Frank on the Prairie

“Wal, the Injuns, when they seed that we had tuk to the timber, stopped, takin’ mighty good keer, as they thought, to keep out of range of our rifles, an’ began to hold a palaver, now an’ then lookin’ t’wards us an’ settin’ up a yell, which told us plain enough that they thought they had us ketched. But we, knowin’ to an inch how fur our shootin’ irons would carry, drawed up an’ blazed away; an’ we knowed, by the way them red-skins got back over that swell, that we hadn’t throwed our lead away. They left one feller thar to watch us, howsomever, but he tuk mighty good keer to keep purty well out of sight, showin’ only ’bout two inches of his head ’bove the top of the hill. While the Injuns war holdin’ their council, we had a talk ’bout what we had better do. The truth war, thar war only one thing we could do, an’ that war to stay thar until dark an’ then take our chances. We had all fit savage Injuns enough to know that they wouldn’t bother us much so long as daylight lasted; but arter that, if we didn’t get away from thar, our lives war not worth a charge of powder. We soon made up our minds what we would do. We divided ourselves into two parties – four of us watchin’ the prairy, an’ the others keepin’ an eye on the woods, to see that the varlets didn’t slip up behind us.

“Wal, we didn’t see nothin’ out of the way all that day. Thar war that feller peepin’ over the hill, an’ that war the only thing in the shape of a red-skin we could see; an’ we didn’t hear nothin’ neither, fur whatever they done, they didn’t make noise enough to skeer a painter. At last it come night, an’ it war ’bout the darkest night I ever see – no moon, no stars – an’ then we began to prick up our ears. We all knowed that the time had come. You can easy tell what we war passin’ through our minds. Thar warn’t no sich thing as a coward among us eight fellers, but men in sich a scrape as that can’t help thinkin’, an’ I knowed that every one thar drawed a long breath when he thought of what he had got to do. I tell you, Dick, it war something none of us liked to do – leave one another in that way – men that you have hunted, an’ trapped, an’ fought Injuns with, an’ mebbe slept under the same blanket with, an’ who have stuck to you through thick an’ thin – sich fellers, I say, you don’t like to desart when they’re in danger. But what else could we do? We war a’most out of powder an’ lead, an’ the Injuns war more’n six to our one. You have been in sich scrapes, an’ in course know that thar warn’t but one way open to us.

“Wal, as I was sayin’, as soon as it come fairly dark, the boys gathered ’round me, an’ waited to hear what I war goin’ to do. In course, I couldn’t advise ’em, ’cause it war every feller look out fur himself, an’ the best men war them as was lucky enough to get away. So I said:

“‘I’m goin’ to start now, boys. It’s high time we war movin’, cause if we stay here half an hour longer, we’ll have them red-skins down on us in a lump. Thar’s somethin’ goin’ on, sartin. They don’t keep so still fur nothin’.’

“Wal, we whispered the matter over, an’ finally settled it. The oldest man war to go fust; the next oldest, second; an’ so on; an’ that them as got away should draw a bee-line fur Fort Laramie, an’ get thar to onct, so that we might know who got off an’ who didn’t. We didn’t think we should all get away. Some war sartin to go under; an’, Dick, we didn’t forget to promise each other that those of us that lived would never let a red Injun cross our trail. When every thing was settled, I, bein’ the oldest man in the comp’ny, began to get ready fur the start. I put fresh primin’ in my rifle; seed that my knife and tomahawk war all right; then, arter shakin’ hands with all the boys, an’ wishin’ ’em good luck, I crawled away on my hands an’ knees. I didn’t go back into the woods, but tuk to the edge of the prairy, an’ found the way cl’ar. Not an Injun did I hear. As fur seein’, you couldn’t a told your mother, if she warn’t two foot from you; an’ in ’bout half an hour I found myself on the banks of a leetle creek. How long I lay thar, an’ how much of that water I drunk, I don’t know; but I thought water never tasted so good afore. Then I walked into the creek, an’ had waded in it fur ’bout half a mile, when all to onct I heered a yellin’ an’ whoopin’, followed by the crack of rifles, an’ then I knowed that I hadn’t been fooled consarnin’ what the red-skins meant to do. They had got what war left of our fellers surrounded, an’ made the rush. Fur a minit I stood thar in the water an’ listened. I heered a few shots made by our poor fellers, ’cause I can tell the crack of a Missouri rifle as fur as I can hear it; an’ then one long, loud yell, told me that it war all over.

“Wal, I laid round in them mountains fur more’n six weeks, starvin’ fur grub an’ water, an’ listenin’ to the yellin’ varlets that war huntin arter me; but I got back safe at last, arter walkin’ all the way from the Rocky Mountains to the fort, an’ thar I found Jack Thomas. Me an’ him war the only ones that got out. When the Injuns got them six fellers, they rubbed out nearly the last one of our comp’ny. Me an’ Jack war mighty down-hearted ’bout it, an’ it war a long time afore we could b’lieve that we war left alone. We didn’t feel then like ever goin’ back to the mountains ag’in, ’cause we knowed it would be lonesome thar. In course, we could easy have made up another expedition, fur thar war plenty of hunters an’ trappers – good ones, too – hangin’ round the fort; but somehow we didn’t feel like goin’ off with any one outside of our own comp’ny.

“Wal, me an’ Jack laid round as long as we could stand it, an’ then we got a couple of hosses, another new kit, an’ sot off ag’in. We didn’t think it safe fur only two of us to try the Blackfoot country ag’in, so we struck for the huntin’ grounds on the Colorado. At that time thar war plenty of beaver in that river; so it didn’t take us long to find a place that suited us; an’ we settled down, comfortable-like, to spend the winter. Fur three months we had plenty of sport, an’ the sight of our pile of furs, growin’ bigger an’ bigger every day, made us happy an’ contented. One mornin’ we sot out bright an’ ’arly, as usual, to ’tend to our bisness, takin’ different directions – fur my traps war sot on the side of the mountain, an’ Jack had sot his’ne on the banks of the creek that run through the valley. I had been gone frum him but a short time, when I heered the crack of his rifle. Somehow, I knowed it war somethin’ ’sides a varmint he had shot at; an’ I warn’t fooled neither, for a minit arterward I heered another gun, an’ then afore I could think twice a Comanche yell come echoin’ from the valley, tellin’ me plainer nor words that my chum war gone. An Injun had watched one of his traps, an’ shot him as he come to it. I knowed it as sartin as if I had seed the hul thing done.

“Wal, I warn’t in a fix kalkerlated to make a feller feel very pleasant. I war three hundred miles from the nighest fort, in the very heart of the Comanche country, an’ in the dead of winter, with the snow two foot deep on a level. But I didn’t stop to think of them things then. My bisness war to get away from thar to onct. In course, I couldn’t go back arter my hoss or spelter, fur I didn’t know how many Injuns thar war in the valley, nor whar they had hid themselves; so I shouldered my rifle an’ sot off on foot t’wards the prairy. A storm that come up that night – an’ it snowed an’ blowed in a way that warn’t a funny thing to look at – kivered up my trail; an’ if I war ever follered, I don’t know it.

“I finally reached the fort, an’ I’ve been thar ever since. I’m an ole chap now, Dick; but when I hunted an’ trapped with your ole man, when me an’ him warn’t bigger nor them two youngsters, an’ hadn’t hardly strength enough to shoulder a rifle, I never thought that I should live to be the last of our comp’ny. In them days the prairy war different from what it is now. It war afore the hoss-thieves an’ rascals began to come in here to get away from the laws of the States; an’ them that called themselves trappers then war honest men, that never did harm to a lone person on the prairy. But they’ve gone, one arter the other, an’ only me an’ you are left.”

As the old trapper ceased speaking, he arose suddenly to his feet and disappeared in the darkness, leaving Dick gazing thoughtfully into the fire. It was an hour before he returned, mounted on his horse, which he picketed with the others. He then silently rolled himself up in his blanket and went to sleep.

CHAPTER V

A Fight with the Indians

WHEN setting out the next morning, Frank noticed that the wagons, instead of starting off singly, and straggling, as they had formerly done, kept close together, and traveled more rapidly. The trapper, too, instead of taking the lead, and getting in advance of the train, seemed satisfied to remain with the others. Upon inquiring the reason for this, Dick replied:

“You may find out afore night, youngster, that we are in a bad bit of Injun country. The train that went out afore us had a scrimmage here with nigh five hundred of the red-skins, who stampeded some of their stock. So keep your eyes open, an’ if you see a Injun, let me know to onct.” The trapper said this with a broad grin, that was meant to imply that if they were attacked, the Indians would make their appearance before a person so inexperienced as Frank could be aware of it.

“The red-skins don’t gener’lly keer ’bout an out-an’-out fight,” continued the trapper, “’cause they don’t like these long rifles, an’ they know that these yere pioneers shoot mighty sharp. All the Injuns want – or all they can get – is the stock; an’ they sometimes jump on to a train afore a feller knows it, an’ yell an’ kick up a big fuss, which frightens the cattle. That’s what we call stampedin’ ’em. An’, youngster, do you see that ’ar?”

As the trapper spoke, he pointed out over the prairie towards a little hill about two miles distant. After gazing for a few moments in the direction indicated, Archie replied:

“I see something that looks like a weed or a tuft of grass.”

“Wal, that’s no weed,” said the trapper, with a laugh, “nor grass, neither. If it is, it’s on hossback, an’ carries a shootin’-iron or a bow an’ arrer. That’s a Injun, or I never seed one afore. What do you say, Bob?” he asked, turning to the old trapper, who at this moment came up.

“I seed that five minutes ago,” was the reply, “an’ in course it can’t be nothin’ but a red-skin.”

The boys gazed long and earnestly at the object, but their eyes were not as sharp as those of the trappers, for they could not discover that it bore any resemblance to an Indian, until Mr. Winters handed them his field-glass through which he had been regarding the object ever since its discovery. Then they found that the trappers had not been deceived. It was a solitary Indian, who sat on his horse as motionless as a statue, no doubt watching the train, and endeavoring to satisfy himself of the number of men there might be to defend it. In his hand he carried something that looked like a spear adorned with a tuft of feathers.

“I wish the varlet was in good pluggin’ distance,” said Dick, patting his rifle which lay across his knees. “If I could only get a bead on him, he would never carry back to his fellers the news of what he has seed.”

“Do you suppose there are more of them?” asked Archie, in a voice that would tremble in spite of himself.

“Sartin,” replied old Bob Kelly, who still rode beside the wagon; “thar’s more of ’em not fur off. This feller is a kind o’ spy like, an’ when he has seen exactly how things stand, he’ll go back an’ tell the rest of ’em, an’ the fust thing we know, they’ll be down on us like a hawk on a June-bug. But they’ll ketch a weasel, they will, when they pitch into us. Dick, when they do come, don’t forget Bill Lawson.”

The trapper turned his head, for a moment, as if to hide the emotion he felt, at the mention of the name of his departed companion, but presently replied:

“This aint the fust time that you an’ me have been in jest sich scrapes, Bob, an’ it aint likely that we’ll soon forget that we owe the varlets a long settlement. Thar aint as many of us now as thar used to be; more’n one good trapper has had his har raised by them same red-skins – fur I know a Cheyenne as fur as I kin see him, youngsters – an’ mebbe one o’ these days, when some one asks, ‘What’s come on ole Bob Kelly an’ Dick Lewis?’ the answer will be, ‘Killed by the Injuns!’”

It may be readily supposed that such conversation as this was not calculated to quiet the feelings of Frank and Archie – who had been considerably agitated by the information that there was a body of hostile Indians at no great distance – and to their excited imaginations the danger appeared tenfold worse than it really was. At that day, as the trapper had remarked, it was a very uncommon occurrence for a large train to be engaged in a regular fight with the Indians, for the latter had learned to their cost that the pioneers were always well armed, and that there were some among them who understood Indian fighting. They generally contented themselves with sudden and rapid raids upon the stock of the emigrants, and they seldom departed empty-handed. But it is not to be wondered that the trappers, who had participated in numberless engagements with the savages, and witnessed deeds of cruelty that had awakened in them a desire for vengeance, should delight to talk over their experience. The boys, although considerably frightened, were still greatly encouraged by their example. Dick twisted uneasily on his seat, as though impatient for the fight to begin, now and then looking toward the spy, as if he had half a mind to venture a shot at him; while old Bob Kelly rode along, smoking his pipe, apparently as unconcerned as though there was not a hostile Indian within a hundred miles of them. Mr. Winters evidently partook of the old man’s indifference, for, after satisfying himself that his weapons were in readiness, he drew back beside his nephews, and said, with a smile:

“Well, boys, you may have an opportunity to try your skill on big game now. This will be a little different from the fight you had in the woods with those Indians who stole your traps. Then you had the force on your side; now the savages are the stronger party. But there’s no danger,” he added, quickly seeing that the boys looked rather anxious; “every man in the train is a good shot, and the most of them have been in Indian fights before. I don’t believe all the red-skins on the prairie could whip us while we have Dick and Bob with us.”

The boys themselves had great confidence in the trappers – especially Dick, who, they knew, would never desert them. But even he had several times been worsted by the Indians. Frank thought of the story of the lost wagon train. But then he remembered that the reason that train was captured, was because the emigrants had not “stood up to the mark like men.”

All this while the train had been moving ahead at a rapid pace, and many an anxious eye was directed toward the solitary Indian, who remained standing where he was first discovered until the wagons had passed, when he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. All that day the emigrants rode with their weapons in their hands, in readiness to repel an attack; and when they halted at noon, guards were posted about the camp, and the cattle were kept close to the wagons. But, although now and then a single Indian would be seen upon one of the distant swells, the main body kept out of sight; and the boys began to hope that the train was considered too large to be successfully attacked. At night old Bob Kelly selected the place for the encampment, which was made according to his directions. The wagons were drawn up in a circle to form a breastwork, and the cattle were picketed close by under the protection of a strong guard. Fires were built, and preparations for supper carried on as usual, for, of course, all attempts at concealment would have been time and labor thrown away. As soon as it began to grow dark, the cattle were secured to the wagons by long stout ropes, which, while they allowed the animals to graze, effectually prevented escape. Then guards were selected, and the emigrants made every preparation to give the savages a warm reception, in case they should make a dash upon the camp. No one thought of his blanket. The idea of going to sleep while a band of Indians was hovering about, watching their opportunity to pounce down upon them, was out of the question. The two trappers, after satisfying themselves that every thing was in readiness for an attack, began to station the guards. Frank again thought of the story Dick had related of the lost wagon train, and, desiring to witness an exhibition of the skill that had enabled him to detect the presence of the Indians on that occasion, proposed to Archie that they should stand guard with him. The latter, who always felt safe when in the company of their guide, agreed; and when the trapper started off with the guards, he was surprised to find the boys at his side.

“Whar are you goin’?” he asked.

“We want to stand guard with you!” replied Frank.

“Wal, I never did see sich keerless fellers as you be,” said the trapper. “You get wusser an’ wusser. Much you don’t know about this bisness. I guess you had better stay here whar you’re safe.”

“Wal, wal!” said old Bob Kelly, who was not a little astonished at the request the boys had made, “they’ve got the real grit in ’em, that’s a fact, if they are green as punkins in Injun fightin’. A few year on the prairy would make ’em as good as me or you, Dick Lewis. But you’ll get enough of Injuns afore you see daylight ag’in, youngsters. So you had better stay here.”

So saying he shouldered his rifle, and, followed by the guards, disappeared in the darkness. The boys reluctantly returned to their wagon, where they found Uncle James, seated on the ground, whistling softly to himself, and apparently indifferent as to the course the Indians might see fit to adopt. But still he had not neglected to make preparations to receive them, for his rifle stood leaning against one of the wheels of the wagon, and he carried his revolvers in his belt. The boys silently seated themselves on the ground beside him, and awaited the issue of events with their feelings worked up to the highest pitch of excitement. The fires had burned low, but still there was light sufficient to enable them to discover the emigrants stretched on the ground about the wagons, talking to one another in whispers, as if almost afraid to break the stillness that brooded over the camp, and which was interrupted only by the barking of the prairie wolves, and the neighing and tramping of the horses. Two hours were passed in this way, when suddenly the sharp report of a rifle, accompanied by a terrific yell, rang out on the air, causing the emigrants to grasp their weapons and spring to their feet in alarm. For an instant all was silent again. The stillness was so deep that Frank thought the camp was suddenly deserted. Then a long drawn out whoop arose from the prairie, followed by a chorus of yells that struck terror to more than one heart in that wagon train. Then came a clatter of horses’ hoofs; the yells grew louder and louder; and the boys knew that the Indians were coming toward them. The emigrants rushed to the wagons, and the next moment the savages swept by. The boys saw a confused mass of rapidly-moving horsemen; heard the most terrific yells, the report of fire-arms, and the struggles of the frightened cattle as they attempted to escape, and then all was over. The Indians departed as rapidly as they had come, and the boys, bewildered by the noise, had not fired a shot. On the contrary, they stood holding their rifles in their hands, as if they had suddenly forgotten how to use them. Uncle James, however, was not confused. He had heard the war-whoop before, and as he came out from behind the wagon, he began to reload one of his revolvers, remarking as he did so:

“There are some less in that band, I know.”

“Did you shoot?” asked Archie, drawing a long breath of relief to know that the danger was past. “Why, I didn’t have time to fire a shot.”