broke in the moment of fighting with hatchets.

We seized a few tens of horses, but so wild and vicious that there was no use in them. We made a few prisoners, all wounded. I gave command to care for these most attentively, and set them free afterward at Lillian’s request, having given them blankets, arms, and horses, necessary for men seriously wounded. These poor fellows, believing that we would tie them to stakes for torture, had begun to chant their monotonous death-songs, and were simply terrified at first by what had happened. They thought that we would liberate only to huntthem in Indian fashion; but seeing that no danger threatened, they went away, exalting our bravery and the goodness of “Pale Flower,” which name they had given Lillian.

That day ended, however, with a sad event, which cast a shade on our delight at such a considerable victory, and its foreseen results. Among my men there were none killed; a number, nevertheless, had received wounds more or less serious; the most grievously wounded was Henry Simpson, whose eagerness had borne him away during battle. In the evening his condition grew so much worse, that he was dying; he wished to make some confession to me, but, poor fellow, he could not speak, for his jaw had been broken by a tomahawk. He merely muttered: “Pardon, my captain!” Immediately convulsions seized him. I divined what he wanted, remembering the bullet which in the morning had whistled at my ear, and I forgave him, as becomes a Christian. I knew that he carried with him to the grave a deep,though unacknowledged feeling for Lillian, and supposed that he might have sought death.

He died about midnight; we buried him under an immense cottonwood, on the bark of which I carved out a cross with my knife.

Onthe following day we moved on. Before us was a prairie still more extensive, more level, wilder, a region which the foot of a white man had hardly touched at that time,—in a word, we were in Nebraska.

During the first days we moved quickly enough over treeless expanses, but not without difficulty, for there was an utter lack of wood for fuel. The banks of the Platte River, which cuts the whole length of those measureless plains, were, it is true, covered with a dense growth ofosier and willow; but that river having a shallow bed, had overflowed, as is usual in spring, and we had to keep far away. Meanwhile we passed the nights at smouldering fires of buffalo dung, which, not dried yet sufficiently by the sun, rather smouldered with a blue flame than burnt. We hurried on then with every effort toward Big Blue River, where we could find abundance of fuel.

The country around us bore every mark of a primitive land. Time after time, before the train, which extended now in a very loose line, rushed herds of antelopes with ruddy hair and with white under the belly; at times there appeared in the waves of grass the immense shaggy heads of buffaloes, with bloodshot eyes and steaming nostrils; then again these beasts were seen in crowds, like black moving patches on the distant prairie.

In places we passed near whole towns formed of mounds raised by prairie dogs. The Indians did not show themselves at first, and only a number of days later did we see three wild horsemen,ornamented with feathers; but they vanished before our eyes in an instant, like phantoms. I convinced myself afterward that the bloody lesson which I had given them on the Missouri, made the name of “Big Ara” (for thus they had modified Big Ralph) terrible among the many tribes of prairie robbers; the kindness shown the prisoners had captivated those people, wild and revengeful, though not devoid of knightly feeling.

When we had come to Big Blue River, I resolved to halt ten days at its woody banks. The second half of the road, which lay before us, was more difficult than the first, for beyond the prairie were the Rocky Mountains, and farther on the “Bad Lands” of Utah and Nevada. Meanwhile, our mules and horses, in spite of abundant pasture, had become lean and road-weary; hence it was needful to recruit their strength with a considerable rest. For this purpose we halted in the triangle formed by the Big Blue River and Beaver Creek.

It was a strong position, which, secured on two sides by the rivers and on the third by the wagons, had become almost impregnable, especially since wood and water were found on the spot. Of camp labor there was scarcely any, excessive watching was not needed, and the emigrants could use their leisure with perfect freedom. The days, too, were the most beautiful of our journey. The weather continued to be marvellous, and the nights grew so warm that one might sleep in the open air.

The people went out in the morning to hunt, and returned at midday, weighed down with antelopes and prairie birds, which lived in millions in the country about; the rest of the day they spent eating, sleeping, singing, or shooting for amusement at wild geese, which flew in whole flocks above the camp.

In my life there has never been anything better or happier than those ten days between the rivers. From morning till evening I didnot part from Lillian, and that beginning not of passing visits, but, as it were, of life, convinced me more and more that I had loved once and forever her, the mild and gentle. I became acquainted with Lillian in those days more nearly and more deeply. At night, instead of sleeping, I thought frequently of what she was, and that she had become to me as dear and as needful in life as air is for breathing. God sees that I loved greatly her beautiful face, her long tresses, and her eyes,—as blue as that sky bending over Nebraska,—and her form, lithe and slender, which seemed to say: “Support and defend me forever; without thee I cannot help myself in the world!” God sees that I loved everything that was in her, every poor bit of clothing of hers, and she attracted me with such force that I could not resist; but there was another charm in her for me, and that was her sweetness and sensitiveness.

Many women have I met in life, but never have I met and never shall I meet another such,and I feel endless grief when I think of her. The soul in Lillian Morris was as sensitive as that flower whose leaves nestle in when you draw near to it. Sensitive to every word of mine, she comprehended everything and reflected every thought, just as deep, transparent water reflects all that passes by the brink of it. At the same time that pure heart yielded itself to feeling with such timidity that I felt how great her love must be when she weakened and gave herself in sacrifice. And then everything honorable in my soul was changed into one feeling of gratitude to her. She was simply my one, my dearest in the world; so modest, that I had to persuade her that to love is not a sin, and I was breaking my head continually over this: how can I persuade her? In such emotions time passed for us at the meeting of the rivers, till at last my supreme happiness was accomplished.

One morning at daybreak we started to walk up Beaver Creek; I wanted to show her thebeavers; a whole kingdom of them was flourishing not farther than half a mile from our wagons. Walking along the bank carefully, near the bushes, we came soon to our object. There was a little bay as it were, or a lakelet, formed by the creek, at the brink of which stood two great hickory-trees; at the very bank grew weeping-willows, half their branches in the water. The beaver-dam, a little higher up in the creek, stopped its flow, and kept the water ever at one height in the lakelet, above whose clear surface rose the round cupola-shaped houses of these very clever animals.

Probably the foot of man had never stood before in that retreat, hidden on all sides by trees. Pushing apart cautiously the slender limbs of the willows, we looked at the water, which was as smooth as a mirror, and blue. The beavers were not at their work yet; the little water-town slumbered in visible quiet; and such silence reigned on the lake that I heard Lillian’s breath when she thrust hergolden head through the opening in the branches with mine and our temples touched. I caught her waist with my arm to hold her on the slope of the bank, and we waited patiently, delighted with what our eyes were taking in.

Accustomed to life in wild places, I loved Nature as my own mother, though simply; but I felt that something like God’s delight in Creation was present.

It was early morning; the light had barely come, and was reddening among the branches of the hickories; the dew was dropping from the leaves of the willows, and the world was growing brighter each instant. Later on, there came to the other shore prairie chickens, gray, with black throats, pretty crests on their heads, and they drank water, raising their bills as they swallowed.

“Ah, Ralph! how good it is here,” whispered Lillian.

There was nothing in my head then but acottage in some lonely canyon, she with me, and such a rosary of peaceful days, flowing calmly into eternity and endless rest. It seemed to us that we had brought to that wedding of Nature our own wedding, to that calm our calm, and to that bright light the bright light of happiness within us.

Now the smooth surface described itself in a circle, and from the water came up slowly the bearded face of a beaver, wet and rosy from the gleam of the morning; then a second, and the two little beasts swam toward the lake, pushing apart with their noses blue lines, puffing and muttering. They climbed the dam, and, sitting on their haunches, began to call; at that signal heads, larger and smaller, rose up as if by enchantment; a plashing was heard in the lake. The herd appeared at first to be playing,—simply diving and screaming in its own fashion from delight; but the first pair, looking from the dam, gave a sudden, prolonged whistle from their nostrils, and in atwinkle half of the beavers were on the dam, and the other half had swum to the banks and vanished under the willows, where the water began to boil, and a sound as it were of sawing indicated that the little beasts were working there, cutting branches and bark.

Lillian and I looked long, very long, at these acts, and at the pleasures of animal life until man disturbs it. Wishing to change her position, she moved a branch accidentally, and in the twinkle of an eye every beaver had vanished; only the disturbed water indicated that something was beneath; but after a while the water became smooth, and silence surrounded us again, interrupted only by the woodpeckers striking the firm bark of the hickories.

Meanwhile the sun had risen above the trees and began to heat powerfully. Since Lillian did not feel tired yet, we resolved to go around the little lake. On the way we came to a small stream which intersected the woodand fell into the lake from the opposite side. Lillian could not cross it, so I had to carry her; and despite her resistance, I took her like a child in my arms and walked into the water. But that stream was a stream of temptations. Fear lest I should fall made her seize my neck with both arms, hold to me with all her strength, and hide her shamed face behind my shoulder; but I began straightway to press my lips to her temple, whispering: “Lillian! my Lillian!” And in that way I carried her over the water.

When I reached the other bank I wished to carry her farther, but she tore herself from me almost rudely. A certain disquiet seized both of us; she began to look around as if in fear, and now pallor and now ruddiness struck her face in turn. We went on. I took her hand and pressed it to my heart. At moments fear of myself seized me. The day became sultry; heat flowed down from the sky to the earth; the wind was not blowing, theleaves on the hickories hung motionless, the only sound was from woodpeckers striking the bark as before; all seemed to be growing languid from heat and falling asleep. I thought that some enchantment was in the air, in that forest, and then I thought only that Lillian was with me and that we were alone.

Meanwhile weariness began to come on Lillian; her breathing grew shorter and more audible, and on her face, usually pale, fiery blushes beat forth. I asked if she was not tired, and if she would not rest.

“Oh, no, no!” answered she quickly, as if defending herself from even the thought; but after a few tens of steps she tottered suddenly and whispered,—

“I cannot, indeed, I cannot go farther.”

Then I took her again in my arms and carried that dear burden to the edge of the shore, where willows, hanging to the ground, formed a shady corridor. In this green alcove I placed her on the moss. I knelt down; and when Ilooked at her the heart in me was straitened. Her face was as pale as linen, and her staring eyes looked on me with fear.

“Lillian, what is the matter?” cried I. “I am with you.” I bent to her feet then and covered them with kisses. “Lillian!” continued I, “my only, my chosen, my wife!”

When I said these last words a shiver passed through her from head to foot; and suddenly she threw her arms around my neck with a certain unusual power, as in a fever repeating, “My dear! my dear! my husband!” Everything vanished from my eyes then, and it seemed to me that the whole globe of the earth was flying away with us.

I know not to this day how it could be that when I recovered from that intoxication and came to my senses twilight was shining again among the dark branches of the hickories, but it was the twilight of evening. The woodpeckers had ceased to strike the trees; one twilight on the bottom of the lake was smilingat that other which was in the sky; the inhabitants of the water had gone to sleep; the evening was beautiful, calm, filled with a red light; it was time to return to the camp.

When we had come out from beneath the weeping-willows, I looked at Lillian; there was not on her face either sadness or disquiet; in her upturned eyes was the light of calm resignation and, as it were, a bright aureole of sacrifice and dignity encircled her blessed head. When I gave her my hand, she inclined her head quietly to my shoulder, and, without turning her eyes from the heavens, she said to me:

“Ralph, repeat to me that I am your wife, and repeat it to me often.”

Since there was neither in the deserts, nor in the place to which we were going, any marriage save that of hearts, I knelt down, and when she had knelt at my side, I said: “Before God, earth, and heaven, I declare to thee, Lillian Morris, that I take thee as wife. Amen.”

To this she answered: “Now I am thine forever and till death, thy wife, Ralph!”

From that moment we were married; she was not my sweetheart, she was my lawful wife. That thought was pleasant to both of us,—and pleasant to me, for in my heart there rose a new feeling of a certain sacred respect for Lillian, and for myself, a certain honorableness and great dignity through which love became ennobled and blessed. Hand in hand, with heads erect and confident look, we returned to the camp, where the people were greatly alarmed about us. A number of tens of men had gone out in every direction to look for us; and with astonishment I learned afterward that some had passed around the lake, but could not discover us; we on our part had not heard their shouts.

I summoned the people, and when they had assembled in a circle, I took Lillian by the hand, went into the centre of the circle, and said,—

“Gentlemen, be witnesses, that in your presence I call this woman, who stands withme, my wife; and bear witness of this before justice, before law, and before every one whosoever may ask you, either in the East or the West.”

“We will! and hurrah for you both!” answered the miners.

Old Smith asked Lillian then, according to custom, if she agreed to take me as husband, and when she said “Yes,” we were legally married before the people.

In the distant prairies of the West, and on all the frontiers where there are no towns, magistrates, or churches, marriages are not performed otherwise; and to this hour, if a man calls a woman with whom he lives under the same roof his wife, this declaration takes the place of all legal documents. No one of my men therefore wondered, or looked at my marriage otherwise than with the respect shown to custom; on the contrary, all were rejoiced, for, though I had held them more sternly than other leaders, they knew that Idid so honestly, and with each day they showed me more good will, and my wife was always the eye in the head of the caravan. Hence there began a holiday and amusements. The fires were stirred up; the Scots took from their wagons the pipes, whose music we both liked, since it was for us a pleasant reminiscence; the Americans took out their favorite ox-bones, and amid songs, shouts, and shooting, the wedding evening passed for us.

Aunt Atkins embraced Lillian every little while, now laughing, now weeping, now lighting her pipe, which went out the next moment. But I was touched most by the following ceremony which is a custom in that movable portion of the American population which spends the greater part of its life in wagons. When the moon went down the men fastened on the ramrods of their guns branches of lighted osier, and a whole procession, under the lead of old Smith, conducted us from wagon to wagon, asking Lillian at each of them,“Is this your home?” My beautiful love answered, “No!” and we went on. At Aunt Atkins’ wagon a real tenderness took possession of us all, for in that one Lillian had ridden hitherto. When she said there also in a low voice, “No,” Aunt Atkins bellowed like a buffalo, and seizing Lillian in her embrace, began to repeat: “My little one! my sweet!” sobbing meanwhile, and carried away with weeping. Lillian sobbed too; and then all those hardened hearts grew tender for an instant, and there was no eye to which tears did not come.

When we approached it, I barely recognized my wagon, it was decked with branches and flowers. Here the men raised the burning torches aloft, and Smith inquired in a louder and more solemn voice,—

“Is this your home?”

“That’s it! That’s it!” answered Lillian.

Then all uncovered their heads, and there was such silence that I heard the hissing ofthe fire and the sound of the burnt twigs falling on the ground; the old white-haired miner, stretching out his sinewy hands over us, said,—

“May God bless you both, and your house, Amen!”

A triple hurrah answered that blessing. All separated then, leaving me and my loved one alone.

When the last man had gone, she rested her head on my breast, whispering: “Forever! forever!” and at that moment the stars in our souls outnumbered the stars of the sky.

Nextmorning early I left my wife sleeping and went to find flowers for her. While looking for them, I said to myself every moment: “You are married!” and the thought filled me with such delight, that I raised my eyes to the Lord of Hosts, thanking Him for having permitted me to live to the time in which a man becomes himself genuinely and rounds out his life with the life of another loved beyond all. I had something now of my own in the world, and though that canvas-coveredwagon was my only house and hearth, I felt richer at once, and looked at my previous wandering lot with pity, and with wonder that I could have lived in that manner hitherto. Formerly it had not even come to my head what happiness there is in that word “wife,”—happiness which called to my heart’s blood with that name, and to the best part of my own soul. For a long time I had so loved Lillian that I saw the whole world through her only, connected everything with her, and understood everything only as it related to her. And now when I said “wife,” that meant, mine, mine forever; and I thought that I should go wild with delight, for it could not find place in my head, that I, a poor man, should possess such a treasure. What then was lacking to me? Nothing. Had those prairies been warmer, had there been safety there for her, had it not been for the obligation to lead people to the place to which I had promised to lead them, I was ready not to go to California, but to settleeven in Nebraska, if with Lillian. I had been going to California to dig gold, but now I was ready to laugh at the idea. “What other riches can I find there, when I have her?” I asked myself. “What do we care for gold? See, I will choose some canyon, where there is spring all the year; I will cut down trees for a house, and live with her, and a plough and a gun will give us life. We shall not die of hunger—” These were my thoughts while gathering flowers, and when I had enough of them I returned to the camp. On the road I met Aunt Atkins.

“Is the little one sleeping?” asked she, taking from her mouth for a moment the inseparable pipe.

“She is sleeping,” answered I.

To this Aunt Atkins, blinking with one eye, added,—

“Ah, you rascal!”

Meanwhile the “little one” was not sleeping, for we both saw her coming down from thewagon, and shielding her eyes against the sunlight with her hand, she began to look on every side. Seeing me, she ran up all rosy and fresh, as the morning. When I opened my arms, she fell into them panting, and putting up her mouth, began to repeat:—

“Dzien dobry! dzien dobry! dzien dobry!”

Then she stood on her toes, and looking into my eyes, asked with a roguish smile, “Am I your wife?”

What was there to answer, except to kiss without end and fondle? And thus passed the whole time at that meeting of rivers, for old Smith had taken on himself all my duties till the resumption of our journey.

We visited our beavers once more, and the stream, through which I carried her now without resistance. Once we went up Blue River in a little redwood canoe. At a bend of the stream I showed Lillian buffaloes near by, driving their horns into the bank, from which their whole heads were covered as if with armor of driedclay. But two days before starting, these expeditions ceased, for first the Indians had appeared in the neighborhood, and second my dear lady had begun to be weak somewhat. She grew pale and lost strength, and when I inquired what the trouble was, she answered only with a smile and the assurance that it was nothing. I watched over her sleep, I nursed her as well as I was able, almost preventing the breezes from blowing on her, and grew thin from anxiety. Aunt Atkins blinked mysteriously with her left eye when talking of Lillian’s illness, and sent forth such dense rolls of smoke that she grew invisible behind them. I was disturbed all the more, because sad thoughts came to Lillian at times. She had beaten it into her head that maybe it was not permitted to love so intensely as we were loving, and once, putting her finger on the Bible, which we read every day, she said sadly,—

“Read, Ralph.”

I looked, and a certain wonderful feelingseized my heart too, when I read, “Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever.” She said when I had finished reading, “But if God is angry at this, I know that with His goodness He will punish only me.”

I pacified her by saying that love was simply an angel, who flies from the souls of two people to God and takes Him praise from the earth. After that there was no talk between us touching such things, since preparations for the journey had begun. The fitting up of wagons and beasts, and a thousand occupations, stole my time from me. When at last the hour came for departure we took tearful farewell of that river fork, which had witnessed so much of our happiness; but when I saw the train stretching out again on the prairie, the wagons one after another and lines of mules before the wagons, I felt a certain consolation at the thought that the end of the journey would be nearer eachday, that a few months more and we should see California, toward which we were striving with such toil.

But the first days of the journey did not pass over-successfully. Beyond the Missouri, as far as the foot of the Rocky Mountains, the prairie rises continually over enormous expanses; therefore the beasts were easily wearied, and were often tired out. Besides, we could not approach the Platte River, for, though the flood had decreased, it was the time of the great spring hunts, and a multitude of Indians circled around the river, looking for herds of buffaloes moving northward. Night service became difficult and wearying; no night passed without alarms.

On the fourth day after we had moved from the river fork, I broke up a considerable party of Indian plunderers at the moment when they were trying to stampede our mules. But worst of all were the nights without fire. We were unable to approach the Platte River, and frequentlyhad nothing to burn, and toward morning drizzling rain began to fall; buffalo dung, which in case of need took the place of wood, got wet, and would not burn.

The buffaloes filled me with alarm also. Sometimes we saw herds of some thousands on the horizon, rushing forward like a storm, crushing everything before them. Were such a herd to strike the train, we should perish every one without rescue. To complete the evil, the prairie was swarming at that time with beasts of prey of all species; after the buffaloes and Indians, came terrible gray bears, cougars, big wolves from Kansas and the Indian Territory. At the small streams, where we stopped sometimes for the night, we saw at sunset whole menageries coming to drink after the heat of the day. Once a bear rushed at Wichita, our half-breed; and if I had not run up, with Smith and the other scout, Tom, to help him, he would have been torn to pieces. I opened the head of the monsterwith an axe, which I brought down with such force that the handle of tough hickory was broken; still, the beast rushed at me once more, and fell only when Smith and Tom shot him in the ear from rifles. Those savage brutes were so bold that at night they came up to the very train; and in the course of a week we killed two not more than a hundred yards from the wagons. In consequence of this, the dogs raised such an uproar from twilight till dawn that it was impossible to close an eye.

Once I loved such a life; and when, a year before, I was in Arkansas, during the greatest heat, it was for me as in paradise. But now, when I remembered that in the wagon my beloved wife, instead of sleeping, was trembling about me, and ruining her health with anxiety, I wished all the Indians and bears and cougars in the lowest pit, and desired from my soul to secure as soon as possible the peace of that being so fragile, so delicate, and so worshipped,that I wished to bear her forever in my arms.

A great weight fell from my heart when, after three weeks of such crossings, I saw at last the waters of a river white as if traced out with chalk; this stream is called now Republican River, but at that time it had no name in English. Broad belts of dark willows, stretching like a mourning trail along the white waters, could afford us fuel in plenty; and though that kind of willow crackles in the fire, and shoots sparks with great noise, still it burns better than wet buffalo dung. I appointed at this place another rest of two days, because the rocks, scattered here and there by the banks of the river, indicated the proximity of a hilly country, difficult to cross, lying on both sides of the back of the Rocky Mountains. We were already on a considerable elevation above the sea, as could be known by the cold nights.

That inequality between day and night temperaturetroubled us greatly. Some people, among others old Smith, caught fevers, and had to go to their wagons. The seeds of the disease had clung to them, probably, at the unwholesome banks of the Missouri, and hardship caused the outbreak. The nearness of the mountains, however, gave hope of a speedy recovery; meanwhile, my wife nursed them with a devotion innate to gentle hearts only.

But she grew thin herself. More than once, when I woke in the morning, my first look fell on her beautiful face, and my heart beat uneasily at its pallor and the blue half circles under her eyes. It would happen that while I was looking at her in that way she would wake, smile at me, and fall asleep again. Then I felt that I would have given half my health of oak if we were in California; but California was still far, far away.

After two days we started again, and coming to the Republican River at noon, were soon moving along the fork of the White Mantoward the southern fork of the Platte, lying for the most part in Colorado. The country became more mountainous at every step, and we were really in the canyon along the banks of which rose up in the distance higher and higher granite cliffs, now standing alone, now stretching out continuously like walls, now closing more narrowly, now opening out on both sides. Wood was not lacking, for all the cracks and crannies of the cliffs were covered with dwarf pine and dwarf oak as well. Here and there springs were heard; along the rocky walls scampered the wolverine. The air was cool, pure, wholesome. After a week the fever ceased. But the mules and horses, forced to eat food in which heather predominated, instead of the juicy grass of Nebraska, grew thinner and thinner, and groaned more loudly as they pulled up the mountains our well filled and weighty wagons.

At last on a certain afternoon we saw before us beacons, as it were, or crested clouds halfmelting in the distance, hazy, blue, azure, with white and gold on their crests, and immense in size, extending from the earth to the sky.

At this sight a shout rose in the whole caravan; men climbed to the tops of the wagons to see better, from every side thundered shouts: “Rocky Mountains! Rocky Mountains!” Caps were waving in the air, and on all faces enthusiasm was evident.

Thus the Americans greeted their Rocky Mountains, but I went to my wagon, and, pressing my wife to my breast, vowed faith to her once more in spirit before those heaven-touching altars, which expressed such solemn mysteriousness, majesty, unapproachableness, and immensity. The sun was just setting, and soon twilight covered the whole country; but those giants in the last rays seemed like measureless masses of burning coal and lava. Later on, that fiery redness passed into violet, ever darker, and at last all disappeared, and was merged into one darkness, through whichgazed at us from above the stars, the twinkling eyes of the night.

But we were at least a hundred and fifty miles yet from the main chain; in fact, the mountains disappeared from our eyes next day, intercepted by cliffs; again they appeared and again they vanished, as our road went by turns.

We advanced slowly, for new obstacles stood in our way; and though we kept as much as possible to the bed of the river, frequently, where the banks were too steep, we had to go around and seek a passage by neighboring valleys. The ground in these valleys was covered with gray heather and wild peas, not good even for mules, and forming no little hindrance to the journey, for the long and powerful stems, twisting around, made it difficult to pass through them.

Sometimes we came upon openings and cracks in the earth, impassable and hundredsof yards long; these we had to go around also. Time after time the scouts, Wichita and Tom, returned with accounts of new obstacles. The land bristled with rocks, or broke away suddenly.

On a certain day it seemed to us that we were going through a valley, when all at once the valley was missing; in place of it was a precipice so deep that the gaze went down with terror along the perpendicular wall, and the head became dizzy. Giant oaks, growing at the bottom of the abyss, seemed little black clumps, and the buffaloes pasturing among them like beetles. We entered more and more into the region of precipices, of stones, fragments, debris, and rocks thrown one on the other with a kind of wild disorder. The echo sent back twice and thrice from granite arches the curses of drivers and squealing of mules. On the prairie our wagons, rising high above the surface of the country, seemed lordly and immense; herebefore those perpendicular cliffs, the wagons became wonderfully small to the eye, and vanished in those gorges as if devoured by gigantic jaws. Little waterfalls, or as they are called by the Indians, “laughing waters,” stopped the road to us every few hundred yards; toil exhausted our strength and that of the animals. Meanwhile, when at times the real chain of mountains appeared on the horizon, it seemed as far away and hazy as ever. Happily curiosity overcame in us even weariness, and the continual change of views kept it in practice. None of my people, not excepting those who were born in the Alleghanies, had ever seen such wild regions; I myself gazed with wonder on those canyons, along the edges of which the unbridled fancy of Nature had reared as it were castles, fortresses, and stone cities. From time to time we met Indians, but these were different from those on the prairies, very straggling and very much wilder.

The sight of white men roused in them fear mingled with a desire for blood. They seemed still more cruel than their brethren in Nebraska; their stature was loftier, their complexion much darker, their wide nostrils and quick glances gave them the expression of wild beasts caught in a trap. Their movements, too, had almost the quickness and timidity of beasts. While speaking, they put their thumbs to their cheeks, which were painted in white and blue stripes. Their weapons were tomahawks and bows, the latter made of a certain kind of firm mountain hawthorn, so rigid that my men could not bend them. These savages, who in considerable numbers might have been very dangerous, were distinguished by invincible thievishness; happily they were few, the largest party that we met not exceeding fifteen. They called themselves Tabeguachis, Winemucas, and Yampas. Our scout, Wichita, though expert in Indian dialects, could not understand theirlanguage; hence we could not make out in any way why all of them, pointing to the Rocky Mountains and then to us, closed and opened their palms, as if indicating some number.

The road became so difficult, that with the greatest exertion, we made barely fifteen miles a day. At the same time our horses began to die, being less enduring than mules and more choice of food; men failed in strength too, for during whole days they had to draw wagons with the mules, or to hold them in dangerous places. By degrees unwillingness seized the weakest; some got the rheumatism, and one, through whose mouth blood came from exertion, died in three days, cursing the hour in which it came to his head to leave New York. We were then in the worst part of the road, near the little river called by the Indians Kiowa. There were no cliffs there as high as on the Eastern boundary of Colorado; but the whole country, as far asthe eye could reach, was bristling with fragments thrown in disorder one upon another. These fragments, some standing upright, others overturned, presented the appearance of ruined graveyards with fallen headstones. Those were really the “Bad Lands” of Colorado, answering to those which extended northward over Nebraska. With the greatest effort we escaped from them in the course of a week.

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