i170Chapter Eleventh.CROSSING THE PLAINS.News was several times received from Rupert and Don during their slow and toilsome journey across the States of Illinois and Missouri, but when the last frontier town was left behind and with it such luxuries of civilization as mails and post-offices, the door of communication was closed: they could neither hear from home nor be heard from there till the trackless wilderness should be crossed and the land of golden promise reached.The Keiths had an ox-team and wagon for the transportation of their baggage—clothing, camp equipage, mining tools, and some luxuries, among which were a few books. Also a saddle-horse, which they rode by turns; though Rupert oftener than Don, who had more strength for driving and more taste for it.This emigrant band, of which they formed a part, comprised some twenty men, severalwith wives and children; a dozen wagons drawn by oxen, and two or three horses beside that which was the joint property of Rupert and Don.Rupert's health had steadily improved from the time of leaving home, so that the bulletins to the dear ones there had been sources of great joy, though joy mingled with grief at the thought of the months or perhaps years that must pass by ere they could hope to see the loved wanderers again.Rupert, who was of a very kindly disposition, always on the lookout for opportunities to be of service to others, had already become a general favorite with his fellow-travellers.Was a little child crying with the weariness of confinement to the cramped quarters of the wagon, he would take it on his horse before him, and give it the rest of a brisk canter in the open air and with an unobstructed view on all sides.Older ones were frequently taken up behind him; at other times he dismounted, and joining them as they plodded along beside or in the rear of the wagons, beguiled the tediousness of the way with story or song.So slow was the movement of the oxen, so wearisome the constant sitting or lying in thejolting wagons, that a robust child would very often prefer walking during the greater part of the day; and even little girls were known to have walked hundreds of miles in making the trip across the plains.But it was necessary to keep near the wagons because of danger from wild beasts and roving bands of Indians.Rupert, and indeed every man in the party, was always armed ready to repel an attack or to bring down game that came within shooting distance, thus adding a welcome variety to their bill of fare. There were wild geese and turkeys, prairie fowl, rabbits, squirrels, deer, bisons, and bears, all to be had for the shooting.After leaving Independence they camped out every night, building a fire to cook their evening meal and keep off wild beasts, except when there was reason to fear that Indians were in the neighborhood; then the fire was not kindled, as the smoke would be likely to reveal their vicinity to the lurking foe; but instead, sentinels were posted, who kept vigilant watch while the others slept.Occasionally in the day-time, when no game had come near, two or three of the men would mount their horses and gallop awayover the prairie in search of it, finding it no very difficult task to overtake the slow-moving wagon-train, even after a ride of several miles, and an absence, it might be, of an hour or more.One afternoon, when they had been many weeks passing through that great wilderness, so that they were now much nearer California than the homes they had left behind, they were crossing a seemingly boundless rolling prairie.Their provisions were getting low, and fowls and larger game alike had kept out of shooting range all day."It's five o'clock," Rupert Keith said, looking at his watch and addressing a man named Morton, who was riding by his side, "and will soon be too late for a shot at anything. Suppose we dash off over those hills yonder and see if we can't scare up something.""Agreed," replied Morton. Then called to another horseman, "Halloo, Smith! will you join Keith and me in a run over those hills in search of game?""That I will!" was the rejoinder, and away they galloped, and were in a few moments lost to the view of the rest of theirparty, who continued moving onward in their accustomed leisurely fashion.An hour or more had passed; the prairie still stretched away on every side; the distant hills to the southward, beyond which the horsemen had gone, were still in view, and the eyes of almost every one in the train were turned ever and anon in that direction, hoping for their return well-laden with venison or wild fowl.At length a shout was raised, "Here they come!" but was followed instantly by the affrighted cry, "Indians! Indians!" for a party of the latter were in full chase.Don was walking beside his team, two little girls quite near him. He caught them up and almost threw them into his wagon, telling them to lie down and keep quiet and still; then turned and pulled out a revolver.Others had acted with equal quickness, and were ready—some from their wagons, some from the ground—to fire upon the advancing foe.There was a brief, sharp fight; the Indians were driven off, carrying their killed and wounded with them.Then it was found that Rupert was missing, Smith badly wounded, one or two othersslightly, while Don lay insensible and bleeding on the ground near his wagon.They at first thought him dead, but he had only fainted from loss of blood, and they presently succeeded in bringing him to."Rupert? my brother—where is he?" he asked in the first moment of consciousness."Those red devils have done for him, Don," Morton answered, with a tremble in his voice; "the shot that tumbled him from his horse was the first intimation we had that they were upon us."Don groaned and hid his face."Don't take it so hard," said a pitying woman's voice; "he's gone to a better place; we all know that; nobody could be with him a day and not see that he was a real Christian.""That's so." "True enough, Mrs. Stone." "I only wish we were all as ready for heaven," responded one and another.Then Morton suggested that they ought to be moving on; the Indians might return in larger force; it would not do to encamp where they were, and night was coming on.To this there was a general assent. Don was carefully and tenderly lifted into his wagon and gently laid down upon the softestbed that could be improvised for him; then a volunteer driver from among the young men of the party took his seat and drove on, doing his best to make the motion easy to the sufferer. They were the last of the train, but not far behind the wagon next in front of them.In spite of all the care and kindness shown him, Don's bodily sufferings were acute, yet by no means equal to his mental distress; his sense of bereavement—a bereavement so sudden, so shocking—and anguish at the thought of the poignant grief of his parents when the dreadful news should reach their ears.The emigrants pushed on for several hours before they ventured to stop and encamp. When at last they did, the cessation of motion gave some slight relief to poor Don, and the food brought him by the kind-hearted woman who had tried to comfort him with the assurance of his brother's readiness for death, revived somewhat his failing strength; but it was a night of pain and grief, in which Don would have given much to be at home again, especially if he might have had Rupert there alive and well.The night passed quietly; there was no new alarm, and early in the morning the emigrants pursued their way, pressing forward asrapidly as circumstances would permit, and keeping a sharp lookout for Indians.Before they started—indeed, as soon as he was awake, Morton came to ask how Don was, and how he had passed the night.Don answered briefly, then burst out, "Oh, Morton, are you quite sure that—that my brother was killed? May he not have been only stunned by the shot and the fall from his horse?"Morton shook his head. "No, I looked back several times, and he never moved.""Oh," groaned Don, "if only I were not helpless, I should go and search for him, for I do not feel at all sure that he is not still alive.""Well, I think you may," said Morton; "for even supposing he was not killed by that first shot and the fall, the Indians would be sure to finish him when they went back, for they went off in that direction."Don turned away his face with a heavy sob. It did indeed seem almost impossible that Rupert could have escaped death, and yet—and yet—oh, if he were but able to go in search of him! Perhaps he was a captive doomed to death by slow torture. Oh, to fly to his aid! rescue or perish with him!But no one else in all the company thought there was the least chance that he was alive, and to go in quest of him would not only greatly delay them (a great misfortune, considering the fact that their stock of provisions was so low), but would risk all their lives, as the Indians were probably still prowling about that spot, and might attack them in great force.The poor boy's only comfort was, that wherever and in whatever circumstances his brother might be, he was under the care of an almighty Friend, who would never leave nor forsake him, and in being able to plead for him with that Friend.The rest of the journey was of course a very sad one to poor Don, though every one was kind to him, doing all that was possible for his relief and comfort, partly for Rupert's sake, partly for Don's own, for he too had ever shown a pleasant, obliging, kindly disposition toward others.His wounds had nearly healed, and he had recovered almost his usual strength by the time their destination was reached.Arrived there, he wrote at once to his parents, telling of Rupert's loss, his own condition, and asking if they were willing that,being now upon the ground, he should stay for a time and look for gold.But as months must elapse ere he could hope to receive an answer, he set to work determined to do his best in the mean time.He did not find the life a whit less toilsome and trying than his parents had warned him it would be, nor were his surroundings any more agreeable; the roughest of men, drinking, smoking, swearing, quarrelsome creatures, were often his daily companions; the foulest language assailed his ears; gambling and drunken brawls went on in his presence; robberies, murders, and lynchings were of frequent occurrence; the Sabbath was openly desecrated; men—even those who had been all their previous lives accustomed to the restraints of religion—here acted as if they had never heard of God, or heaven, or hell.And there were few creature comforts to be had; all the necessaries of life were sold at astonishingly high prices, so that gold, even when found, could not be kept, but melted away like snow in the sun.It was not long before Don's thoughts were turned yearningly toward the home he had been so eager to forsake.He was tolerably fortunate in his quest:but alas! all the gold in the world could not compensate for the loss of all the sweetness and beauty of life; all the happiness to be found in a well-regulated home, where love to God and man was the ruling principle of action; where were neatness and order, gentleness and refinement; where sweet-toned voices spoke kindly affectionate words; affectionate smiles were wont to greet his coming, and loved eyes to look lovingly into his.i180
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News was several times received from Rupert and Don during their slow and toilsome journey across the States of Illinois and Missouri, but when the last frontier town was left behind and with it such luxuries of civilization as mails and post-offices, the door of communication was closed: they could neither hear from home nor be heard from there till the trackless wilderness should be crossed and the land of golden promise reached.
The Keiths had an ox-team and wagon for the transportation of their baggage—clothing, camp equipage, mining tools, and some luxuries, among which were a few books. Also a saddle-horse, which they rode by turns; though Rupert oftener than Don, who had more strength for driving and more taste for it.
This emigrant band, of which they formed a part, comprised some twenty men, severalwith wives and children; a dozen wagons drawn by oxen, and two or three horses beside that which was the joint property of Rupert and Don.
Rupert's health had steadily improved from the time of leaving home, so that the bulletins to the dear ones there had been sources of great joy, though joy mingled with grief at the thought of the months or perhaps years that must pass by ere they could hope to see the loved wanderers again.
Rupert, who was of a very kindly disposition, always on the lookout for opportunities to be of service to others, had already become a general favorite with his fellow-travellers.
Was a little child crying with the weariness of confinement to the cramped quarters of the wagon, he would take it on his horse before him, and give it the rest of a brisk canter in the open air and with an unobstructed view on all sides.
Older ones were frequently taken up behind him; at other times he dismounted, and joining them as they plodded along beside or in the rear of the wagons, beguiled the tediousness of the way with story or song.
So slow was the movement of the oxen, so wearisome the constant sitting or lying in thejolting wagons, that a robust child would very often prefer walking during the greater part of the day; and even little girls were known to have walked hundreds of miles in making the trip across the plains.
But it was necessary to keep near the wagons because of danger from wild beasts and roving bands of Indians.
Rupert, and indeed every man in the party, was always armed ready to repel an attack or to bring down game that came within shooting distance, thus adding a welcome variety to their bill of fare. There were wild geese and turkeys, prairie fowl, rabbits, squirrels, deer, bisons, and bears, all to be had for the shooting.
After leaving Independence they camped out every night, building a fire to cook their evening meal and keep off wild beasts, except when there was reason to fear that Indians were in the neighborhood; then the fire was not kindled, as the smoke would be likely to reveal their vicinity to the lurking foe; but instead, sentinels were posted, who kept vigilant watch while the others slept.
Occasionally in the day-time, when no game had come near, two or three of the men would mount their horses and gallop awayover the prairie in search of it, finding it no very difficult task to overtake the slow-moving wagon-train, even after a ride of several miles, and an absence, it might be, of an hour or more.
One afternoon, when they had been many weeks passing through that great wilderness, so that they were now much nearer California than the homes they had left behind, they were crossing a seemingly boundless rolling prairie.
Their provisions were getting low, and fowls and larger game alike had kept out of shooting range all day.
"It's five o'clock," Rupert Keith said, looking at his watch and addressing a man named Morton, who was riding by his side, "and will soon be too late for a shot at anything. Suppose we dash off over those hills yonder and see if we can't scare up something."
"Agreed," replied Morton. Then called to another horseman, "Halloo, Smith! will you join Keith and me in a run over those hills in search of game?"
"That I will!" was the rejoinder, and away they galloped, and were in a few moments lost to the view of the rest of theirparty, who continued moving onward in their accustomed leisurely fashion.
An hour or more had passed; the prairie still stretched away on every side; the distant hills to the southward, beyond which the horsemen had gone, were still in view, and the eyes of almost every one in the train were turned ever and anon in that direction, hoping for their return well-laden with venison or wild fowl.
At length a shout was raised, "Here they come!" but was followed instantly by the affrighted cry, "Indians! Indians!" for a party of the latter were in full chase.
Don was walking beside his team, two little girls quite near him. He caught them up and almost threw them into his wagon, telling them to lie down and keep quiet and still; then turned and pulled out a revolver.
Others had acted with equal quickness, and were ready—some from their wagons, some from the ground—to fire upon the advancing foe.
There was a brief, sharp fight; the Indians were driven off, carrying their killed and wounded with them.
Then it was found that Rupert was missing, Smith badly wounded, one or two othersslightly, while Don lay insensible and bleeding on the ground near his wagon.
They at first thought him dead, but he had only fainted from loss of blood, and they presently succeeded in bringing him to.
"Rupert? my brother—where is he?" he asked in the first moment of consciousness.
"Those red devils have done for him, Don," Morton answered, with a tremble in his voice; "the shot that tumbled him from his horse was the first intimation we had that they were upon us."
Don groaned and hid his face.
"Don't take it so hard," said a pitying woman's voice; "he's gone to a better place; we all know that; nobody could be with him a day and not see that he was a real Christian."
"That's so." "True enough, Mrs. Stone." "I only wish we were all as ready for heaven," responded one and another.
Then Morton suggested that they ought to be moving on; the Indians might return in larger force; it would not do to encamp where they were, and night was coming on.
To this there was a general assent. Don was carefully and tenderly lifted into his wagon and gently laid down upon the softestbed that could be improvised for him; then a volunteer driver from among the young men of the party took his seat and drove on, doing his best to make the motion easy to the sufferer. They were the last of the train, but not far behind the wagon next in front of them.
In spite of all the care and kindness shown him, Don's bodily sufferings were acute, yet by no means equal to his mental distress; his sense of bereavement—a bereavement so sudden, so shocking—and anguish at the thought of the poignant grief of his parents when the dreadful news should reach their ears.
The emigrants pushed on for several hours before they ventured to stop and encamp. When at last they did, the cessation of motion gave some slight relief to poor Don, and the food brought him by the kind-hearted woman who had tried to comfort him with the assurance of his brother's readiness for death, revived somewhat his failing strength; but it was a night of pain and grief, in which Don would have given much to be at home again, especially if he might have had Rupert there alive and well.
The night passed quietly; there was no new alarm, and early in the morning the emigrants pursued their way, pressing forward asrapidly as circumstances would permit, and keeping a sharp lookout for Indians.
Before they started—indeed, as soon as he was awake, Morton came to ask how Don was, and how he had passed the night.
Don answered briefly, then burst out, "Oh, Morton, are you quite sure that—that my brother was killed? May he not have been only stunned by the shot and the fall from his horse?"
Morton shook his head. "No, I looked back several times, and he never moved."
"Oh," groaned Don, "if only I were not helpless, I should go and search for him, for I do not feel at all sure that he is not still alive."
"Well, I think you may," said Morton; "for even supposing he was not killed by that first shot and the fall, the Indians would be sure to finish him when they went back, for they went off in that direction."
Don turned away his face with a heavy sob. It did indeed seem almost impossible that Rupert could have escaped death, and yet—and yet—oh, if he were but able to go in search of him! Perhaps he was a captive doomed to death by slow torture. Oh, to fly to his aid! rescue or perish with him!
But no one else in all the company thought there was the least chance that he was alive, and to go in quest of him would not only greatly delay them (a great misfortune, considering the fact that their stock of provisions was so low), but would risk all their lives, as the Indians were probably still prowling about that spot, and might attack them in great force.
The poor boy's only comfort was, that wherever and in whatever circumstances his brother might be, he was under the care of an almighty Friend, who would never leave nor forsake him, and in being able to plead for him with that Friend.
The rest of the journey was of course a very sad one to poor Don, though every one was kind to him, doing all that was possible for his relief and comfort, partly for Rupert's sake, partly for Don's own, for he too had ever shown a pleasant, obliging, kindly disposition toward others.
His wounds had nearly healed, and he had recovered almost his usual strength by the time their destination was reached.
Arrived there, he wrote at once to his parents, telling of Rupert's loss, his own condition, and asking if they were willing that,being now upon the ground, he should stay for a time and look for gold.
But as months must elapse ere he could hope to receive an answer, he set to work determined to do his best in the mean time.
He did not find the life a whit less toilsome and trying than his parents had warned him it would be, nor were his surroundings any more agreeable; the roughest of men, drinking, smoking, swearing, quarrelsome creatures, were often his daily companions; the foulest language assailed his ears; gambling and drunken brawls went on in his presence; robberies, murders, and lynchings were of frequent occurrence; the Sabbath was openly desecrated; men—even those who had been all their previous lives accustomed to the restraints of religion—here acted as if they had never heard of God, or heaven, or hell.
And there were few creature comforts to be had; all the necessaries of life were sold at astonishingly high prices, so that gold, even when found, could not be kept, but melted away like snow in the sun.
It was not long before Don's thoughts were turned yearningly toward the home he had been so eager to forsake.
He was tolerably fortunate in his quest:but alas! all the gold in the world could not compensate for the loss of all the sweetness and beauty of life; all the happiness to be found in a well-regulated home, where love to God and man was the ruling principle of action; where were neatness and order, gentleness and refinement; where sweet-toned voices spoke kindly affectionate words; affectionate smiles were wont to greet his coming, and loved eyes to look lovingly into his.
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